Too Many Calendars

As of today I have received eight 2014 wall calendars from various environmental and or humane organizations.

And twenty or so Christmas catalogs.

It's not Halloween yet but stores have carried orange and black paraphenalia for the last two months.

Is this a conspiracy?

Are all our benevolent institutions and corporations determined to have us think ahead -- and buy ahead?

Is this just an American thing or is it now universal?

Must we always rush toward the next holiday?

What happened to living in the moment?

To savoring the autumnal slant of sunshine and the kaliedescope of turning leaves?

How about strolling in temperatures close to perfect -- warm enough to enjoy without undue sweat?

And eating soup again.

And snuggling under a blanket.

I urge you to resist the rush. To notice what is going on today. To be one hundred percent present to people and pets and sunsets. You can order Christmas cards later.

NYT and Cats

On Sept. 24, 2013, the Science section of the New York Times contained a short item in its column of recent developments.

The item was a roundup piece about cats.

First it reported that the Iranians might send a Persian (how appropriate) into space as a prelude to launching a human in 2018. Okay... as long as it survives without trauma.

More disturbing, it reported that the genome of the Siberian tiger, largest of the cat family, had a "more than 95 percent similarity to the genome of the domestic cat."

Actually, that's cool. But this derivitave fact was used to explain "why our cats aren't very nice to us."

Excuse me! My cats are extremely nice to me. One of them, Herbie, is extremely nice to every living human being. Guinness, I must admit, is nice only to me but he is extremely nice, staying awake twice as long as most cats to watch over my every activity. When I'm working at the computer, he will walk in front of the keyboard when it is time for me to pay more attention to him, but that isn't not nice. It's just staying connected.

I value and respect most of the New York Times, especially its Science section but, really, any intelligent person should know that you cannot judge an entire species (or race, or gender or religion) by the fact that one or two individuals aren't very nice. After all, we wouldn't do that with humans would we?

Or would we?

THEY KNOW

Cats never really sleep. It may well seem that they sleep sixteen hours a day but when you walk past sleeping cats, their eye slits widen ever so slightly. They're watching. They know where you are. They keep track.

I'm preparing for a major journey -- a long time away from home that requires careful planning and packing. Although I'm not leaving for several days, I've put a suitcase and some required items on the guest bed.

And closed the door.

Both my cats are pissed. They go to the closed door and give me baleful looks over their shoulders.

The other evening, they both stood there, giving me stares of utter disgust. Guinness, always more vocal, mewed me out. It was unmistakeably cat cursing.

One night Herbie managed to butt the door open and promptly sat in the suitcase.

I give up.

They know what a suitcase means. However careful I might be to sneak into the room to pack, they'll show up. And slip in-- into the room, and onto the folded clothes, and into the suitcase.

I just hope airport security has no objection to cat hair.

Ephemeral Good Fortune

I live in Loveland, Colorado.

The town sits on the high plain near a river. The town itself is charming – a thriving art community, some nice restaurants and shops. Plus, we could take the highway west up through an incredibly beautiful canyon, into the artsy mountain town of Estes Park, then into Rocky Mountain National Park.

Whenever everyday life became too banal or stressful or whatever, I would drive up that highway, through 'my canyon' and into the park, to 'my meadow.' About this time each year, I would make a special trip just to hear the elks bugle during their annual mating ritual. So beautiful. So awesome.

I can't do that this year. Most of the road has been washed away. It may take years to restore the highway, and the mountain town.

The flooding around here is unimaginable. And weird. Much of the town, including my house, is virtually unscathed but, even as I write this, I hear helicopters overhead moving up into the mountains to rescue stranded people and animals. So many lives irrevocably damaged.

And here in town, anything that was along the river pretty much isn't there any more.

And yet here I am – fine, harvesting tomatoes and raspberries and picking roses for the dining room table.

My heart goes out to all those who have lost so much. Their incredible losses remind us that life can change radically, almost instantly. That things we think are permanent, aren't.

And to be grateful for tomatoes, and raspberries and roses – whenever they are in our grasp.

Cat Seasons

For weeks when the temperature hit the upper 90s, my cats hibernated. Especially Herbie.

Herbie-the-mellow generally sleeps most of most days. When it was so hot, he slept even more -- downstairs where it was cooler or in the upstairs bathroom sink (which stays cool). An inveterate cuddler who snuggles up whenever I rest, or even think about resting, he could not stand to stay snuggled more than about 90 seconds, after which (however reluctantly) he moved away.

Several days ago, the temperature dropped about 30 degrees into the 60s.
My cats were transformed.

Guinness, who managed to stay somewhat active even in the extreme heat, became hyperactive, zipping from portal to portal, up on furniture, across the floor, down on the desk, up on the windowsill,-- zooming around like some cartoon character.

Even Herbie moved. Swiftly!

They chased each other. They chased toys. They moved for the pure joy of moving, of, finally, not being too hot.

Me too.

Then it began to rain. And didn't stop. And it was cold and dreary and there were no pools of sunshine in which to luxuriate.

So they went back to bed.

Good idea.

Pre-Google

I'm pretty much figuring out my new computer but have found, to my dismay, that I cannot seem to spellcheck my emails.

Now everyone will know how ignorant I am.

Which makes me think of how dependent all of us have become on cyber-knowledge. We used to read books, go to libraries, take notes.

And before that, our ancestors memorized entire histories and legends. They could not only recite them but also cite those passages or stories pertinent to particular situations. They not only knew the words, they understood their significance.

Now we don't even remember phone numbers. Our phones remember them for us.

This may not be progress. It may even be dangerous. Significant portions of our brains may atrophy. And then what?

We have a term for early, largely pre-literate history: BCE, Before the Common Era. An appropriate term for my early years might be Pre-Google.

And now? Perhaps Post-Cognitive.

As as a public service – a sort of cautionary tale-- I will post this message on my blog . . . after I run it through spellcheck.

Ersatz Dillema

I have a problem.

The computer I had for more than seven years had one game of solitaire on it. I used to play a game when I finished a major task, or when I was on telephone hold, or just procrastinating. I used it like dessert at the end of a meal, as a reward.

My new computer has four (maybe more) free computer games. These include "Klondike" (which is impossible to win) Spider (like the one on my old machine) Pyramid (addictive) and Tripeaks (addictive).

Please note – two addictive computer games! How will I ever get anything else done?

It's so simple. You just click the mouse and ersatz cards fly through the ersatz air making cunning little noises when you make an appropriate match or even more cunning little noises when you actually hit a run.

And if you win? Wow! Ersatz fireworks and triumphant music.

How often does something you do elicit triumphant music?

I'll tell you how often. As often as I win a stupid computer solitaire game.

Does anyone know of a CSA (computer solitaire anonymous) chapter?

Does anyone know how to resist the siren call of ersatz triumph?

Please, please share whatever you know.