BABIES ARE THE NEATEST CREATURES

Blog number sixty-six                                    31 Dec. 2006

So this morning Teresa needs to refill a prescription so we hie ourselves down to Safeway.  Standing in line at the prescription counter, I hear a boy of about four years of age, sitting in a "car-cart," saying to his dad, "I don't like..."  I couldn't hear the last of it so I went to the father and asked him what the boy didn't like.  He said, "the sour ones."

I say, "ah," and go back to where Teresa waits.

Teresa drops off her prescriptions and we pass by the little boy.  I say, "You don't like the sour ones, eh?"

"No, I like those," as he points to a candy rack.  I point to the ones I like and tell him so.  He points to another and says, "I like those."

I point to licorice and say, "I like those."

We talk about the candy rack for a while longer, then I go to rejoin Teresa who is down the aisle, shopping.  We wander awhile and wind up near the little boy who calls me and motions me to come over, so I do.

"Are you a trainter?"  I hear him say.  I ask him, "what?"  He repeats what he said.  I still don't understand, so I ask him, "What's a trainter?" and as soon as I say it, I ask him, "You mean a 'stranger?' " He nods yes.

I tell him, "yes, I'm a stranger."   He averts his eyes and from then on he will not talk to me.

I am sitting at a table drinking coffee when his family and he walk by on their way out.  I say, "bye!"  He waves, but he still will not talk.
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We were at the mall last week and we saw the cutest girl sitting on her daddy's shoulders.  Teresa said, "oh, can we have her?"  As they walked off, we heard the little girl say, "Daddy, why do they want me?"
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WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUH?

Blog number sixty-six                                                 24 Dec. 2006

I was watching a nature show where this group of lions had made a kill close to a Watusi village late at night. Two men came out of the village, attracted by the noise, to see if the lions had killed any of their cattle. While the men were still quite a ways off, the lions slunk away from their feast.

I was struck by the fact that a pride of lions surrendered their kill like that. Usually, they will fight until it seemed to be too dangerous, and never, against any other animal, will they give it up without at least a show of bravado. But here, "humans coming, let's beat feet."

I got, from another nature program, that the Watusi used to, maybe still do, would prove their manhood by hunting out a lion with only shields and spears. When they came upon one, they would surround it and one guy would take his spear and shield and approach the lion until it charged him and he would fall on his back with the shield over him, stabbing the lion as it came upon him. At this point, all would attack, killing the lion.

It seems really strange to me that of all the dangerous animals in Africa, lions are more afraid of humans that anything else.

House cats love to watch people. I have seen them take what they see and repeat it to their advantage, like standing on top of each other three deep in order to hit a door latch to open it and come in where it's warm.

I once watched my cat watching me reading and it came to me that the cat could not, even in it's wildest imagination, guess what I was doing. It had no frame of reference. None.

No other animal but man has hair or fur situated as do we. All animals except humans have other animals that look and behave somewhat like them. Foxes have dogs, lions have house cats, seals have walruses. And even with these animals, there are different species of foxes, dogs, tigers, whales, different varieties. But humans are unique. There is no other animal that approaches what we are. No other animal comes close do being able to do what we have done.

Dogs, wolves, cats, bury their scat. Dogs, wolves, cats, kill and eat uncooked meat. No animal except man reads or writes. No animal except man creates civilizations and histories. No animal except man has consciously flung themselves into space or built a vehicle out of dirt that carries him at speeds exceeding traveling sound.

In a very real way, humans are alone here. There is nothing with which we can compare ourselves.

We are unique.

No one on earth knows how to make a chain saw from dirt. Yet they exist.

What's that all about?

DO TEETH KNOW WHY THEY EXIST?

Blog number sixty-four                                    12 Dec. 2006

I like to eat...

Milk toast.

Fried corn meal mush with butter and syrup.

Bullheads fried in lard.

Sour cream pie made with cream soured on a window sill.

Cinnamon crisps.

Scalloped potatoes like my mother made.

Toffee candy sold at traveling thespian shows.

I don't like to eat...

Squid in any form.

Tacos.

Burritos.

Herbs of any kind in my bread.

Vanilla ice cream bores me.
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I read a book many, many years ago called, "Man's Presumptuous Brain."  One of the things it told was that the sphincter muscle called the "duodenum," which connects the small intestine to the stomach, would not open unless it was told to by a small amount of acid.  Not opening, this caused any food eaten to back up into the esophagus.  I had this "disease," but I thought it was acid reflux.  My cure was suggested to me by my daughter-in-law.  It consisted of a tablespoon of unpasteurized vinegar taken before eating.  Worked like a dream.  The only bad thing was that you had to make sure to drink water before you swallowed the vinegar, otherwise you would probably choke on it.  The fumes, I think.

I have since discovered, maybe - I haven't done a full scale experiment, that buttermilk will have the same effect except it is easier to swallow.

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I used to make the most delicious bread using honey, buttermilk and several different flours made from different grains.  Now, you can make delicious bread using only water, flour, yeast and sugar.  Delicious bread.  Now tell me -- why is commercial white bread so tasteless?  I mean, flour, water, yeast, sugar -- you need these and only these to make bread.  What is missing or added that makes Wonderbread so yukky?  Like they do it on purpose -- making an effort to make bread tasteless.

THE PEN IS NO MATCH FOR A SWORD

Blog number sixty-four                                          10 Dec 2006

I haven't been writing in my blog.

 

Back when I was painting, I used to have five or six paintings in various stages of completion at any one time.  I used to spend all my spare time, weekends, late into the night, painting.  I spent all my spare energy on painting, totally engrossed in it.

 

One day I found some photos of some beautiful murals this guy was doing and he said that he made clay statues, shone a light on them from one side and used this as models for his paintings, creating beautiful patterns of shadows.  I decided to try that.  I got some clay, made my models, but instead of painting, I got so interested in the making of clay figures that I turned my energy into that. From there I went into wood and stone carving, leaving painting in the past.

 

One day Derek, my youngest son, asked me to paint him a painting for his new house.  When I tried to do it, I found I couldn't.  It was like losing a talent, but as I looked at it, what had happened was that I lost my passion for painting.

 

In the same manner, I have lost my passion for writing at the moment, but I am sure it will return, 'cause I like to talk about things.

 

This entry originally began as an e-mail to my nephew Mark as a response to his comment about my not writing in my blog.  Two birds with one stone, like.