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Redneck Windchime

Despair

There are always moments when one feels empty and estranged. Such moments are most desirable, for it means the soul has cast its moorings and is sailing for distant places. This is detachment-- when the old is over and the new has not yet come. If you are afraid the state may be distressing, but there is really nothing to be afraid of. Remember the instruction: What ever you come across--go beyond.

- Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Quote discovered, gratefully, at Strangechord.

Fire Season

I think of you and a crow
charges out of a spruce tree
screeching black exclamations
into a suddenly windy evening.

Smoke from fires in high
forests is settling into
this valley. The smell of it
insinuates into all our

corners. Everything has been
hazy all day. As the sun
falls, the dimming sky turns
red and grey over the burning

mountains. Down here
the wind is chilly. Birches
wave their frilly arms with
dry, flammable noises.

I think of you and a crow
charges out of a spruce tree
screeching black exclamations
into a suddenly windy evening.

Smoke from fires in high
forests is settling into
this valley. The smell of it
insinuates into all our

corners. Everything has been
hazy all day. As the sun
falls, the dimming sky turns
red and grey over the burning

mountains. Down here
the wind is chilly. Birches
wave their frilly arms with
dry, flammable noises.

Got Balls?

A little squirrel humor for the weekend.

Also, in the general critter category, we've had a new addition to the crows collaborative poem dance.

The Cat's Whiskers

If you are the cat's whiskers, you are better than everyone else; or someone who is most highly approved of. Here is the Chinese version:

I looked and looked for the origin of this expression, but with no luck. It must just be due to the cat's obvious superiority in all things.

[ADDED: Yay!  Sissy found it:

The cat's pajamas (and the cat's meow, the cat's whiskers), was a very popular expression in the 1920s, associated with the daring and unconventional jazz-age flappers. H.L. Mencken describes the flapper as a young woman who "has forgotten how to simper; she seldom blushes; and it is impossible to shock her." The lexicographers William and Mary Morris suggest that these "cat" expressions may have originated even earlier, first used in girls' schools.  Cat's pajamas ]

From HowStuffWorks*, we learn that:

Whiskers help the cat feel his way around. Whiskers are so sensitive that they can detect the slightest directional change in a breeze . . .

. . . a cat's whiskers are also a good indicator of his mood. When a cat is angry or feels defensive, the whiskers will be pulled back. Otherwise, when the cat is happy, curious or content, the whiskers will be more relaxed and pushed forward.

But the whisker's primary use is to help a cat judge whether or not he'll fit through an opening.

And we all know that cats greatly enjoy fitting through openings, especially those we want them to not fit through, like kitchen cabinet doors.

Here are some places we can all go this weekend:

Friday Ark
Carnival of the Cats
Carnival of the Dogs
Rascal Fair

* Note that HowStuffWorks, which one expects to be very 21st century, is still stuck in the singular- male- gender 80's. Apparently all cats, for example, are male. I thought that maybe they just trade off, but no. A quick perusal of the site demonstrates that these geeks think boys is all there is (unless, of course, the subject is specifically female.) One would think they would know more about how things work.

[Belated] Snapshot 10 August 02005

August, the afternoon
of the year, when the civilized
retreat to shelter and shade. 

I wake early, before morning
climbs over the mountain. I wake
hot, distressed. I run away from

my dreams. I wake in dampness,
and sleep again. I wake late
in the morning. I wake in wet

sheets. I dream of volcanos,
and wake with this heat on my
face. Last night a wind came

through our courtyard. It snapped
the top off the birch tree. I woke
this morning to the whining snarl

of the arborist’s saw. The drowsy
hours. If there is conversation,
it is languid and undemanding.

If there is skin on skin, it is slick
and slippery. The air is heavy
and smells of smoke.

The Rascal Fair

www.flickr.com More photos in The Big Sky

Welcome to the 10th edition of The Rascal Fair! Above is a Flickr Badge of photos from The Big Sky group, founded by Dave at The Big Sky Blog, to provide a place for Big Sky Bloggers to strut their stuff. Montanans are a quirky folk, reserved and welcoming, reticent and opinionated -- as a perusal of Big Sky Blogs will quickly demonstrate.

[Warning: I get to generalize about Montanans, because I am one -- fourth generation -- if you aren't, you don't. We're like that.]

The Rascal Fair is a venue for Montana bloggers to show off their best posts; but, being natur'lly modest, they sometimes need a kick in the butt to do so. Which I didn't do this week. The result being that we have only three self-selected entries:

From Karen, we have a question and good discussion on cane vs. beet sugar -- complete with illustrations.

From Sarpy Sam, we have Who is the Criminal? -- note that Montanans are a questioning bunch.

From Randy, we have -- sadly -- Napoleon RIP, a fine tribute to a feline friend.

Now, since I didn't do my part by getting out there to round folks up, I'm going, in the best Montana tradition, hunting. There are far too many Montana bloggers for me to visit them all today, so I will stick with those I regularly read, and select my favorite posts of the past week or two.

A Large Life

Like many Americans, I spent September 11, 2001, and several subsequent days, in front of my television. Within hours, I had settled, not on one network, but on one person: Peter Jennings. The depth of his intelligence, and his compassion, was a comfort and an illumination. I feel today that I have lost a friend.

One Small Life

 

 

How is it, that on this day, I am saddened at the loss of one small life.

Friday Cat Blogging

As is probably obvious from the paucity of posts, I am a bit less well than usual. This means that Spike has more opportunity to insist on attention, as I am not otherwise occupied. And never fear, Boo gets her share.

In recent cat news, The Modulator points out that, once again, The New York Times has noticed that the internet is heavily feline- populated: