Binky and Grey Poupon. Neither is especially friendly or personable, but these are the cats I've got.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The new senior pets
With the extraordinary attrition in the cat population this year (including the deaths of Spotty, Oogah Oogah, Prajna and the immortal Beasley — along with the disappearance of Smudge, and earlier in the year, Baxter and Mijimoto), I am now down to two cats.
Binky and Grey Poupon. Neither is especially friendly or personable, but these are the cats I've got.
Binky and Grey Poupon. Neither is especially friendly or personable, but these are the cats I've got.
From the back yard
A cardinal takes flight in a blur of wings.
A monarch butterfly up in the elm tree.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Making a pot of stew
Insiders will get my reference to 'making a pot of stew' in the 'I seem to be a chick' post.
For those not in the know, the last time I made a pot of stew was about six years ago.
And it's still in the refrigerator.
I'm not exactly sure what to do with it now. I'm afraid to take it out.
For those not in the know, the last time I made a pot of stew was about six years ago.
And it's still in the refrigerator.
I'm not exactly sure what to do with it now. I'm afraid to take it out.
Campaign contributions
I gave some money to Andrew Rice and Barack Obama today.
I think the Rice contribution is, unfortunately, futile, but I felt I should do something, anyway.
Obama is, of course, a different matter.
I think the Rice contribution is, unfortunately, futile, but I felt I should do something, anyway.
Obama is, of course, a different matter.
More on the Girly-Man test
I don't know what to make of this "60% femininity" thing.
It reminds me of being tagged with the deadly 'nice guy' label earlier in my life.
The test is a version of the Bem Sex Role Inventory test, created by psychologist Sandra Bem. Here's a bit of a Wikipedia article covering the subject:
The whole article is here. Scroll down about a third of the way for the Bem reference.
According to a web site that sells the 'professional version' of this test:
...whatever that means. Here's that site.
If I understand what the Wikipedia article is saying, Bem believes men and women base their behavior on what they think social expectations are for their gender. Women act the way they think women are supposed to act, and men act the way they think they're supposed to act. And the test measures how 'tuned in' a person is to those social expectations.
Does that sound right to you?
Well, I'm a Buddhist, so it doesn't matter. I'm going to go watch ESPN for awhile.
It reminds me of being tagged with the deadly 'nice guy' label earlier in my life.
The test is a version of the Bem Sex Role Inventory test, created by psychologist Sandra Bem. Here's a bit of a Wikipedia article covering the subject:
In 1971, she created the Bem Sex Role Inventory to measure how well you fit into your traditional gender role by characterizing your personality as masculine, feminine, androgynous, or undifferentiated. She believed that through gender-schematic processing, a person spontaneously sorts attributes and behaviors into masculine and feminine categories. Therefore, an individual processes information and regulate their behavior based on whatever definitions of femininity and masculinity their culture provides.
The whole article is here. Scroll down about a third of the way for the Bem reference.
According to a web site that sells the 'professional version' of this test:
The Bem Sex Role Inventory (BSRI) provides independent assessments of masculinity and femininity in terms of the respondent’s self-reported possession of socially desirable, stereotypically masculine and feminine personality characteristics. This can also be seen as a measurement of the extent to which respondents spontaneously sort self-relevant information into distinct masculine and feminine categories. The self administering 60-item questionnaire measures masculinity, femininity, androgyny, and undifferentiated, using the Masculinity and Femininity scales.
...whatever that means. Here's that site.
If I understand what the Wikipedia article is saying, Bem believes men and women base their behavior on what they think social expectations are for their gender. Women act the way they think women are supposed to act, and men act the way they think they're supposed to act. And the test measures how 'tuned in' a person is to those social expectations.
Does that sound right to you?
Well, I'm a Buddhist, so it doesn't matter. I'm going to go watch ESPN for awhile.
Statistically speaking, I seem to be a chick
I found this test on the Flib! blog, and here are my results:
And there I am, making a pot of stew.
Take the test yourself.
Meanwhile, I'm going to go start a fight in a bar to get my stats up.
Your result for The Bem Sex Role Inventory Test...
Feminine
You scored 43% masculinity and 60% femininity!
And there I am, making a pot of stew.
Take the test yourself.
Meanwhile, I'm going to go start a fight in a bar to get my stats up.
Ten years after
Sometime this past month marked the tenth anniversary of my divorce from the TV news business.
That's long enough that I can stop thinking of myself as 'that guy who used to be on TV,' although I still hear that once in awhile.
I was having lunch with a friend the other day. She saw me from time to time in her office when I was a reporter, but we didn't actually become acquainted until about four years later.
"You're nothing like what you were then," she told me.
"That was just a character I was playing," I said, "but playing the part was a full-time job."
I ran into a former co-worker and his wife the other night. "Do you miss it?" she asked me. I told her no, unless having constant nightmares about it can be said to be missing it in some perverse way.
In fact, I rarely bump into people from that period of my life. The number of co-workers and/or colleagues I've talked to since leaving television is probably fewer than ten — about one a year.
I get 99% of my news from the internet these days, and less than 1% — probably less than .1% — from television. I know Linda Cavanaugh and los bros. Ogle are still around, but beyond that I can't even tell you who's on the news now.
One of the more fortunate things that happened to me was that I got a pretty clean break from it. I didn't fall into that weird limbo of car and hearing aid commercials that some people wandered into. It was pretty much a clean and quick transition from cardboard-haired news weasel to slovenly and lethargic commercial artist/slacker.
That's long enough that I can stop thinking of myself as 'that guy who used to be on TV,' although I still hear that once in awhile.
I was having lunch with a friend the other day. She saw me from time to time in her office when I was a reporter, but we didn't actually become acquainted until about four years later.
"You're nothing like what you were then," she told me.
"That was just a character I was playing," I said, "but playing the part was a full-time job."
I ran into a former co-worker and his wife the other night. "Do you miss it?" she asked me. I told her no, unless having constant nightmares about it can be said to be missing it in some perverse way.
In fact, I rarely bump into people from that period of my life. The number of co-workers and/or colleagues I've talked to since leaving television is probably fewer than ten — about one a year.
I get 99% of my news from the internet these days, and less than 1% — probably less than .1% — from television. I know Linda Cavanaugh and los bros. Ogle are still around, but beyond that I can't even tell you who's on the news now.
One of the more fortunate things that happened to me was that I got a pretty clean break from it. I didn't fall into that weird limbo of car and hearing aid commercials that some people wandered into. It was pretty much a clean and quick transition from cardboard-haired news weasel to slovenly and lethargic commercial artist/slacker.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Friday morning
Went to bed feeling fine, woke up twenty minutes ago with my head starting to clog up.
Other than that, I have nothing to report.
Wasn't the economy supposed to have collapsed by now?
Other than that, I have nothing to report.
Wasn't the economy supposed to have collapsed by now?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Non-attachment
Lazy Buddhist left a comment on non-attachment on one of my 'Smudge is gone' posts:
That got me to thinking about the non-attachment thing. I grew up in a family where there was, as I've mentioned before, a lot of drinking. In addition to that, we moved from city-to-city four times in my childhood. After my parents split, I moved from my mom's house to my dad's, then to my grandmother's.
So there were a lot of profound changes in my life. I wonder if that doesn't predispose me to non-attachment.
The Buddha grew up almost literally in an ivory tower. From birth until the day he fled home to become a holy man, we are told, he never left the grounds of the palace where he was born. This was a man - a prince and heir to the throne, in fact - used to a comfortable, predictable, stable life.
Compare that to, for example, a 'military brat' whose parents were required to change locations frequently. Or someone whose family went from wealth to hard times in our region's boom/bust oil economy.
Some people who grow up in chaotic families crave chaos their whole lives - so much so that they create it themselves if circumstances don't provide it. Others, like me, crave just the opposite: quiet, solitude, consistency.
But I think it's probably easier to be free from attachment if you grew up in an environment where experience taught that attachment is futile. And in that way I may have an advantage over even the Buddha himself.
Ah geez. You're a better man than I at the whole non-attachment thing. My cats (one of whom is a dead ringer for your smudge) are an excellent practice for in terms of patience, attachment, etc. But, on the rare occasion that Alaska has escaped (mine are all indooors), I completely lost my shit.
That got me to thinking about the non-attachment thing. I grew up in a family where there was, as I've mentioned before, a lot of drinking. In addition to that, we moved from city-to-city four times in my childhood. After my parents split, I moved from my mom's house to my dad's, then to my grandmother's.
So there were a lot of profound changes in my life. I wonder if that doesn't predispose me to non-attachment.
The Buddha grew up almost literally in an ivory tower. From birth until the day he fled home to become a holy man, we are told, he never left the grounds of the palace where he was born. This was a man - a prince and heir to the throne, in fact - used to a comfortable, predictable, stable life.
Compare that to, for example, a 'military brat' whose parents were required to change locations frequently. Or someone whose family went from wealth to hard times in our region's boom/bust oil economy.
Some people who grow up in chaotic families crave chaos their whole lives - so much so that they create it themselves if circumstances don't provide it. Others, like me, crave just the opposite: quiet, solitude, consistency.
But I think it's probably easier to be free from attachment if you grew up in an environment where experience taught that attachment is futile. And in that way I may have an advantage over even the Buddha himself.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Wifi and wireless mouse
A couple of weird things began happening at my house this week. First, my iTunes/AirTunes wireless streaming audio began breaking up. The other thing that happened was that my wireless mouse began acting crazy.
Eventually I figured out that the mouse and the AirTunes share the same spectrum. The mouse was causing the wifi to break up and the wifi was interfering with the mouse.
I can move the Wifi over to an entirely different spectrum, but then my old PowerBook won't be able to communicate with my network. The other solution is to quit using my beloved Logitech wireless mouse and start using a hard-wired mouse, and that's what I've done. I dug an eight-year-old Microsoft hard-wire mouse out of a drawer and plugged it into my computer. I don't have audio breakup anymore, but the mouse is missing a lot of the features my Logitech mouse had. Plus it's clunky to hold and use. I'm looking online for a suitable hard-wire replacement but I haven't found anything yet.
Eventually I figured out that the mouse and the AirTunes share the same spectrum. The mouse was causing the wifi to break up and the wifi was interfering with the mouse.
I can move the Wifi over to an entirely different spectrum, but then my old PowerBook won't be able to communicate with my network. The other solution is to quit using my beloved Logitech wireless mouse and start using a hard-wired mouse, and that's what I've done. I dug an eight-year-old Microsoft hard-wire mouse out of a drawer and plugged it into my computer. I don't have audio breakup anymore, but the mouse is missing a lot of the features my Logitech mouse had. Plus it's clunky to hold and use. I'm looking online for a suitable hard-wire replacement but I haven't found anything yet.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Current events
When I was a child, my grandmother — my father's mother — talked often about the Great Depression. Like a lot of people who lived through it, she held an irrational fear that it would happen again, and soon, and she was constantly on guard against its approach.
She's gone now, but I recall her words as we talk about this trillion-dollar bailout for the finance sector.
The Secretary of the Treasury has proposed we make him a sort of viceroy of the finance sector — sort of like L. Paul Bremer in Iraq, but with more money and undisputed authority.
A plan many find more sensible has come from Senator Chris Dodd. It attaches more strings to the bailout than the Treasury Secretary's plan.
I tend to look at this from three perspectives: first, my general outrage at the way Washington, and for the most part the Republicans, have managed this country since the Reagan era; second, from my personal perspective as an early retiree who has watched his IRA and mutual fund shrink by more than a fourth during the past year; and third, from my perspective as whatever-it-is-I-am spiritually, watching the best-laid plans of movers, shakers and high rollers explode in their faces. And ours.
I don't pay as much attention to politics as I used to, largely because of cynicism. Lobbyists run the show, especially during our current administration, and few people try to pretend otherwise anymore. The voters may get to steer a little bit, but it's like trying to move an ocean liner by pushing on it from the deck of a 20-foot sailboat while the special interests are up in the cabin wining and dining the captain, XO and first mate. And living where I do, I know my vote is usually going to be overwhelmed by the ballots of those whose main concerns will always be using government to force their religious beliefs on others and stopping insurgent incursions into the territory of their own ignorance.
Looking at my shrinking savings, I have to say that it's not so much that those accounts have shrunk as it is that the illusion has vanished and the balances reflect reality instead of the pretend-growth that resulted from viewing thousands of uncollectible mortgages as having value. So it isn't that I've actually lost money, it's that the money wasn't there in the first place. Although if I'd moved those funds into cash, I would have gotten to keep some of that pretend money. I think I'm still okay financially, but I wonder how much worse things will get. I worry that this 'bailout' may be just a raid on the taxpayers and that when it's over, only the banking executives will feel any more secure.
And lastly, I may be given the opportunity to practice non-attachment to financial security. I can tell you it's a lot easier to think about spirituality when you don't have the reality of having to work to pay bills. Fortunately, my needs are more modest than some folks' needs – food on the table, a roof over my head and a place to sit quietly are about it for me.
Also, as a Buddhist I'm supposed to feel compassion for the financial wizards who engineered this catastrophe, but again, I'm having trouble with it.
She's gone now, but I recall her words as we talk about this trillion-dollar bailout for the finance sector.
The Secretary of the Treasury has proposed we make him a sort of viceroy of the finance sector — sort of like L. Paul Bremer in Iraq, but with more money and undisputed authority.
A plan many find more sensible has come from Senator Chris Dodd. It attaches more strings to the bailout than the Treasury Secretary's plan.
I tend to look at this from three perspectives: first, my general outrage at the way Washington, and for the most part the Republicans, have managed this country since the Reagan era; second, from my personal perspective as an early retiree who has watched his IRA and mutual fund shrink by more than a fourth during the past year; and third, from my perspective as whatever-it-is-I-am spiritually, watching the best-laid plans of movers, shakers and high rollers explode in their faces. And ours.
I don't pay as much attention to politics as I used to, largely because of cynicism. Lobbyists run the show, especially during our current administration, and few people try to pretend otherwise anymore. The voters may get to steer a little bit, but it's like trying to move an ocean liner by pushing on it from the deck of a 20-foot sailboat while the special interests are up in the cabin wining and dining the captain, XO and first mate. And living where I do, I know my vote is usually going to be overwhelmed by the ballots of those whose main concerns will always be using government to force their religious beliefs on others and stopping insurgent incursions into the territory of their own ignorance.
Looking at my shrinking savings, I have to say that it's not so much that those accounts have shrunk as it is that the illusion has vanished and the balances reflect reality instead of the pretend-growth that resulted from viewing thousands of uncollectible mortgages as having value. So it isn't that I've actually lost money, it's that the money wasn't there in the first place. Although if I'd moved those funds into cash, I would have gotten to keep some of that pretend money. I think I'm still okay financially, but I wonder how much worse things will get. I worry that this 'bailout' may be just a raid on the taxpayers and that when it's over, only the banking executives will feel any more secure.
And lastly, I may be given the opportunity to practice non-attachment to financial security. I can tell you it's a lot easier to think about spirituality when you don't have the reality of having to work to pay bills. Fortunately, my needs are more modest than some folks' needs – food on the table, a roof over my head and a place to sit quietly are about it for me.
Also, as a Buddhist I'm supposed to feel compassion for the financial wizards who engineered this catastrophe, but again, I'm having trouble with it.
Smudge
Smudge, as I've written, was with me almost as long as Beasley – about ten years. Beasley had moods and occasional outbursts of temper, especially as he got older, but Smudge was the same all the time. She was okay with Beasley but pretty grumpy with other cats, and other cats learned to keep a safe distance to avoid being swatted.
When I was home, she was always close by. She usually was at the end of the bed when I slept, even if it was just a short afternoon nap.
She, Beasley and Prajna would frequently jump in my lap when I was at the computer.
Now, in the space of less than ninety days, all three are gone.
I don't understand what would make a cat who had been close by for ten years suddenly walk away in the middle of the afternoon and never come back.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Another exercise in non-attachment
Every day there are people suffering worse setbacks than losing their two favorite cats. Some of those people probably live in my neighborhood. I could have much worse problems myself, and I do remind myself to be grateful that my life is so calm and unruffled.
Everything is impermanent, as I've written here a dozen times. All any of us actually has is the exact moment in which we live. Everything else - memories of the past and expectations of the future - are just tiny electrical impulses zipping around in our heads. Even the concept of 'we' - or 'I' - is something of an illusion, as is the concept of a pet or a loved one being some sort of distinct separate entity.
The planets move around the stars, the galaxies spin and sail through the night.
The wheel turns.
Everything is impermanent, as I've written here a dozen times. All any of us actually has is the exact moment in which we live. Everything else - memories of the past and expectations of the future - are just tiny electrical impulses zipping around in our heads. Even the concept of 'we' - or 'I' - is something of an illusion, as is the concept of a pet or a loved one being some sort of distinct separate entity.
The planets move around the stars, the galaxies spin and sail through the night.
The wheel turns.
No sleep
In addition to everything else, I am having the worst allergy attack tonight I've had all year. I have not been to sleep at all yet. My head feels like it's full of wet cement. I haven't watched the weather, but it feels like some sort of low-pressure front moved in.
I'll bet no one's going to see me around Monday. I probably won't be out of bed until 11 am.
I'll bet no one's going to see me around Monday. I probably won't be out of bed until 11 am.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The wheel turns
Earlier in the week, I mentioned my white cat Smudge, whom I got in Texas back in 1999 to keep Beasley company. Of the many cats who have come through this house since, Beasley was the only one whom Smudge would allow anywhere near her. Although they looked nothing alike, I always thought of Smudge and Beasley as being a sort of matched set, although it would be more correct to say their personalities complemented each other than to say they were alike.
Yesterday afternoon, Smudge and I were in the back yard. I fell asleep, and while I was snoozing, she took off. Gone. Headed for the hills, I guess.
I don't know if she picked up on some sort of Beasley death vibe or if it was just coincidence. But my instinct tells me she won't be back. She's just bugged out.
She's too old to take care of herself - I hope someone else takes her in.
It may sound crazy to say two cats were all that kept me going these past 9 - 10 years, but that's the state of things, and now they both appear to be gone — in the space of a week.
I'm not sure where that leaves me.
Yesterday afternoon, Smudge and I were in the back yard. I fell asleep, and while I was snoozing, she took off. Gone. Headed for the hills, I guess.
I don't know if she picked up on some sort of Beasley death vibe or if it was just coincidence. But my instinct tells me she won't be back. She's just bugged out.
She's too old to take care of herself - I hope someone else takes her in.
It may sound crazy to say two cats were all that kept me going these past 9 - 10 years, but that's the state of things, and now they both appear to be gone — in the space of a week.
I'm not sure where that leaves me.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Friday night
As much as I talk about going off to live in the mountains or out in the desert, I don't know if I'd ever be able to do it. There was a time, ten years ago or so, when I could spend three or four days without human contact except maybe a minimal conversation with a convenience store clerk. Now I find it difficult to make it through a single morning without a trip to the coffee shop to chat with friends and acquaintances.
Even so, my stamina for this is limited. I went with my usual Friday dinner group tonight, but while they all went on to an art show or some time at the Red Cup, I came back home to my back yard, my fireplace and my solitude. I enjoy the company of others, but I can't handle as much of it as others can.
Ms. Landscape Person describes a conversation she and I had — today? yesterday? — about relationships. I always feel like I've let myself down when I get into these discussions, because for me, talking wistfully about love and relationships is as pointless as talking wistfully about why the earth can't be shaped like a butternut squash instead of a sphere (yes, I know it's not a perfect sphere, but whatever — you know what I mean).
I'm not going to denigrate anyone else for however much time and energy they put into pondering relationships, but personally, I've taken it off my list of things to obsess about, and I'm always disappointed in myself when I find I've gone back over that same old territory yet again.
But the point I was trying to make in the conversation she describes is the point about the non-existence of self. If there is no self, who is it that's lonely or horny or whatever? If there is no other, who is the object of attraction?
I wrote something about this in the spring of 2007, and here it is.
I kind of cringe when I think about all the millions of my own CPU cycles I've used up pondering this subject over the years - only to finally conclude 'the hell with it, I'll go watch squirrels in the back yard.'
But that's what I've done. And I think I'm about as happy as anyone else.
Even so, my stamina for this is limited. I went with my usual Friday dinner group tonight, but while they all went on to an art show or some time at the Red Cup, I came back home to my back yard, my fireplace and my solitude. I enjoy the company of others, but I can't handle as much of it as others can.
Ms. Landscape Person describes a conversation she and I had — today? yesterday? — about relationships. I always feel like I've let myself down when I get into these discussions, because for me, talking wistfully about love and relationships is as pointless as talking wistfully about why the earth can't be shaped like a butternut squash instead of a sphere (yes, I know it's not a perfect sphere, but whatever — you know what I mean).
I'm not going to denigrate anyone else for however much time and energy they put into pondering relationships, but personally, I've taken it off my list of things to obsess about, and I'm always disappointed in myself when I find I've gone back over that same old territory yet again.
But the point I was trying to make in the conversation she describes is the point about the non-existence of self. If there is no self, who is it that's lonely or horny or whatever? If there is no other, who is the object of attraction?
I wrote something about this in the spring of 2007, and here it is.
I kind of cringe when I think about all the millions of my own CPU cycles I've used up pondering this subject over the years - only to finally conclude 'the hell with it, I'll go watch squirrels in the back yard.'
But that's what I've done. And I think I'm about as happy as anyone else.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
More 'fun-loving'ness
I worked for a couple of years for a 'fun-loving' boss. She came aboard as a replacement for her predecessor. The way she would interview prospective new hires was to take them to a local bar. If they drank as much as she did, they got the job.
By the end of the second year, about a fourth of the office staff was 'fun-loving,' and the rest of us were warned we needed to take up the slack when they were too hung over (or sometimes, too drunk at 9 am) to work, and that the subject of rising alcoholism on the staff was off-limits.
Again, all this 'fun loving' couldn't go on without a bunch of other people available to carry the weight for them - and then be criticized for not being 'fun-loving' enough themselves.
By the end of the second year, about a fourth of the office staff was 'fun-loving,' and the rest of us were warned we needed to take up the slack when they were too hung over (or sometimes, too drunk at 9 am) to work, and that the subject of rising alcoholism on the staff was off-limits.
Again, all this 'fun loving' couldn't go on without a bunch of other people available to carry the weight for them - and then be criticized for not being 'fun-loving' enough themselves.
Compassion
Compassion is one of the cornerstones of Buddhism. But I have to say that I'm short on compassion for people with drinking problems. And the reason is clear to me: alcoholism was a key element of my upbringing, with me being the 'bad guy' because I could never do enough to accommodate or enable my parents' drinking.
Every encounter I have with someone who's drunk reminds me of that. Every encounter with someone who's drunk reminds me that somewhere there's another person who's being victimized by the 'fun-loving' person I see. Maybe it's a spouse. Maybe it's a child. Maybe it's a parent. Maybe it's a friend or coworker. But somewhere, someone else is taking up the slack while the party animal 'relaxes' or 'has some fun.' I have more compassion for those people than the alcoholic.
I have friends who are in the program. I dated a woman who was in the program and she was one of the most perceptive and enlightened people I've known. If I were dating now, I think I would rather date someone seriously working the program than someone who'd never been alcoholic, because it seems to me that AA opens people's eyes to more than just their own alcohol-related stuff.
But someone who's still drunk all the time? I have tried to get used to it, but drunks - even friendly, jovial drunks - just creep me out.
Every encounter I have with someone who's drunk reminds me of that. Every encounter with someone who's drunk reminds me that somewhere there's another person who's being victimized by the 'fun-loving' person I see. Maybe it's a spouse. Maybe it's a child. Maybe it's a parent. Maybe it's a friend or coworker. But somewhere, someone else is taking up the slack while the party animal 'relaxes' or 'has some fun.' I have more compassion for those people than the alcoholic.
I have friends who are in the program. I dated a woman who was in the program and she was one of the most perceptive and enlightened people I've known. If I were dating now, I think I would rather date someone seriously working the program than someone who'd never been alcoholic, because it seems to me that AA opens people's eyes to more than just their own alcohol-related stuff.
But someone who's still drunk all the time? I have tried to get used to it, but drunks - even friendly, jovial drunks - just creep me out.
About the garage
I'm going to spend a pretty hefty chunk of change on a new garage. Apart from the original purchase of the house, it's the single most expensive thing I've ever bought.
My current garage is two cars wide and about three/fourths of a car deep. In other words, when I drive my car all the way into it, the back end is still out in the driveway. My garage was built for the Model A.
The roof leaks, and ants or termites have eaten deeply into at least one of the joists. The building has begun to lean - only a couple of degrees off plumb right now, but that will get worse as time goes by. Doors are already difficult to open, and the one window has fallen out of its sill.
The current garage has no insulation and no electricity. The concrete pad is cracked with one side sloping off level. That's probably why the building has started to lean.
My new garage will have a peaked roof instead of a flat one, a skylight and bigger windows. It will have electricity and perhaps plumbing. It will be ten feet deeper, so that I can fit my car into it and still have room for a work area. And in the corner that faces the back yard, I'm going to have large windows. I plan to put a wood-burning stove in that corner. On rainy and cold days, I'll be able to park a chair in that corner and watch the yard. I only wish Beasley were here to sit with me.
The work that's been done in my back yard has doubled my usable space. My yard, which four months ago was overgrown with weeds and underbrush, is now my preferred place to be when weather permits. The largest single unusable space on my property is now the garage, and I hope this upgrade gives me that space back as well.
I anticipate spending the rest of my life in this house, so I think it's appropriate to make it as livable and usable as possible.
My current garage is two cars wide and about three/fourths of a car deep. In other words, when I drive my car all the way into it, the back end is still out in the driveway. My garage was built for the Model A.
The roof leaks, and ants or termites have eaten deeply into at least one of the joists. The building has begun to lean - only a couple of degrees off plumb right now, but that will get worse as time goes by. Doors are already difficult to open, and the one window has fallen out of its sill.
The current garage has no insulation and no electricity. The concrete pad is cracked with one side sloping off level. That's probably why the building has started to lean.
My new garage will have a peaked roof instead of a flat one, a skylight and bigger windows. It will have electricity and perhaps plumbing. It will be ten feet deeper, so that I can fit my car into it and still have room for a work area. And in the corner that faces the back yard, I'm going to have large windows. I plan to put a wood-burning stove in that corner. On rainy and cold days, I'll be able to park a chair in that corner and watch the yard. I only wish Beasley were here to sit with me.
The work that's been done in my back yard has doubled my usable space. My yard, which four months ago was overgrown with weeds and underbrush, is now my preferred place to be when weather permits. The largest single unusable space on my property is now the garage, and I hope this upgrade gives me that space back as well.
I anticipate spending the rest of my life in this house, so I think it's appropriate to make it as livable and usable as possible.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Wednesday evening
Out in the back yard again. I'm going to get a sleeping bag and stay here all the time.
Wednesday
I spent about two hours napping in the back yard. I also committed to replacing my old, quasi-dilapidated garage with a new one.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Modern Taoist Sage
I posted a link to this one year ago today. It's worth repeating.
The Modern Taoist Sage, by Jos Slabbert
The Modern Taoist Sage, by Jos Slabbert
Tuesday evening
I'm in the back yard again.
The fireplace is going, the stereo is playing, the cafe lights are on, the police helicopter is hovering.
Life is good.
But I miss Beasley.
The fireplace is going, the stereo is playing, the cafe lights are on, the police helicopter is hovering.
Life is good.
But I miss Beasley.
New link
At left is a permanent link to KelleyO's new blog "Long Ryde Home."
Kelley, as I've mentioned before, is an artist, former teacher, sculptor, landscaper, furniture maker and mother of two.
Kelley, as I've mentioned before, is an artist, former teacher, sculptor, landscaper, furniture maker and mother of two.
Fashion fright
I saw a woman in a restaurant yesterday wearing her hair Sarah Palin-style. I hope that was just an unfortunate coincidence and not the beginning of a trend.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Monday evening
I'm in the back yard with the laptop and I've got the fireplace going. The patio seems to be right on the edge of the wi-fi range and the signal is fading in and out. But I'm able to more or less surf and blog from here. There's some scrub oak firewood and two pieces of piñon in the fireplace.
There were a half-dozen squirrels in the back yard at mid-afternoon plus a flock of small birds.
I bought two more bird feeders this morning and hung them on a shepherd's crook stand by the garage. The birds haven't found them yet; I guess it will take a couple of days.
There were a half-dozen squirrels in the back yard at mid-afternoon plus a flock of small birds.
I bought two more bird feeders this morning and hung them on a shepherd's crook stand by the garage. The birds haven't found them yet; I guess it will take a couple of days.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Fire
I got a fire going in the new backyard fireplace tonight — just enough to keep my bare feet warm. This is the first fire I've built since Boy Scouts circa 1960-61.
Backyard critters
I sat out in the back yard with the camera for awhile this afternoon.
Some bird. I don't know birds.
Some other bird. This pic has a bit of bluish cast — I probably should have tweaked the color balance in Ps, but I didn't.
This guy was almost close enough to reach out and touch. Click for a larger version.
Grey Poupon.
Some bird. I don't know birds.
Some other bird. This pic has a bit of bluish cast — I probably should have tweaked the color balance in Ps, but I didn't.
This guy was almost close enough to reach out and touch. Click for a larger version.
Grey Poupon.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Flashback
I got a phone call late yesterday evening (by late, I mean 9-ish... that's late for me) from a friend who, along with a couple of acquaintances, had gotten stranded at a gathering. I went to where they were to take them home.
As they got in the car, it was pretty obvious they were drunk or well on the way to being drunk. They'd hit a bar or two before arriving at their current location.
I was the only cold sober person in the vehicle.
I had a flashback of sorts to childhood. It was rather unsettling, and continued to bother me today.
My parents, as I think I've mentioned before, were both alcoholics. My mother was especially 'fun-loving,' to use my family's preferred euphemism for being a shit-faced, falling-down, weekend-in-the-drunk-tank boozer. Not only were my parents 'fun-loving,' but all of their friends were 'fun-loving' as well. So it was not unusual during my childhood to be in a lurching, weaving car or station wagon with four or five other people and be the only one who wasn't giggling, slobbering drunk. Sometimes there'd be another kid in the car, too, but usually it was just me.
At least last night I had control of the wheel. As a child I often had to take my chances with the driving skills of someone who had barely been able to walk to the car, and disapproving glares from my 'fun-loving' parents if I wasn't being a good sport about it. I would sit quietly, feeling helpless and frightened, and wonder if we were going to have a wreck or die — sometimes hoping we'd get pulled over so someone would get me the hell out of there.
I don't like being around people who are drunk. I'm only slightly more comfortable with people who are sober but are only interested in talking about what they did the last time they were drunk — perhaps just hours earlier. If someone starts a sentence with, "Jesus, I was so wasted last night..." I'm probably going to tune out the rest of it.
If it seems to you that I'm not 'fun-loving,' keep in mind I've been around shitloads of 'fun-loving' already, and that was plenty, thank you.
As they got in the car, it was pretty obvious they were drunk or well on the way to being drunk. They'd hit a bar or two before arriving at their current location.
I was the only cold sober person in the vehicle.
I had a flashback of sorts to childhood. It was rather unsettling, and continued to bother me today.
My parents, as I think I've mentioned before, were both alcoholics. My mother was especially 'fun-loving,' to use my family's preferred euphemism for being a shit-faced, falling-down, weekend-in-the-drunk-tank boozer. Not only were my parents 'fun-loving,' but all of their friends were 'fun-loving' as well. So it was not unusual during my childhood to be in a lurching, weaving car or station wagon with four or five other people and be the only one who wasn't giggling, slobbering drunk. Sometimes there'd be another kid in the car, too, but usually it was just me.
At least last night I had control of the wheel. As a child I often had to take my chances with the driving skills of someone who had barely been able to walk to the car, and disapproving glares from my 'fun-loving' parents if I wasn't being a good sport about it. I would sit quietly, feeling helpless and frightened, and wonder if we were going to have a wreck or die — sometimes hoping we'd get pulled over so someone would get me the hell out of there.
I don't like being around people who are drunk. I'm only slightly more comfortable with people who are sober but are only interested in talking about what they did the last time they were drunk — perhaps just hours earlier. If someone starts a sentence with, "Jesus, I was so wasted last night..." I'm probably going to tune out the rest of it.
If it seems to you that I'm not 'fun-loving,' keep in mind I've been around shitloads of 'fun-loving' already, and that was plenty, thank you.
Friday, September 12, 2008
later Friday morning
Trying to get to sleep, but my allergies are driving me crazy. And after a relatively pleasant Thursday.
Friday morning
Still missing my buddy.
I realize I never had any real sense of his mortality. I had somehow kidded myself, on some non-rational level, that he would live forever, and I had a certain amount of emotional equity invested in that. He was my touchpoint to sanity when things got too crazy for me in the outside world, but that somehow led me to view him irrationally - as if he were some sort of leprechaun or Puck who would always be present in my life.
Every living thing comes into this world, stays a short time, and then is gone. We humans make a big deal of our existence because we're so self-centered, but compared to the mountains and the sky, even the longest-lived of creatures is here for just an instant.
I valued Beasley for his consistency in an inconsistent world, but as I look back on it, Beasley was not all that consistent. He was certainly less consistent than Smudge. He was prone to spells of depression where he would sit in a corner, facing the wall, for a day or two or three. He would occasionally go outside for days at a time and refuse to come in. He was much more likely to pee in the laundry or a shoe than the other cats. Smudge can be irascible and grouchy, but Beasley was much more likely to be passive-aggressive.
Two of the hang-around cats, Binker and Grey, have come in and now don't want to go back out, so I'm back up to my three-cat indoor staff.
I realize I never had any real sense of his mortality. I had somehow kidded myself, on some non-rational level, that he would live forever, and I had a certain amount of emotional equity invested in that. He was my touchpoint to sanity when things got too crazy for me in the outside world, but that somehow led me to view him irrationally - as if he were some sort of leprechaun or Puck who would always be present in my life.
Every living thing comes into this world, stays a short time, and then is gone. We humans make a big deal of our existence because we're so self-centered, but compared to the mountains and the sky, even the longest-lived of creatures is here for just an instant.
I valued Beasley for his consistency in an inconsistent world, but as I look back on it, Beasley was not all that consistent. He was certainly less consistent than Smudge. He was prone to spells of depression where he would sit in a corner, facing the wall, for a day or two or three. He would occasionally go outside for days at a time and refuse to come in. He was much more likely to pee in the laundry or a shoe than the other cats. Smudge can be irascible and grouchy, but Beasley was much more likely to be passive-aggressive.
Two of the hang-around cats, Binker and Grey, have come in and now don't want to go back out, so I'm back up to my three-cat indoor staff.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
What I believe
I was trying to explain the tao to Ms. Landscape Person today and got stuck on the famous conundrum: 'If you can explain it, you don't understand it.'
Or as the first line of the Tao Te Ching says, 'The tao that can be named is not the true tao.'
Here's a post I wrote one year ago today talking more about the problem I have describing my beliefs.
Addendum: some of this appears to be about me.
Or as the first line of the Tao Te Ching says, 'The tao that can be named is not the true tao.'
Here's a post I wrote one year ago today talking more about the problem I have describing my beliefs.
Addendum: some of this appears to be about me.
Yet still more...
"For someone who talks about non-attachment," a friend commented today, "you sure posted a lot about Beasley."
Many dozens of posts back, I wrote something about discovering one's attachments, and dealing with the attachments that you can't even admit to yourself you have because you're so afraid of letting go of them.
I was attached to Beasley, and I won't deny or make excuses for that. Sometimes I would sit here at home and ponder my attachments and wonder how I would deal with losing my house and having to live on the street as a homeless person. I finally decided I could be okay with that, except that I'd have to figure out how to take Beasley with me when I was diving in dumpsters.
In an earlier post I talked about how Beasley could just sit contentedly in one spot all day. But I also have to say that he was one of the smartest and most inquisitive cats I have ever seen.
I would find him stranded in places where I could not for the life of me figure out how he got there, and he could not figure out how to escape. I once found him stuck on top of the kitchen cabinets, meowing for help in the nine or ten inches of space between the top of the cabinet and the ceiling. He figured how to get into the cabinet below the sink by standing on his hind legs, putting his front paws on the top of the cabinet door, then walking backwards to pull the door open. He was close to learning how to turn on the faucet in the lavatory. He did it once, but never quite figured how to repeat the action.
There have been a lot of other cats through here over the years, and in terms of temperament and personality, they have been pretty much the same. Even Smudge, who now inherits the role of senior pet, is a pretty conventional cat. But Beasley was a phenomenon unto himself.
He even walked differently. Beasley would amble along with his head low and stuck out a little. He folded his ears back slightly, not like a cat about to get into a fight but like he was streamlining himself to reduce wind resistance. But once he was under way, he walked about like I do, which is to say slowly. He was in no hurry to get anywhere. And his legs were so short that when he ran, which was rarely, he ran like a rabbit instead of a cat.
He would sometimes wake me up in the morning by getting on the bed and putting one paw on the tip of my nose. He would leave it there until I woke up. If I pulled a blanket over my face he would scratch at my scalp.
I can't overstate how much Beasley's departure changes the whole mood of this house. It just ain't the same place anymore.
Many dozens of posts back, I wrote something about discovering one's attachments, and dealing with the attachments that you can't even admit to yourself you have because you're so afraid of letting go of them.
I was attached to Beasley, and I won't deny or make excuses for that. Sometimes I would sit here at home and ponder my attachments and wonder how I would deal with losing my house and having to live on the street as a homeless person. I finally decided I could be okay with that, except that I'd have to figure out how to take Beasley with me when I was diving in dumpsters.
In an earlier post I talked about how Beasley could just sit contentedly in one spot all day. But I also have to say that he was one of the smartest and most inquisitive cats I have ever seen.
I would find him stranded in places where I could not for the life of me figure out how he got there, and he could not figure out how to escape. I once found him stuck on top of the kitchen cabinets, meowing for help in the nine or ten inches of space between the top of the cabinet and the ceiling. He figured how to get into the cabinet below the sink by standing on his hind legs, putting his front paws on the top of the cabinet door, then walking backwards to pull the door open. He was close to learning how to turn on the faucet in the lavatory. He did it once, but never quite figured how to repeat the action.
There have been a lot of other cats through here over the years, and in terms of temperament and personality, they have been pretty much the same. Even Smudge, who now inherits the role of senior pet, is a pretty conventional cat. But Beasley was a phenomenon unto himself.
He even walked differently. Beasley would amble along with his head low and stuck out a little. He folded his ears back slightly, not like a cat about to get into a fight but like he was streamlining himself to reduce wind resistance. But once he was under way, he walked about like I do, which is to say slowly. He was in no hurry to get anywhere. And his legs were so short that when he ran, which was rarely, he ran like a rabbit instead of a cat.
He would sometimes wake me up in the morning by getting on the bed and putting one paw on the tip of my nose. He would leave it there until I woke up. If I pulled a blanket over my face he would scratch at my scalp.
I can't overstate how much Beasley's departure changes the whole mood of this house. It just ain't the same place anymore.
Monday, September 08, 2008
In other news...
I kinda fell off the front porch this morning and twisted my ankle. Fortunately, Ms. Landscape Person was here to pull me out of the shrubbery. We called Nurse K and she recommended an ice pack. The swelling went down very quickly, but I'm still sore and limping.
The stereo amplifier arrived today and I got it set up so I can now stream AirTunes out to the back yard with the weatherproof speakers I mounted on the back porch.
Smudge, Binker and Grey Poupon are all in the house, but the place still seems empty tonight without the Beas.
The stereo amplifier arrived today and I got it set up so I can now stream AirTunes out to the back yard with the weatherproof speakers I mounted on the back porch.
Smudge, Binker and Grey Poupon are all in the house, but the place still seems empty tonight without the Beas.
Card from a friend
I'm probably overdoing this, but I don't think I've said everything I have to say.
Yet more about Beasley
In a comment to the preceding post, Erika West asks whether Beasley's passing is an opportunity to lay to rest some of the turmoil that occurred in my life during the time he was with me.
I would answer that by saying I still have literal nightmares about some of that turmoil, and I guess I always will, but as far as day-to-day living goes, the turmoil was laid to rest long ago.
Beasley was pretty consistent. I hear people say their pets can sense their moods and respond accordingly, fetching their slippers for them or cuddling up next to them or pouring them a chardonnay or whatever, but Beasley wasn't like that. Nor did I want him to be. If I had a great day at work, when I came home Beasley would still be Beasley. If I had a lousy day at work, he was still the same. Just knowing that at the end of the day, Beasley would always be there and be predictable in his behavior was a huge plus for me. He was a calming, stabilizing presence.
And now that my life is almost completely calm and stable, I was looking forward to all of us - Beasley, Smudge and me - sort of being retired together. I realized I would probably outlive him and that someday I would have to deal with his passing, but I thought we'd have another six or eight years together.
I would answer that by saying I still have literal nightmares about some of that turmoil, and I guess I always will, but as far as day-to-day living goes, the turmoil was laid to rest long ago.
Beasley was pretty consistent. I hear people say their pets can sense their moods and respond accordingly, fetching their slippers for them or cuddling up next to them or pouring them a chardonnay or whatever, but Beasley wasn't like that. Nor did I want him to be. If I had a great day at work, when I came home Beasley would still be Beasley. If I had a lousy day at work, he was still the same. Just knowing that at the end of the day, Beasley would always be there and be predictable in his behavior was a huge plus for me. He was a calming, stabilizing presence.
And now that my life is almost completely calm and stable, I was looking forward to all of us - Beasley, Smudge and me - sort of being retired together. I realized I would probably outlive him and that someday I would have to deal with his passing, but I thought we'd have another six or eight years together.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
More on Beasley
Beasley as a kitten, taken in 1998.
It's still hard to accept that he's gone and that I won't see him again.
There's a zen saying that 'when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.'
I thought I was at least ready to start being taught and I kept wondering if there would ever be a teacher.
In reality, I would never have been able to trust a human teacher. I would have always been expecting him to lie to me, or try to manipulate my emotions or con money out of me. I guess that's what my exposure to Christian fundamentalism left me with.
Beasley, on the other hand, taught without teaching. When he was hungry, he ate and when he was tired, he slept. He had a mind free of all but the most primitive concepts. He could spend a whole day sitting in a chair. Things didn't bother him because he had no awareness of them, nor did he need to have awareness of them. There were many times I would find him sleeping on my bed or on the front porch and think, "That is all I want in my life - to just sit like the cat and be there."
After I started making him stay inside a few weeks ago, and when I was still laid low by the effects of the tick bite, we spent a lot of time together. It was a lot like when we were in Texas, and it was just Beasley, Smudge and me, without all the other cats and occasional dogs around. I'm glad now we had that time.
He had seemed to be very content with being put back on full-time indoor cat status - at least until the past few days, when he started agitating to go out again.
Nothing is permanent; everything is temporary. The glass, as Ajahn Chah taught, is already broken.
Forgive me if this seems maudlin, but it still seems unbelievable he's gone. This house will not be the same without him.
Probably about 2003.
Beasley with the immortal Buddy Lee,
probably about 2004.
I wish I had more recent pictures of him,
although he didn't look much different
than he does here.
probably about 2004.
I wish I had more recent pictures of him,
although he didn't look much different
than he does here.
I should also mention that based upon what I was told by the neighbor who found him this morning, Beasley may have just had heart failure or an aneurysm. It looks like he was just walking along the sidewalk and suddenly keeled over.
The post-Beasley era
As I mentioned in the preceding post, Beasley was sort of my alter ego. He was fat and lethargic and content to spend the day snoozing in one spot. Of course, that's easier if someone else is making sure you're fed and cared for, but nonetheless Beasley was an inspiration to me. I learned to let go of a lot of stuff by watching Beasley's example of non-attachment.
When I left television, and even more so when I came home from Texas, I knew I had done everything I was 'supposed' to do with my life and that whatever else came along was optional. I didn't care what society or my friends thought of me. The only obligation I felt was to Beasley and Smudge — and now there's just Smudge. There are also the various hang-around cats, too, of course, but I always thought of Beasley, Smudge and later Prajna as family. The others were pets.
Smudge has been with me almost as long as Beasley. She might even be a month or two older than him. But having Smudge without Beasley is sort of like Abbott without Costello. Beasley was the one with all the personality. Smudge is just an old grump who sort of likes me and hates everyone else, cat and human alike. Beasley would come wake me up at sunrise, but Smudge couldn't care less.
I always knew that when Beasley was gone it would mark some sort of turning point in my life. I'm not sure what will change, but it will be different from now on.
When I left television, and even more so when I came home from Texas, I knew I had done everything I was 'supposed' to do with my life and that whatever else came along was optional. I didn't care what society or my friends thought of me. The only obligation I felt was to Beasley and Smudge — and now there's just Smudge. There are also the various hang-around cats, too, of course, but I always thought of Beasley, Smudge and later Prajna as family. The others were pets.
Smudge has been with me almost as long as Beasley. She might even be a month or two older than him. But having Smudge without Beasley is sort of like Abbott without Costello. Beasley was the one with all the personality. Smudge is just an old grump who sort of likes me and hates everyone else, cat and human alike. Beasley would come wake me up at sunrise, but Smudge couldn't care less.
I always knew that when Beasley was gone it would mark some sort of turning point in my life. I'm not sure what will change, but it will be different from now on.
Beasley
Beasley is dead.
A neighbor found him on the lawn west of his this morning - two doors down from me. I don't know if he was hit by a car or the state dog of Oklahoma got him. He doesn't appear to have any lacerations or external injuries.
I had been keeping him indoors since he got into the fight with another cat about five weeks ago. I didn't even know he was outdoors and if I had known, I would have brought him in.
If the dog killed him, he's at least the second cat killed by the dog. A couple of others have also disappeared and they may have also been killed.
If he was hit by a car, then he's the third this summer. This is after living here seven years and having only two outdoor cats killed by cars.
I'm still sort of assimilating this. I thought Beasley would be around after all the other cats were gone.
Beasley had been with me ten years. He had been with me during all the turmoil of losing my job, my marriage ending, crazy relationships and non-relationships. He went with me to Texas and came back.
I used to tell friends he held the position of Senior Pet - a title which now falls to Smudge, I guess. Smudge has been with me almost as long as Beasley. But I always thought of Beasley as being The Cat, and Smudge as The Other Cat.
A neighbor found him on the lawn west of his this morning - two doors down from me. I don't know if he was hit by a car or the state dog of Oklahoma got him. He doesn't appear to have any lacerations or external injuries.
I had been keeping him indoors since he got into the fight with another cat about five weeks ago. I didn't even know he was outdoors and if I had known, I would have brought him in.
If the dog killed him, he's at least the second cat killed by the dog. A couple of others have also disappeared and they may have also been killed.
If he was hit by a car, then he's the third this summer. This is after living here seven years and having only two outdoor cats killed by cars.
I'm still sort of assimilating this. I thought Beasley would be around after all the other cats were gone.
Beasley had been with me ten years. He had been with me during all the turmoil of losing my job, my marriage ending, crazy relationships and non-relationships. He went with me to Texas and came back.
I used to tell friends he held the position of Senior Pet - a title which now falls to Smudge, I guess. Smudge has been with me almost as long as Beasley. But I always thought of Beasley as being The Cat, and Smudge as The Other Cat.
Allergy hell
The fall allergy season is in well underway for me now. I'm taking Claritin, but I'm still miserable.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Attention Randy Clemons
Here are the pix you asked me to post. Click on them to see bigger versions.
Saturday evening
The state dog of Oklahoma dropped by again about 5-ish. She seemed to be in a much better mood, and even jumped up on me to greet me. I have a hard time with knowing this friendly and seemingly gentle dog killed Prajna.
The SDO had her German shepherd friend in tow, and they both took off down the street after a few minutes.
I'm glad that kid from the next street over is doing such a good job of caring for her.
I got the outdoor stereo speakers mounted on the back porch this afternoon and got the cable run inside. I also got the Airport Express set up, so I should only have about five minutes' work to do when the amplifier arrives. I hope it gets here Monday.
The SDO had her German shepherd friend in tow, and they both took off down the street after a few minutes.
I'm glad that kid from the next street over is doing such a good job of caring for her.
I got the outdoor stereo speakers mounted on the back porch this afternoon and got the cable run inside. I also got the Airport Express set up, so I should only have about five minutes' work to do when the amplifier arrives. I hope it gets here Monday.
Must... stop... reading... politics
I have promised myself a dozen times I am going to quit reading online political thrashes.
This time for sure. I can't stand it anymore.
This time for sure. I can't stand it anymore.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Not feeling very Buddhist
Y'know, I haven't been feeling very Buddhist lately, though I'm not sure what the phrase 'feeling very Buddhist' means.
I know that a year ago, I had a different sense of it. I was still immersed in the sutras and the writings of Ajahn Chah, Suzuki, Seung Sahn and others. I was still trying to meditate with some regularity. Lately, though, I've been immersed in fixing up the yard and reading the history of the Russian revolution. I haven't been absolutely obsessed with the election, but I have paid some attention to it.
I have a well-worn volume of Taoist masters that I used to read every night just the way some people read the Bible before going to bed. But I haven't looked at it in months. In fact, I don't know where it is.
I used to go to Sauced in the afternoon and sit quietly by myself for awhile with a glass of ice water or maybe a mimosa. I really looked forward to having that time on the almost-empty patio along about 1 pm. Now, Sauced doesn't open until 4 so I'm likely to be sitting at home or at the Red Cup.
My life is still pretty damn close to perfect - but it seems like it was a little closer still just a year ago.
Perhaps I am just attached to some notion of how a Buddhist ought to feel.
I know that a year ago, I had a different sense of it. I was still immersed in the sutras and the writings of Ajahn Chah, Suzuki, Seung Sahn and others. I was still trying to meditate with some regularity. Lately, though, I've been immersed in fixing up the yard and reading the history of the Russian revolution. I haven't been absolutely obsessed with the election, but I have paid some attention to it.
I have a well-worn volume of Taoist masters that I used to read every night just the way some people read the Bible before going to bed. But I haven't looked at it in months. In fact, I don't know where it is.
I used to go to Sauced in the afternoon and sit quietly by myself for awhile with a glass of ice water or maybe a mimosa. I really looked forward to having that time on the almost-empty patio along about 1 pm. Now, Sauced doesn't open until 4 so I'm likely to be sitting at home or at the Red Cup.
My life is still pretty damn close to perfect - but it seems like it was a little closer still just a year ago.
Perhaps I am just attached to some notion of how a Buddhist ought to feel.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Recent additions to the iTunes library
Seven Metals: Singing Bowls of Tibet, Benjamin Iobst
Mahima, Debashish Bhattacharya and Bob Brozman
Mahima, Debashish Bhattacharya and Bob Brozman
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Today's developments
The state dog of Oklahoma returned, but is now absolutely terrified of me. I didn't hit her or mistreat her Monday, and in fact fed her and gave her the rawhide bone, so I'm betting someone at her 'home' beat the crap out of her for running away. She took off down the street when I came out and the last I saw of her she was down on the next block.
There was mail in my mailbox when I got back from breakfast, so I guess the mailbox passed muster with USPS.
Binker and Grey Poupon came in the house last night for the first time in months. I suppose they sensed the cool front coming in.
I'm glad for the weather.
There was mail in my mailbox when I got back from breakfast, so I guess the mailbox passed muster with USPS.
Binker and Grey Poupon came in the house last night for the first time in months. I suppose they sensed the cool front coming in.
I'm glad for the weather.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Today's progress
Oklahoma City artist/welder/metal sculptor Ron Ferrell designed a mailbox post for me. He attached the box today — and we'll see tomorrow if the USPS approves.
My previous mailbox was whacked with ball bats, knocked over by drunk drivers and finally crumpled by a city trash truck. I asked Ron to put a big spring on this one so if someone hit it, it would just bounce back.
It cost a little extra to put the cap on the fence instead of just stopping with the stockade pickets. But it makes the fence look more finished, and the hang-around cats are happy with it. I don't even know how Grey Poupon got up there, but he walked back and forth along the whole length of the fence for about a half hour.
Allergy season
I always say I know the exact moment the ragweed blooms, which in Oklahoma is usually sometime in the last half of August. My sinuses tell me it started a little early this year. It's fully underway now.
Claritin helps a lot. Before it came along, I'd often spend a week or so of September in bed, with my eyes swollen so badly I couldn't open them. I'd schedule my vacation around allergy season to avoid missing too much work.
Claritin helps a lot. Before it came along, I'd often spend a week or so of September in bed, with my eyes swollen so badly I couldn't open them. I'd schedule my vacation around allergy season to avoid missing too much work.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Fencing update
A few more pics of the fence project:
We had to prune the crape myrtles on the west side considerably. I guess we lost one-fourth to one-third of the branches - the ones that dragged against the fence and went over into my next door neighbor's airspace.
Branches, old fence posts and other debris went into a Bobcat loader, then to a truck and on to the landfill.
Richard Rowe adding the triple cap at the top of the fence.
The state dog of Oklahoma observes the progress.
We had to prune the crape myrtles on the west side considerably. I guess we lost one-fourth to one-third of the branches - the ones that dragged against the fence and went over into my next door neighbor's airspace.
Branches, old fence posts and other debris went into a Bobcat loader, then to a truck and on to the landfill.
Richard Rowe adding the triple cap at the top of the fence.
The state dog of Oklahoma observes the progress.
Dog update
A young man who looked to be about 14 or 15 came to my door tonight to claim the dog. He lives behind me, apparently, and heard her crying or barking through the fence. I asked him if he knew how long she had been running loose, and of course, he didn't.
I told him what his dog had done, and that if she ever came back over here, I was going to find her a new home.
I am not optimistic about this being the end of the problem.
I told him what his dog had done, and that if she ever came back over here, I was going to find her a new home.
I am not optimistic about this being the end of the problem.
Now what?
The dog that I assume killed Prajna was back in my yard this morning.
I had the big carrier ready, but I couldn't coax her into it. She would go part way in, then change her mind and back out. Maybe she suspected I was trying to trap her, or maybe she was still skittish from having been trapped under the deck.
I didn't want to let her get away, though. There didn't seem to be much danger of that, since she was following me all around the yard and driveway.
I improvised. I petted her for awhile, then wrapped a chain around her neck to make a collar and leash. It was a ridiculously big and heavy chain, but it was all I had at hand. Then I tied her out to the clothesline pole. She was completely calm and docile through the whole experience, and spent the day calmly watching Richard's folks finishing up the fence. She never barked, although she sometimes whimpered for attention. She never lunged or strained at the tie-out.
She's still back there now, although I got a lighter and longer chain for her. I bought her some food and a big rawhide bone, which she destroyed in about five minutes.
I've emailed a pit bull rescue group to see if there's any chance they'll find a foster home for her.
If that doesn't work, I don't know what I'll do. I'd hate to see her put down if she can be kept in a responsible home.
I had the big carrier ready, but I couldn't coax her into it. She would go part way in, then change her mind and back out. Maybe she suspected I was trying to trap her, or maybe she was still skittish from having been trapped under the deck.
I didn't want to let her get away, though. There didn't seem to be much danger of that, since she was following me all around the yard and driveway.
I improvised. I petted her for awhile, then wrapped a chain around her neck to make a collar and leash. It was a ridiculously big and heavy chain, but it was all I had at hand. Then I tied her out to the clothesline pole. She was completely calm and docile through the whole experience, and spent the day calmly watching Richard's folks finishing up the fence. She never barked, although she sometimes whimpered for attention. She never lunged or strained at the tie-out.
She's still back there now, although I got a lighter and longer chain for her. I bought her some food and a big rawhide bone, which she destroyed in about five minutes.
I've emailed a pit bull rescue group to see if there's any chance they'll find a foster home for her.
If that doesn't work, I don't know what I'll do. I'd hate to see her put down if she can be kept in a responsible home.
More on passion and excitement
About a week ago, I posted a blog entry on the subject of passion and excitement.
There's a new comment added to that post, which I've reposted below:
First of all, I guess the commenter. kelleyO, has sort of narc'd herself out here. She was indeed the friend to whom I was referring, and is also — as you may have deduced from her comments about my garden — Ms. Landscape Person.
She makes a valid point about passion. If she didn't have passion, I wouldn't have a garden or flower bed, because I certainly lacked the passion and/or self-discipline to do it myself. She took the ball on this project and ran with it. She chose the plants, the paving stones for the patio, and found Richard Rowe, who built the deck and fence.
Eight weeks ago, my front yard looked pretty ratty and my back yard looked like a jungle, and kelleyO was the catalyst for making it into what it is now. It was her passion that made that happen. (Well, my credit card played a part, too. Labor and capital.)
Do I have passion, as she suggests? Maybe, in the sense that I have a passion for non-passion. I've gone to some effort to get myself off the roller coaster of emotions and attachment. I'm still too antisocial and contrarian to sit with a sangha, but I've devoted a lot of time to reading Buddhist teachers and the original sutras and writings of the ancient Taoist sages.
There's a little bit of zen in that statement, I think. (More knowledgeable people may disagree.)
I've mentioned before the 'three pounds of flax' story. You might retell that story this way: The gardener was busy planting a flower when a man asked her, "What is Buddha?"
"A spadeful of dirt," the gardener replied.
And I think that would have been just as appropriate an answer as 'three pounds of flax.'
I have no conclusion to put here, so I'll just stop.
There's a new comment added to that post, which I've reposted below:
i have a feeling this blog is about me...i remember with great clarity saying those exact words... it is... i live my life with passion...and excitement... while you sit quietly...in your guilt...watching me dig in the dirt...i am digging with such passion...and such excitement... i am immersed in it with all that i am...there is only one thought in that one moment....
if there was no passion in planting your garden...the garden would not capture you as it has.....
when i am welding...sweating...and bleeding it is with great passion.. the welding reminding me of my strength... the sweating of my endurance...the bleeding of my mortality...
i'm no expert... but i see passion in your eyes... i hear passion in your words... and i feel passion in your presence....
First of all, I guess the commenter. kelleyO, has sort of narc'd herself out here. She was indeed the friend to whom I was referring, and is also — as you may have deduced from her comments about my garden — Ms. Landscape Person.
She makes a valid point about passion. If she didn't have passion, I wouldn't have a garden or flower bed, because I certainly lacked the passion and/or self-discipline to do it myself. She took the ball on this project and ran with it. She chose the plants, the paving stones for the patio, and found Richard Rowe, who built the deck and fence.
Eight weeks ago, my front yard looked pretty ratty and my back yard looked like a jungle, and kelleyO was the catalyst for making it into what it is now. It was her passion that made that happen. (Well, my credit card played a part, too. Labor and capital.)
Do I have passion, as she suggests? Maybe, in the sense that I have a passion for non-passion. I've gone to some effort to get myself off the roller coaster of emotions and attachment. I'm still too antisocial and contrarian to sit with a sangha, but I've devoted a lot of time to reading Buddhist teachers and the original sutras and writings of the ancient Taoist sages.
watching me dig in the dirt...i am digging with such passion...and such excitement... i am immersed in it with all that i am...there is only one thought in that one moment....
There's a little bit of zen in that statement, I think. (More knowledgeable people may disagree.)
I've mentioned before the 'three pounds of flax' story. You might retell that story this way: The gardener was busy planting a flower when a man asked her, "What is Buddha?"
"A spadeful of dirt," the gardener replied.
And I think that would have been just as appropriate an answer as 'three pounds of flax.'
I have no conclusion to put here, so I'll just stop.
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