Twitter, The Majestic Plastic Bag & Birds and Bunnies Environmentalism

One of my favorite aspects of Twitter is its use as a quick source of news, updates and information about the issues that are important to me. If you follow organizations and news sources that understand how to use Twitter, you get a constant stream of links to breaking stories, articles and media that are useful and thought-provoking. I use it a lot at work to stay on top of nonprofit trends and resources.

Anyway, Audubon of California just tweeted a link to this video called "The Majestic Plastic Bag: A Mockumentary." It follows the personified life of a plastic bag and it's migration. We follow it floating about in the breeze through parking lots and parks, down sewage drains, down a river and into the ocean. You can see the path of destruction as it makes its way to the Pacific Garbage Patch, this massive collection of crap--plastic, sludge, waste, etc.-- that's come together through ocean currents off the west coast of the US.

When I first heard about this a few years ago, I thought it was another Snopes story. But apparently, it's the size of Texas (perhaps even larger) and is estimated to contain millions of tons of trash.

We have plenty of reusable grocery bags, and most of the time these days, I actually remember to bring them with me to the store. But even those bags have a limited life and are made of materials that require processing and consume resources. The bottom line is that I need to consume less altogether.

I had this great environmental politics professor when I was at the University of Florida. He referred to "Birds and Bunnies Environmentalism" when he talked about this very American view that we can still consume the same amount of stuff and it will all be okay because of new scientific advances, technology and recycling. We all tend to forget (myself included) the "reduce" and the "reuse" parts.  It involves a culture change. And that takes time. I just wonder how much time we really have before we've screwed things up so much they can't be repaired.

Interesting...this cycle of consumption beyond our means and beyond what earth can support is also causing the breakdown of our economy.

If you have 3 minutes, the "Mockumentary" is a cleverly written and filmed video (very funny too)....although for some reason, it's stretching waaay across my blog. 

Mars Will Appear as Large as the Moon...and Pigs Will Fly

I'm always amazed at the wealth of BS that circulates across the channels of e-mails. Aside from desperate appeals from Nigeria, it's increasingly difficult to decipher what's real and what isn't. Too bad Dali isn't still around--he would love the digital age and would be a texting maniac.

We were talking today at a breakfast about the celestial gift of the month, that Mars will make a once-in-our-lifetime appearance close to earth.  I heard about this a few weeks ago and thought, man, that's so cool!  There was absolutely no reason not to believe it.

And then something triggered in my memory--didn't this already happen a few years ago?  I seem to remember hearing about this event of the century very recently.  Am I already 134 years old?

Then I started hearing variations of the story--that Mars would be so close it would actually look like we had two moons!  What? Absolutely amazing. [Were there two moons in Planet of the Apes?  I could be completely wrong about it, but sounds like it would be a good fit.]

Get ready with your fishin' pole, Hubbie! The tides will be high and the catchin' good.

I'm a big fan of Snopes.com. I love being able to shoot on over there and find out if something is a total crock of doodoo, a partial deception, or actually (and more rarely) true. Here's what Snopes.com has to say about this hoax:

"Some things never go out of style, and the 'Mars Spectacular' is one of them."  

To paraphrase the whole thing, Mars did come very close to Earth in 2003, but it happens every 15-17 years. And during that time, Mars did appear as large as the moon--if you were using a telescope with a 75 power magnification.   Nice one.

So when in doubt, check it out.  I always learn something interesting and then take a moment to peak at the top 25 urban legends to arm myself for the next forwarded e-mail.

P.S. In Planet of the Apes, there is no moon. I looked it up. But I didn't find that one on Snopes. Or on NASA's website. Man, they've got to get it togethaaa.

Fishing AGAIN? Agh!!!!!

So yes, I am totally glad that Husband and all the men in my family aren't obsessed with hookers or something; they're obsessed with fishing. Looking at it from that angle, it's cool.

Looking at it from the "if I could have married fishing, I would have" angle, also known as the "I would rather be fishing than doing anything else ever at any time" angle, it can be a little aggravating for those of us who don't frame our existence around it.  Basically, it goes like this:

Fishing is the central theme--goal--activity--conversation highlight of almost all family gatherings involving Husband, Brother, Father, D-man, In-law men.

If you end up doing something else on the weekend, there's always the underlying knowledge that it doesn't quite compare to any possible apex of intrigue that could result from the act of fishing.

Fishing tv shows--in which you actually watch other people float on boats, cast and occasionally reel in fish ON TELEVISION--is a frequent form of "entertainment" in my living room.

If any of them undertake a fishing trip and catch nothing, they come home quietly, pressed into silent annoyance that the Gods of the sea weren't listening. You're destined for an afternoon of Bad Mood Billy.

I feel like the lady in this commercial, and like her, I'm at the losing end of the proposition. Fishing will always win.

The Bravery of Friends

Somewhere in the details of life, relationships, work and the daily routines of opening mail, making obligatory phone calls, getting groceries--we forget that death is imminent. Our loved ones will not be with us forever. Our own lives are so tenuous they could end without warning at any minute.  Perhaps we simply choose not to think of this often. For if it invaded our thoughts too frequently, we'd be paralyzed in that form of separation and would forget to live.

There are circles of people with whom you just feel fortunate to be associated. It's not because of outward prizes they have attained through profession or decorated accomplishment; it's because of who they are--rare souls who understand what a friend is and who are there for each other through all joys, all sadness.

A fine graphic designer who has provided services for our organization for so many years suddenly lost her husband at the age of 53 this week.  Leading the ship of his unexpected departure through the lightest and most calm waters possible has been a mutual friend, who for years has been generously nurturing of me on a professional and personal basis. Friday, this friend of endless composure and presence received word at a luncheon that her own father had passed.

Even with this most personal loss, she stood at the pulpit with her whole family during Saturday's funeral. She shared their 25 year friendship with the Hritz's and all it has meant to them. Can you imagine the joy of having the privilege to know someone who could be so strong and courageous to be there for her friend--now a widow--after entering a new world without a living father, less than 24 hours before? Her words were eloquent, soothing. Authentic and beautiful in her love for who he was, with a comfort that encircled everyone. And there wasn't a trace of her own personal grief to show for it. It was absolutely selfless.

That's a friend who many do not experience.

I realize my own fortune, a living fortune embraced by those who are still with me in life.  The others are facing empty beds, the formality of services and the lines of those waiting to receive them with sympathy. Even in my own gratitude, I know death isn't something any one of us will or can ever escape.

It's been a weekend filled with sadness.  I think of the beautiful Hritz family, two teenagers in high school another young man in college--all of them amazing human beings--now without that man they so admired and loved at their disposal in the mornings, evenings and weekends.  I can understand a fraction of what they are experiencing, knowing that at least for a while, they cannot communicate in that direct and concrete way with husband and father the way they're used to. 

What else is buried here in this grief?  It's true, I try to live completely but I feel sadness too at my missed opportunities, imperfect relationships and time lost. I hope the great bravery of these friends will help me more frequently choose peace over being right, loving action over fleeting frustration.

It really is the collection of so many small things that forms our lives and that contributes to the happiness or detriment of those around us we love the most.  Angels are all around, living and watching over us. I give the deepest thanks to have such inspiration and hope that I have the sense to keep it close to heart while the people I love are here.

Cynthia Davis Rocks

I've met the coolest people through the Gropius blog. Some of them came here first and I started following them; others I found online in the twisted mazes of navigation and exploration.

I can't remember how I landed on the Running with Letters blog, but Cynthia Davis is such an entertaining writer, equipping each post with just enough details to make every "story from the ordinary" intriguing. I lover her use of metaphor. 

When I discovered her beautiful tiled seahorses, I knew one of them would make the perfect housewarming gift for Brother and Sister-In-Law and for my Goddess friend who left me here and moved out to Arizona.  I was able to select the colors, which she carefully glazed, designed and assembled into these lovely reminders of tropical seas:

Thank you, Cynthia, for putting so much love and care into their creation.  They're beautiful and the receivers couldn't be more delighted!

Bloggers everywhere: it's not only nice to support your fellow social media partners but you end up with unique booty you cannot get anywhere else. Visit Running with Letters and share the love.

Crossing the Line

I know, I know, it's a big no-no to get political on your blog, unless it's a political blog.  And religion, I shouldn't go there either.  So I'm going to do both in one post.

I was alarmed at my level of upset today when, on the way to work, I passed a man holding a sign advocating for a local political candidate (himself?) reading "Christian Leadership."

See, I have nothing against Christians. Muslims. Buddhists. Jews. In fact, I believe that all of the great religions in the world reach the same basic truths but get there in different ways. Different customs. Different pictures of God. But I happen to see it as the same God. 

I've had enough with division over this in America. It's time for this to end, to move on.

There are still people who still don't understand that we live in a country where there's a separation between church and state. Some of these people are already in office. Some are running for election.  It's usually the same people who don't recognize that "morality" and "ethical" behavior cross religions lines--they aren't any more or less inherent in Christianity than in any other religion. Those who use religion to back up violence or to judge others aren't truly living the messages expressed in their religion. They're practicing an altered version that leads to an unraveling of peace and truth and an uprising in anger and hatred.

By the message on the sign alone, its owner communicated two things to me:

1. I disrespect one of our country's founding premises--that old separation between church and state thing again.
2. I disrespect voters who are not Christian.

Religion doesn't have a place in American politics. Morality, ethics--yes. (I'd love to actually see them there.)

My freedom to choose, practice and express my religion is just that--mine.  It's not my business to judge you or prevent you from believing what you hold dear.  We're all prevented from that when our federal, state or county representatives are vocal advocates for one religion above another, in the midst of their public service or while advocating for votes. 

It's Kind of...Quiet

Was kind of quiet. Within five minutes of walking in the door, multiple televisions were on, and there was talking across rooms, sighs when the anticipated answer wasn't returned and a general air of drama.

For a week and a half D-Man hung out in Miami for a visit with Nana. The absense of generation induced tension was conducive to unfettered contemplation, and just...peace. With the quietude, calmness crept in and settled. Following that, the ability to actually relax in my own skin.

At first the obvious freedoms and lack of interruptions were the focal point:  I could walk around at night in my underwear if I wanted to. The sound of friends incessantly knocking on the door was absent.  And there was no banging around in D-man's room--the inevitable echo of a teen who's just been denied a certain right of all teenagers everywhere, like spending the night at his buddy's house when he's been there all day.

Ahhhh......sigh.

I forgot what a lack of drama can do for the home. And although I can't imagine life without the sweet and compassionate D-Man, a little breather and time alone with Husband was a good thing. It was easy to sink into just the two of us, knowing that D-Man was safe and also enjoying his time away from us.

Time alone with myself came over this past weekend, when Husband made the trek down south to pick the little man up.

Nothing felt sweeter than cleaning the house on Saturday morning, mowing the lawn and settling down for a solitary and hot afternoon on the porch. I stopped and bought oil paints--the first set I've had since high school--and spent the greater part of the day in the near 100 degree heat listening to late summer insects and swirling turpentine with yellow ochre, burnt sienna and phalo blue.  It wasn't long before the heat wasn't a worry and I just melted into the original rhythm of me.

My life is all the more rich for my home with Husband and D-Man. But there's no doubt that quiet and solitude, and the ability to return to my own person, are necessary parts of being. The same is true for them, and for any of us who have inner lives. I am learning not to apologize for it and to nod with understanding when the call for it comes from someone I love nearby.

It's so nice to have D-Man home again. He's growing up so fast, it won't be long until I'm yearning for the tales of drama that will have long since passed. I'm thankful to have had the space for reflection on myself as a single unit and as part of three.

Pad Thai Karaoke

We finally found a good Thai restaurant near our house. It’s a small family-owned business with authentic and reliably good food. The service and atmosphere are friendly...and let’s just say "slightly unusual."


The waitress we inevitably secure during each visit is a young woman who is probably in her mid-twenties but who looks much younger. For whatever reason, she is insulting and daring with Husband in a playful way that could get her in to big trouble if the wrong person walked in who didn’t find it so funny.

She’s pleasant and accommodating but never cracks a smile. She teases him relentlessly about his baldness and his inability to handle “Thai hot,” asserting that trying to eat spicey foods is how Husband lost his hair. She enjoys bantering him by repeatedly egging him on with “you’re such a baby,” etc. Husband is a great sport about it and the whole thing has been entertaining.

Has been are the key words here. Last night we decided that it’s getting sort of old, and though we appreciate her “different” style, we both commented that we weren’t really in the mood for it.

On Saturday night, “entertainment” is provided. This usually consists of a member of the family in full dress dancing around, or in last night’s case, singing on a tiny stage using a karaoke machine.

Hmmm.

Upon walking in the door, we were immediately greeted by the singing woman, who was draped in a tight fitting, black two-piece ensemble with sequined fringes dangling about her. She stopped singing while still clutching the microphone and escorted us to the table, directly in front of the stage.

At this point, it felt a little awkward. We were the only two people sitting in that section and had a direct view of her performance. True, she had a lovely voice and the Thai songs were a nice touch. Her movements were a little tight and sort of Elaine Benes-like (Seinfeld). Between songs you could hear her platform shoes clunking across the wooden mini-stage as she selected a new ditty, and you could see the blue screen scrolling words. Do we clap? Do we stare at her to provide an audience? Do we look up approvingly every now and then?

Meanwhile, our waitress approached and immediately lit into Husband. She remembered our most recent visit, a mid-July birthday dinner for Husband with the larger family. (Husband is still a few years shy of 40 and looks his age.)

“So how does it feel to be 50?” she said.

Husband was ready. “I don’t know. How does it feel to be 12?” he retorted.

I think she got it. She made haste in taking our order.



Then things got weirder. The lovely entertainer singing traditional Thai songs started selecting tunes by artists one would never expect to hear in such an environment, like old school Carpenters and John Denver.

The apex of our experience occurred when we listened to the Pad Thai Karaoke rendition of “Take Me Home, Country Road.” I’ll leave it to your imagination. You can probably enjoy the “mounteeeen mama” and “West Virgineeeeee” aspects in your mind. (Please anonymous, jump in with your spelling corrections.)

We were relieved when the stage was left vacant. It’s not that we didn’t appreciate her. Again, her voice was lovely. The whole thing was just weird. And sometimes, you just want to eat.

Still, we would recommend the place any day. Love the food, love it when you can enjoy a family-owned and operated establishment, and love it that the unexpected awaits us.

Anonymous posters, how I love thee.

Dear Anonymous:

I am excessively polite to people at work and I generally try to be that way in life too. But I don't have to take any doodoo on my blog--especially when anonymous posters are concerned.

Now in the last post, you weren't disgustingly out of control, but you weren't particularly polite either. Or astute. I don't recognize you as a regular reader. And if you...

a. Don't have the intelligence to figure out how to post your name, or don't have the balls to identify yourself,

          b. Have nothing decent to say, and
 
          c. Correct my spelling and then move on to make a spelling mistake yourself in the comment

My message to you is:
Thanks for the comedy, Einstein. And please, bite me.

See, Gropius loves to receive constructive information from folks who have something interesting or informative to share, but your obnoxiousness supersedes any bit of smarts you might be hiding in there.

And if only you would dish out your contact info like everyone else, I could cheer you on during your next spelling bee for grown-ups. Here's a digital silver star for you! Wooo hooooo, Anonymous!!!!!!

Window Boxes, Rocking Chairs and Skies

I can usually count on these three unrelated images to reinstitute a feeling of peace.

Flowers and soil attached to the window bring a bit of wildness close to the house, blending manmade structure with a small dose of nature-made inhibition.

There were some good ones last week during our travels.

Windows in the historic district of Charleston

Maybe it's the old subconscious memory of being rocked as a baby that keeps me loving the image of a rocking chair--even when the chair itself might not have been so comfortable.

 

Rocking chairs on the dock in Charleston outside of the Marriott, a one night's stop on our way north to NC

D-Man and Husband chillin' out in rocking chairs on the porch of the beach cottage in NC

I love it that, like life, skies are constant only in their everchanging cloud formations and colors. Somehow, it just works from the vantage point of the human spirit. I find a sort of comfort in that.  Summer in the Southeast is responsible for some pretty dramatic skies--there's a lot of power in those clouds, and they always complete the landscape.

If only the land or ocean could say to the sky,"You complete me." They totally had the patent on that before that creepy Cruise ever said it in that rediculous Jerry Maguire scene. (Sorry, fans of Jerry Maguire and Tom Cruise...can you ever forgive me?)
 

Cotton candy cumulous clouds over the Atlantic Ocean

Subtle sunset over Atlantic Beach

  Not so subtle sunset over Charleston

Summer sky over Fort Sumter, off the Charleston coast, where the Civil War began

Unplugged and Sandy

I opted for the 100% unplugged option over the last 8 days. I even forbid Husband from using the GPS on his phone. The trip to the North Carolina shore was everything I hoped it would be, and I didn't regret being without my laptop. But thirty minutes after arriving home from 13 hours in the car traversing your garden variety of interstates, plus three beautiful hours riding through tobacco and corn fields in eastern NC, here I am blogging.

I thought about you and missed reading your blogs...

Mitzi, I have a great John Irving book for you. I was finally able to finish devouring it while rocking on the porch. Marvin, saw some cool old guns from the Civil War and of course thought of you. Cynthia, I'm soooo excited about the seahorses and thought about you during our trip to the NC Aquarium where we checked out some live ones. Pine Lakes Redhead, there was a beautiful quilt on display in the Core Sound Museum; each square featured a historical piece of one of the tiny communities that dot the far eastern edges of North Carolina. Photo coming soon.

So many of you popped into my head! Nurse Myra--is your vacation from a few weeks ago still sticking with you, or are you back into life as you know it? I always hate to see how quickly traveling days slip away.

Here are a few of my favorite images of Atlantic Beach, North Carolina--my "grandmother's beach," from last week's post.