Honeybees and US

Ten turned me on to an interesting article from earth.org about the vanishing bee population.

For years, media headlines have depicted a dire situation regarding global bee populations. While it is true that honey bee numbers in certain areas, especially in North America and Europe, have plummeted due to habitat loss, pesticide use, and climate change, recent data reveals a more nuanced picture. In fact, bee populations in some Asian countries have been steadily increasing. This contrasting trend prompts important questions: why are bees flourishing in some regions while facing challenges in others? (source)

On looking at the graphs it became clear to me that not all of North America’s bees are tumbling down. It’s the USA’s population that’s actually tanking. And has been since the ‘60s.

Note that the drop began at the start of Lyndon Johnson’s administration. This was just after John F. Kennedy’s assassination on November 22, 1963. The ‘60s were an insane decade, what with Vietnam, Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King’s assassinations, the fight for equal rights, Tricky Dick’s ascent, etc. The bees were definitely unhappy.

In the Carter years, our honeybee friends started to relax and stabilize. They were starting to gain ground but then AIDs hit and Reagan ignored it all until two years after his friend Rock Hudson died. Before this, the Reagan administration treated AIDs as though it was a great joke.

This did NOT please the bees.

Under Bush Sr. and Clinton, the honey-maker population continued to decline. I’m guessing Reagan and the Repub’s frozen hearted disdain for their fellow humans really put them way the fuck off. I can’t blame them. Plus, all that ridiculous fuss over a goddamn blowjob. The bees just could NOT deal with the bullshit human antics.

The numbers continued to go down during the warmongering Shrub years. Of course.

They seemed to feel that humans in the US had made a turn for the better, for a more caring, smarter America when Obama was elected. Honeybee numbers began to recover and grow. The US was inching closer to universal health care. Marriage equality became the law of the land. Climate change was being addressed. Gays and lesbians could serve openly in the military for the first time. He banned Bush’s “enhanced interrogation” (AKA torture) techniques. And so much more. 

The bees and me were psyched! We’re coming back, babies!

Then Trump was installed by an assholian, racist electoral college. This was NOT the will of the US residents—not what the bees or anyone halfway sane and/or intelligent wanted. The honeybee population went on a downward spiral again. Four years of sanity with Biden was, undoubtedly (I haven’t seen the figures) not enough to reverse the cratering hives.

And now we’re in Hell again.

I’m glad that the bees are thriving in Asia and the colonies in Canada and Mexico seem stable. Here, even the bees are jumping ship. Only the zombie MAGAts want to live in the raging, apricot toupéd fucktrumpet's America.

A few thoughts on the day

This is the last day of Lupercalia—AKA Valentine’s Day, AKA Hallmark and Hershey’s Mondo Profits Day, AKA Feel-bad-if-you're-single Day.

This Saint Valentine dude—next to nada is actually, fer reals known about him. Fuck’s sake, he died in the second century—it’s not as though neat, clear, tidy records remain from that blasted time. V Man's linkage to hearts, flowers, chocolates and LOVE is the stuff of myth, fairy tale and the early christian habit of repurposing pagan celebrations to attract and gull the rubes.

I totes dig all the chocolates but let's refrain from viewing this day as much more than an excuse to enrich big biz.

Yes...I'm all humbuggy and shit.
~~~
What the everlovin’ fuck is Galentine’s Day? At first I thought it was what unhappy, date-free women (who happen to be suckers for corporate America’s spend-spend-spend pressures) were now calling V Day.  Yep and nope—G Day happens the day before—February 13th. It began out of some teevee show (not unlike Festivus) and is meant to be a celebration of friendships between lady-parts friends.

Cosmo—that collection of ads for expensive MUST HAVE fashion shit, fleshed out with stray articles, the odd short fiction and yur-doing-female-wrong guilt trip columns—‘helpfully’ tells me how I should’ve celebrated the 13th (waffle brunch and/or wine and cheese happy hour). The mag also noted the goodies I should’ve ‘showered’ on Jen (Champagne Toast 3-Wick Candles, The Milk Bar Sampler and 60 dollar sweatshirts). WHEW! What would I do without Cosmo telling me how to be a proper signora and correctly spend my hard earned buckos!

~~~
Here’s something I’ve been thinking about, now that my recovery’s kicked up a notch or three—I would not be as improved as I am without Ten’s ultra-patient thorough care. He made/makes it possible for me to slow down, not impatiently rush to get back to abby-normal (thus damaging my banjaxed bod more). He’s waited on me hand and foot, helped me bathe and dress (which I can do for myself now, thenkyewveddymuch), brought me breakfast in bed daily and so much more. I’m now able to routinely walk around the house with the walker but no brace and I can go up and down the stairs sans brace. It's because of Ten—his love, support and fussing. I’ve been able to live at home (versus a nursing home) and rehab at a decent, appropriate pace (WITH Nurse Coco at my side) because of him.

Also too and FYI—not only is Ten a saint, he's a hot-as-all-hell saint.
~~~
On Saturday Ten and Jen took me for another 225 foot walk along the seawall. Yea! I wish I could go for another ramble, without the brace, today but temps dropped, snow fell and ice is lurking under every surface. It's beautiful but DAMN, no outdoor time for me on this Valentine's Day.

Monkeys and Monoliths

Yesterday, for teatime, Jen, Oni and I watched the 1995 Terry Gilliam movie, 12 Monkeys.

Traveling back in time isn't simple, as James Cole (Bruce Willis) learns the hard way. Imprisoned in the 2030s, James is recruited for a mission that will send him back to the 1990s. Once there, he's supposed to gather information about a nascent plague that's about to exterminate the vast majority of the world's population. But, aside from the manic Jeffrey (Brad Pitt), he gets little in the way of cooperation…(source)

Yes, Bruce Willis was the star AND actually acted instead of just replaying his pyrotechnic action movie hero, yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker shtick or his rakish Moonlighting character.

Brad Pitt was impressive in his batshit insane entitled and rebellious rich boy role. I never think of either Brad or Bruce as actual, real actors. They’re celebrities, known more as brands than as players, who disappear into roles, strut their hour on the stage, and are then heard no more.

Surprisingly decent performances all around and the story was fab. There were wonderful, creepy-as-fuck twists. The whole plague premise. given the world’s actual state of affairs, was intriguing but painful – of course it was.

Here in Plague Idiocy Central (AKA yhe US of A)  there were 225,818 new cases and 1,645 fresh deaths just YESTERDAY. If, like in the flick, we could time travel back to late 2019 and change things, could we? No, not with the extant Trump/McConnell reality-is-for-suckers-and-peasants crew. Unlike the movie, COVID wasn’t created and spread by one evil genius.

The only time-travely way out of our current insane life would be to go back and give every Republican politician’s father a vasectomy. I'd donate to that cause.

Back to 12 Monkeys, there was also, later, a teevee series based on the movie. It ran four seasons on the Syfy channel. Might need to check that out but FIRST I gotta dive into lighter, mindlessly fun escapism.

On a lighter, happier note, we now have our very own neighborhood monolith! Ten discovered it early this morning while taking his walk – it’s a mile or so away. I wish I could make the trek up and over the hill to see it live and in person but, nonetheless, I AM thrilled to see pics.

I just realized this morning that the most probable reason for my recent, vastly escalated tippyness is the BIG increase in my anti-seizure meds. There’s a long-ass list of side effects here of which I’ve definitely had:

• Dizziness
• Loss Of Muscle Coordination
• Blurred Vision
• Irritability
• Low Energy
• Stuffy/Runny Nose

Joy. The good news is that, after the next procedure (surgery or chemo) I’ll, most likely, get to decrease the med OR stop taking it entirely. Getting around will be less challenging at that point.

In the right here and now, I’ve got to teach my body/brain how to better stabilize – how to walk and not fall over – in spite of the pro-plotz meds.

I CAN do this.

We're in for nasty weather

How is it only Tuesday and why are there still seven more long days until the election?

I’m expecting each day to be more of an utter shitshow than the one before and doubt I'll be disappointed.

Despite rotting before our very eyes. Wrinkly Gamera (Shower Cap’s tag for Moscow Mitch) is still somehow able to carry on with his democracy destruction. He continues to pack the courts with incompetent rightwing whackaloons whose sole purpose is to return the U.S. to the good old days. Ya know, before women could vote or have ANY financial or physical autonomy; a time when LBGT folk needed to live in deep, dark closets because their love was deemed heinously wrong by a bunch of craptacularly hypocritical, bigoted Mr./Mrs. Kravitz types. MM and his team of craven shitheels miss the fine times when wearing a white robe and pointy hood was a smart fashion statement versus a billboard, advertising a desperately limited and diseased mind. 

The Republi/Facist goons are nostalgic for when they could easily be no more than milquetoasty mediocre and/or cravenly criminal and STILL rule the roost.

What’s that you say? But, but Amy Covid Barrett’s a woman – she’s been voted onto the highest court in the land (a lifetime appointment!) by Republicans. She's got a vagina so we're all good, right? 

WRONG-O, mes amis. For the Party of Predjudice, women and POC are no more than show pieces. They’re flags to fly to “prove” they're rilly, truly not a barbarous, dimwitted group of bullying asshats who’re trying to role back progress to the 1850s. HONEST!

Nice try fuckheads but I ain't buying yur half baked horseshit.

Covid Barrett’s just a useful idiot, tool like Phyllis Schlafly, Crazy Eyes Bachmann or the Abominable Snowbilly, Sarah Palin. Barrett’s nothing more than window dressing to gull and comfort the rubes. Ya know, the sort who start a sentence with “I’m all for equal rights BUT…”

Yeah, we're in for nasty weather.

Enough of all this though.

Ten’s seventh grandchild was born at 4:38 this morning. Abigail Rose is healthy as all hell and we look forward to meeting her. Ten’s son Jaxon and daughter-in-law Denise are frazzled and exhausted but happy.

When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
~ William Shakespeare, King Lear

Nothing compares to becoming aware of the massive face of the universe hidden in a newborn’s stare.
~ Curtis Tyrone Jones

The most ironic thing in the world is having no say when your name is determined for the first time (which is also for the last time for most), because newborns are not necessarily known for speaking their minds.
~ Pawan Mishra, Coinman: An Untold Conspiracy

If Chuck or Lu had just asked me (and I was able to articulate), I would’ve opted for Ruby Ocean or Ruby Reptilicus. Either one woulda been all groovy and shit.

O Fortuna

Never a dull moment here in Valhalla by the Sea but, as I’m sure you know, we wear it well.

We finally got Oni’s Plague45 test results back and, yes, he’s got it. Not too surprised as he’s def exhibiting symptoms – NOT severe (yet and hopefully he won’t get any worse than he is). No word on Jen’s test yet.

Gotta say, I’m feeling, amidst all this dookiness, rilly pretty fuckin’ favored by Fortuna – Roman goddess of luck –  and shit.

Warum? Ten hadn’t planned on being home from Oregon until late autumn. It’s no more than chance that he came back early AND tested negative for Trump’s Disease. While my ability to get around increases and pain decrease daily, progress can be measured in Angstroms. I need help AND, seeing as Umlaut and Coco haven’t seen fit to grow opposable thumbs YET, someone’s got to slop the herd.

Plus, I feel MUCH safer, given my limited and wildly tippy mobility, with someone else inna house. With Oni (and undoubtedly Jen as well) dancing the COVID tango, without Ten I'd be on me own. If I fell down the steps or had a seizure (as I did post bean surgery) or, ya know, wanted to commit acts of hygiene, I’d be fucked. Sure, if I fell but was still conscious and had my phone on me, I could text 911 for help BUT how would they get in? Yup, they’d have to break down the door. That'd suck.

ALSO, this would scare the cats and I try to avoid that shit. I’m all fucking humane like that, ya know?

In any case, obvs it’s fab-city that Ten is home for a shit-ton of reasons beyond the simple fact that I’m madly in love with that gorgeous, long haired, hippy freak, witch doctor.

Once again, we’re in this mess because a blindingly obtuse, empathy devoid, stupid fucking homunculus brained, pathetic excuse for an adult human, co-worker of J&O’s just HAD to go to a close quarters, rat-licker’s party in the Live Free and Die state of New Hampshire.

I have a def urge to go all Cask of Amontillado  on that worthless, lavvy heided bampot. We could wall him in, phone-less, with the Tangerine Treasonweasel in a sub-basement at MGH. There’ll be a small opening, seven feet up the wall, in which nurses can whisper “Hungry? Too damn bad, you fecal brained toads. Snack on each other, K?” Frankly, they’d croak from listening to each other’s spectacularly simpleminded, narcissistic convo before dinner time. Guaranteed. 

I have never killed any one, but I have read some obituary notices with great satisfaction.
~ Clarence Darrow

O Fortuna – Carl Orff

Another Courbet Morning

I woke, yet again, in full blown Courbet levels of stabby pain. A long string of expletives shot out of my crabby maw as I attempted to get this round chubby ass of mine up out of bed.

Yes, shit’s getting a little better every day but progress could be measured in microns (motherfucking, needle-dicked, rabid weasel humping, colostomy bag brained, son of a greedheaded Republi/Facist!). Also too, there’s that bullshit, two steps forward and one (sometimes three) back.

MOTHERFUCKER!!!

Yeah, the painkillers will kick in soon – just NOT soon enough for my tastes.

Standing on the curb she called on ancient methods of biomanipulation to override the pain in her gut. It was only pain. Pain was an illusion, a feedback response from nerve endings transmitted to the brain. The brain couldn’t feel pain. The brain could only report pain from other parts of the body. Pain wasn’t real. Pain was just nerves doing their job. Pain was only a matter of perception.
~A. Lee Martinez, Constance Verity Saves the World

OK, I AM a Sōhei Warrior Monk and I will triumph, goddammit, TRIUMPH!!!

Meanwhile, THIS HURTS. Perhaps, this morning I’ve gone beyond Courbet and have achieved Munchness. Could be.

I only mention it but when I relayed this Buddhist pain crap to Ten just now. He laughed. Laughed! OK, so did I. Nevermind.

Just FYI, A. Lee Martinez is EXACTLY who I need to be reading right now. Fuck the fucking news!

By the by, did I mention? Ten is back home from the battlefields of Oregon. YEA, FUCKING YEA! As uszh, I’m feeling some embarrassment, a bit of discomfit along with a soupçon of chagrin that he’s come home to this weak-ass, needy howler monkey. Yeah, that’d be yurs fucking truly.

When he left I was still recovering (but well into Recovery Land) from bean slice-age and now it’s my back? C’mon now, this health shit’s really straining the bounds of reality, don’cha think? While I was indulging in my swear-a-thon, Ten ultra-graciously got me painkillers and brewed a pot ‘o’ joe. Swear ta Bast, I don’t know what I endured in my, theoretical, past lives to score such an awesome partner AND famiglia in this life.

An offhand observation – the reading matter in the OR waiting area has gotten MUCH better. FUCK that Golf Digest/Better Homes and Rattraps/Runners Mag shit! Last Friday was Marvel comics for the win!

More offhandedness – fellow blogger pal Infidel753 (a total fave) has one of his great random observations posts up – LOVE these! Two of ‘em that totes spoke to me:

I will never tolerate being lectured on morality by people who eat meat.  That would be absurd.

I always find it a bit presumptuous when some American says "If such-and-such candidate wins, I'm moving to Canada."  Why is he so sure Canada would want him?

Go, read, read.

Our House

...is a very, very, very fine house with two cats in the yard
Life used to be so hard
Now everything is easy 'cause of you
Crosby, Stills and Nash

Well shit’s still challenging BUT it’s a damn sight less scary and painful with Ten by my side.

Coco too.

From his old home in Oregon, Ten brought a single bed, a futon. He put it on the porch for the cats (specifically Umlaut) to sleep on. Ya know, a man who’ll move a futon cross-country for cats he’s not even met yet, is TOTALLY my kind of man.

I woke at zero dark thirty consumed with worries. About what? Whaddya got?

Coco came to my rescue. She leaped onto my chest, with purr engines cranked to 11, reminding me to do some deep breathing exercises. It worked – I eventually drifted back into the Land of Nod. Coco’s such a smart beastie!

I’m attempting to find a path, a way to get through the horrorshow that’s steamrolled our country. You know, with a few shreds of joie de vivre intact and shit. Hillel suggests I take a break from reading the news.

That's a good start. Maybe I’ll even sleep a solid eight too. I’m gonna have to start paying Coco overtime soon.

Three Years On

I haven’t gone full metal Eeyore in a while. Ya know why? Ten.

On reading the very first comment he left here on Tell Me a Story, I felt a long dormant jolt. I wondered, the hell is this feeling. And then it came to me – OMG, this is a crush. I have a crush!

Yup. Big time. 

What’d he say to start me up? Dunno, can’t find it now (dammit!). He reminded me so much of The Amazing Bob though. Of course I knew he wasn’t TAB (duh) but, like TAB, Ten's kindness, gruff lived-a-life-or-three humor and smarts radiated.

Like I was caught in a tractor beam, I was pulled in.

I wondered, should I feel bad about this? After all, TAB had only been gone a couple years and I was still heavy with grief. I confessed my crushing to Jen. I made her read Ten's comments so’s she could tell me:

1. If he really did have a whiff of TAB about him
2. If having this big-ass attraction was too soon, unseemly and stone proof of my long suspected shallowness.
3. In my sea of grief, was I looking for a TAB replacement? That’d be pretty damn rude and unfair to Ten, ya know. Also too, I’d be setting my-own-self up for a Grand Canyon sized fall.

Jen allowed that:

1. Yes, Ten reminded her of TAB too. They seemed to have like sensibilities.
2. NO, it wasn’t too soon OR unseemly and, NO, I wasn't being shallow.
3. No. Though swimming in sad I was most def not scouting TAB successors. I just couldn’t imagine (and you all know that I have quite the active and expansive fantasy life) anyone tripping my trigger ever again.

And then a stranger appeared on the Western horizon.

You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.
~ Anne Lamott

Ten and I are waltzing, tangoing and lindy hopping together now. We both have limps but that doesn’t stop the dance.

Deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope.     
~ Elizabeth Gilbert

That was Michal. Michal lost her beloved four or five years before TAB took his final bows. She gave me hope.

Someone Saved My Life Tonight – Elton John

The Struggle is Real!

Rough day yesterday. I had a doc appointment for nothing serious and the motherfuckers weighed me. I’ve GAINED two whole pounds!!! This threw off the whole appointment. Instead of, primarily, discussing the issue I’d made the appointment for I was freakin’ about my weight increase.

YES, it’s only two pounds BUT now I have 17 to lose, not 15 (a much nicer number, don’cha know).

I felt the nurse was semi-heartless in that she just kept repeating that I need to be consistent in my exercising and eating. Right. Understood but, ya know, it’s kinda hard to get to the gym every day when I’m jumping through near constant eyeball and spine hoops. Still, I get it. I have to get back on the super-conscious calorie counting train and throw myself out the door and off to the Y on the regular.

Here’s the REAL thing though, how can I successfully diet when I’m living with a Kitchen God? Ten is a BRILL chef. His quiche, amongst other dishes, is just spectacular.

Quiche To`mas 

My quiche: broccoli, brussel sprouts, cauliflower, meatless chorizo (Mexican sausage), Mexican spiced four cheeses and a hint of Parmesan, Romano and pink Himalayan salt.

The Amazing Bob was also a kitchen god. On top of the fab curries, casseroles and such, he was a tremendous baker. OH those pies, cookies and cakes!

Between the two of them, it’s just incredible that I’m not 200 pounds.

It occurs to me that, had I found either of these mega handsome, smart and talented life partners via match.com or eHarmony, I may’ve had some awfully odd answers to their Tell Us About Yourself questions. Fer example:

Q: What Are You Passionate About?
A: Art, music, cats, QUICHE and kindness.

Q: What Two or Three Things Do You Enjoy Doing With Your Leisure Time?
A: Painting, taking care of my small-ish herd of cat, eating QUICHE!

Q: What Are The Three Things You’re Thankful For?
A: John Scalzi and Sherman Alexie’s books, the dawn and QUICHE!

Eggs over easy and some insanely sumptuous hash browns

Q: Are You Open to Meet Someone Who Already Has Children?
A: That depends, do they know how to cook?

Q: How Far Should We Search for Your Matches?
A: My primary concern is kitchen skills and a willingness to work in MY colorful kitchen/painting studio. So, find me someone appropriate from wherever as long as this potential beau is willing to come here with his own cuisine crafting gear.

Scrambled, salsa and awe-inspiring hash browns

Q: If Your Best Friends Had to Pick Four Words to Describe You, Which Four Would They Pick?
A: Hungry…can I use that for all four?

My profile would also note that I paint, occasionally play in the clay, that I do NOT cook but appreciate talent. I’d note that I’m particularly fond of QUICHE, curries and pie. Also, a lovely little oatmeal, spinach. white chocolate chip cookie is a major plus. Creativity in la cucina is the path to my heart, soul AND libido.

I know that I can still have Ten's most awesome of creations BUT I gotta exhibit some goddamned self-control. Ya know, have one small piece instead of two giant ones (i.e., half the pie).

I CAN do this!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ten just announced, as he walked into the kitchen, that he's making QUICHE for brekkie.

A) I'm doomed! My self-control quails in the face of QUICHE.
B) I don't believe he's put off by those two extra pounds that I'm hauling around.
C) I guess I'm in for a double work out at the gym today, eh?

Also too, DAY-UM I lurv this man somethin' fierce!

Paging Dr. Ten. Dr. Ten white courtesy phone!

The evening before last I just could NOT get off to sleep. At all! It’s been a zillion years (it seems) since I’ve had a night like that. I believe I’ve already mentioned the Slumberville healing powers of my man Ten. He was in the bed so...what the fuck and shit? Was ist los? I'm askin' ya!

Eh, I have a BIG-ass, mega confusing layout job in house. The customer's instructions are radically conflictual, no small amount of image files are absent and, though I could see they’d attempted to be organized, the directions looked more like a ball of yarn after a team of kittens had been at delirious play. 

Work stress – WHAT FUN!

I managed an hours nap after which Ten and I motored down to Nantasket for a brief high tide walk. After, we sat on the seawall to watch the big show – the sun peaking out from beyond the waves and ever so slowly rising up, turning the world into a giant, golden disco-balled club with its beautiful blinding rays.

There’s just nothing more restorative than Nantasket in the pre-dawn hours; taking a lovely stroll on the sand; watching the emerging ruby tones of the coming day paint the waves; witnessing the seagulls as they play, glide and hunt for brekkie.

We came home and, after that nearly complete night spent awake, attempting to parse and follow the design/layout customer’s myriad instructions (written by committee with, seemingly, zero internal communication) I climbed into bed to read before dropping into ZZZ Land. Yes, even Nantasket's healing beauty was no match for that.

But what story was I reading? Hard to recall when I'm brainjammed from lack of sleepytime.

Was it the one about the WWII Englishwoman working as a spy within a nest of Nazi sympathizers? Maybe it was the one about the young zombie girl trying to thwart a zombie/human war (can’t we all just get along?). OR could I have been reading the story about the woman who finds herself in an alt. dimension, leading someone else’s precarious, danger filled life?

I believe I dropped off whilst puzzling this out.

Regarding that giant, tangled mess of a book that I’m attempting to lay out in a clean, elegant way… This is gala season for all the local nonprofits.  Essentially, the galas are elaborate thank yous to donors, come-hithers to hoped for future volunteers and givers AND, just generally the adult version of a prom.

The folks submitting files for these booklets are, for the most part, overworked volunteers doing all this in their time off from demanding full time, paying rent-making gigs.

I managed to put together a sample for review based on my understanding of the notes. I also noted where the missing bits were supposed to appear but couldn’t owing to them not existing in their submitted tangled mass.

For the mo, this particular, biggest of gala books is off my plate. I’m sure they’ll get back to me in another day or three with 1,001 indignant and impatient “NO, we meant X or Y” and “oh, here’s that ad/pic/text you needed” notes. I just gotta let this roll off – water/seagulls back and all that. They’re just exhausted, unpaid people doing what they can to support those who who need a hand – the deaf/blind, the homeless, young girls needing an entrée into adulthood, etc.

Huh, I've come up with yet another example of when I shouldn't take shit personally. Waddya know?

Blast From The Past

This is a post from another lifetime. I had these imaginings seven full years ago. In that stretch my rear view mirror's witnessed a shit ton of action. I've clocked some excruciatingly sad and scary as hell times AS WELL AS revelationally happy ones.

I never thought I would smile and feel whole again after The Amazing Bob shuffled off this mortal coil. Time and Ten – they work a splendid treat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

In an alternate universe, on an alternate time line I was, I did. I became...

When I left my carnival life behind, I sought out and joined The Big Apple Circus where I learned to ride ponies bareback without fear and fly, in sequins and spangles of course, on the lofty trapeze. Then, THEN came the Cirque du Soleil where I learned how to fly nicely with others (always profitable, salubrious even, to get along with your coworkers).

After that I would have become involved in theater—painting sets and hunting up appropriate props for any given show. Brooklyn Heights would have been my home. Or Alphabet City—either one.

Naturally, this is where I would have met The Amazing Bob—he exists/WE exist in ALL alternate universes. He would have been the theater company’s resident poet, re-write king and, of course, total hot babe.

In an alternate universe I was a squatter, I was besetzen. I occupied, painted and sculpted in an awesome industrial space within the Kreuzberg section of Berlin. Yeah, das bin mich!

In an alternate universe I worked on the pediatric burn ward at Mass General  going home each night in tears, drowning the pain by proxy in Chianti and Jamisons.

In an alternate universe, I never met TAB and spent my years tweaked out on any random opiate to get past the exquisitely intense feelings of alienation. I refuse to believe that universe could ever possibly exist.

The Amazing Bob with grandkiddles

In an alternate universe, TAB and I had a zillion kids (much like the dream I had last night). He would be the stay at home loving, wondrous parent and I would be the bread winner, the eclair earner, the grub getter. TAB is amazing with kids. Kids and animals. And humans of all kinds. Me—not so much and that’s OK. I’m good with cats. OK, I’m a feline doormat—NOT the same thing as being good with cats, I suppose.

On that note—in an alternate universe, all our cats, indoor and porch dwelling, would get along like halvah and green grapes, like Tristan and Isolde, like Cheech and Chong. Ah, you get where I’m going on this.

In an alternate universe, Jen and I are the same age and went through high school hell together. We were skateboarding, stoner, art babes, standing together against the frumious bandersnatches who stood in our way.

Alternate universes are interesting places to vacation.

Climate change is here, snowflake …

Crossposted from g'da over at Homeless in the High Desert:

So put down the Ambien, Prozac, Viagra and bimbo bobble-headed, bottle-blonde crotch-shots on Fox “News'” Kool-Aid, turn off the television and pull your head out of Donald Trump’s fat ass because the apocalypse has a new date: 2048.

"That’s when the world’s oceans will be empty of fish, predicts an international team of ecologists and economists. The cause: the disappearance of species due to overfishing, pollution, habitat loss, and climate change.

The study by Boris Worm, PhD, of Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, — with colleagues in the U.K., U.S., Sweden, and Panama — was an effort to understand what this loss of ocean species might mean to the world.

The researchers analyzed several different kinds of data. Even to these ecology-minded scientists, the results were an unpleasant surprise.

“I was shocked and disturbed by how consistent these trends are — beyond anything we suspected,” Worm says in a news release.

“This isn’t predicted to happen. This is happening now,” study researcher Nicola Beaumont, PhD, of the Plymouth Marine Laboratory, U.K., says in a news release.

“If biodiversity continues to decline, the marine environment will not be able to sustain our way of life. Indeed, it may not be able to sustain our lives at all,” Beaumont adds.

Already, 29% of edible fish and seafood species have declined by 90% — a drop that means the collapse of these fisheries.

But the issue isn’t just having seafood on our plates. Ocean species filter toxins from the water. They protect shorelines. And they reduce the risks of algae blooms such as the red tide.

“A large and increasing proportion of our population lives close to the coast; thus the loss of services such as flood control and waste detoxification can have disastrous consequences,” Worm and colleagues say.

The researchers analyzed data from 32 experiments on different marine environments.
They then analyzed the 1,000-year history of 12 coastal regions around the world, including San Francisco and Chesapeake bays in the U.S., and the Adriatic, Baltic, and North seas in Europe.

Next, they analyzed fishery data from 64 large marine ecosystems.

And finally, they looked at the recovery of 48 protected ocean areas.

Their bottom line: Everything that lives in the ocean is important. The diversity of ocean life is the key to its survival. The areas of the ocean with the most different kinds of life are the healthiest.

But the loss of species isn’t gradual. It’s happening fast — and getting faster, the researchers say.

Worm and colleagues call for sustainable fisheries management, pollution control, habitat maintenance, and the creation of more ocean reserves.

This, they say, isn’t a cost; it’s an investment that will pay off in lower insurance costs, a sustainable fish industry, fewer natural disasters, human health, and more.

“It’s not too late. We can turn this around,” Worm says. “But less than 1% of the global ocean is effectively protected right now.”"

Worm and colleagues report their findings in the Nov. 3 issue of Science.

SOURCES: Worm, B. Science, Nov. 3, 2006; vol 314: pp 787-790; SeaWeb, American Association for the Advancement of Science. Hat tip Ian Welsh.

And the second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it turned to blood like that of the dead, and every living thing in the sea died. 
~ Revelation, 16:3

You are a clear and present danger to my grandchildren’s future.

Co-Solitude is Better

Ten flew back to his Oregon high desert yesterday afternoon and my home feels so terribly empty without him. I've always honestly enjoyed being on my own – just me and, now, Coco BUT, as Balzac has said,

Solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine.

Ten and I do nothing exceptionally well together. That is, we don’t have to talk, talk, talk or go places. We hang out, putter around, read and just generally coexist – we chill together and it’s molto, très comfortable. He should be here with me right now. We'd note to each other that OUR (co)solitude is really damn lovely and, of course, it would be.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore…
~ Lord Byron

Yeah, I can dig it but the shore is ever so much more glorious with Ten at my side.

Ya know how, while I’m sitting at my desk, I can see the water? The sky too, with its giant, endless palette of color – from dawn to midnight. Blows my fuckin’ mind EVERY single day. One of my favoritest things of all is watching how the sunlight plays on the ocean and clouds. At particularly bodacious moments I’ll, if not dressed, throw on my robe and slippers (plus scarf and hat if it’s cold), grab my camera and run across the street to the seawall.

The Empress of Impetuousness kinda wore him out, mebbe

It’s not like I calmly plan or nonchalantly announce “gosh, I believe I’ll walk down to the water in my jammies coz, GEE, wouldn’t that be a hoot. Oh yeah, and the view’s pretty awesome right now. It’ll hold still, won’t shift a bit while I finish my coffee, right?” Nope, I leap out the door and run because I've learned from Mr. Adams!

As it turns out, this little inclination of mine didn’t ease up whilst I was recovering from the big scary back surgery+nasty-ass cold. I sorta forgot, after the first post-MGH week, that spotters were still a smart, if not always absolutely needed, idea.

Worried my man is what I did – what with me being there one minute and then, *POOF*, gone. In my precarious ultra weak and tippy state, I could’ve easily fallen and, like rilly, hurt myself quite badly. I believe Ten’s exact words were “yur freakin’ me out.” NATURALLY and mega eloquently, I replied “wut?” After that, I’d announce “I’m headed to the water” before dashing off. It was only smart and fair to give the man a heads up so he’d have half a chance to catch up to his mega impulsive companion. Right?

I’m now in my seventh week of recovery and in much better shape. In fact, I’m thinking that as soon as Bix’s out of the car hospital (rat-bastid check engine light is on…dammit), I’m gonna start going to the Y again. YES, I’ll be careful. I’ll take it slow and easy at first. Honest! Also, next week I begin rehab so I’ll be learning how to build my strength and endurance and shit.

By the time Ten and I head to Redwoods National Forest in May, I’ll be a hiking queen!

…love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. …believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

A Walden Morning

Yesterday morning, the first day of the new year started grey. Would there be more rain? I had my heart set on taking Ten out to Walden Pond for a ramble ‘round the pond.

Back in Cambridge days, in summer, Jen and I would head out there after work on the regular. Compared to now, from Valhalla, it was a relatively short drive AND it was swimmable, wade-friendly water (as opposed to the Charles which was just down the street from where we lived). Now that we have an ocean harbor RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET we never make the trek out to this gorgeous, surrounded by wonderful woods, little pond. It’s been at least ten years since my last visit.

Walden has a romantic free spirit air to it. Yeah, that’s about Thoreau, sure but, for me, it’s more about those early, relatively carefree, days when Jen, Oni, The Amazing Bob and I were living together in a beat to shit triple decker on the, then, low rent east side of Cambridge.

Walking the path around the pond (as much as I could manage anyway) with my new, mostly fixed back and my new man, on this first day of the new year struck me as a GREAT way to begin again. (just FYI, I managed to walk OVER a mile over the rough ground and didn't fall – not even once!)

I was surprised to see a bunch ‘o’ cars in the Pond’s parking lot. Not jam-packed but we wouldn’t be alone on the trail. That was AOK seein' as how everyone we passed was all blissed up and friendly. Apparently this is a thing – First Day Hikes. The heavy, rain threatening clouds eventually moved on and it was absolutely gorgeous. I’d forgotten how much I love Walden. It rock solidly imbues a big-ass, amazing peace vibe. I can totes understand why good ol’ Henry D. spent two years, two months and two days here in such gorgeous solitude.

Ten and Henry D.

We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us… and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring.

~ Henry David Thoreau from “Spring,” Walden

Today is Ten’s last here in Valhalla. I’m experiencing my usual sadness and separation anxiety. Actually, it began a couple days ago but I decided to put that shit away on a high, back shelf. Why, while he’s happily here, drown with sadness that he won’t always be? Makes no bloody sense.  I DO feel guilt (remember? That’s my superpower) that I wasn’t in grand, peak form while he was here. I thought I’d be completely recovered and we’d be gallivanting all over New England, taking hikes through the Blue Hills and along Nantasket, hitting more of the Harvard museums, chillin’ and snarfing in the North End and, just generally, whooping it up.

Ten, on the other hand, had a greater sense of reality (yur shocked right – wut, no?) and told me that he’d come to help me heal. CHRIST ON A CALLIOPE I LOVE THIS MAN!

We’ll be together again in May when we go to the Redwood National Forest in Northern California. I’m gonna rehab the shit outta myself (official rehab starts on Tuesday) and be in brill, MUCH less tippy shape by then so’s we can hike around all those majestic beasties!

Turn and face the strange

When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
~ Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

In losing The Amazing Bob, I find that I've changed. I’m much less social than I was before. I have negative amounts of tolerance for unkindness and, even, simple careless thoughtlessness. Now, maybe this isn’t all because TAB vanished from my world. It could be just plain old aging and the inevitability of personal evolution. I’m becoming who I was always meant to be – a kind but cranky, not terribly social, old oddball.

As Edie Brickell sang, so many years ago, what I am is what I am. I grow more so every day...and shit.

Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.
~ Lao Tzu

Easier said than done. In this age of Fascism in America where all that is personal has been hacked, attacked and sacked by the Republican/Fascist machine it is an heroic act of survival to stand up straight, talk back, not hide or cower, to be who we really are. Granted, if I was a wealthy, healthy, white, het man (OR Susan Sarandon) I'd have nada to worry about. Me? I'm white and het – that just ain't enough to get me outta this rotting rhubarb patch.

In a future time, when this current crop of criminals and cruel despots are well out of power, we can be all cool, watching the river flow. That time is not now.

I DO imagine that Lao Tzu was speaking of smaller, much more personal type changes. Even so, I want to thoroughly understand ‘the fuck’s goin’ on. I wanna know the whys about everything. Once I’ve got that, I can be (or work toward being) all *ching* I’m cool. Just gonna sit here contemplating the sun as it glints off Coco’s fur.

The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Speaking of snakes, 45 and his Republican/Fascist Party of venomous vipers will never be able to shed their skins or change their logic and fact-free minds. They may never be gone from this planet, (because hatred of the other is a hideous and persistent bug in human software), BUT they will, at least, go into hibernation.

If you love deeply, you're going to get hurt badly. But it's still worth it.
~ C.S. Lewis

Ten will be here in just a few days  Sunday afternoon to be all precise and shit.

A friend of mine was telling me about his new girlfriend’s insecurity and jealousy. I had that problem with TAB – I was obscenely insecure. TAB explained to me that he felt insulted by my jealousy – he felt I didn’t trust him OR understand how he felt about me. The second bit was the true part. I thought so little of myself and SO much of him that I figured he’d bail when the first smart, pretty chica gave him the time of day. I got over it and, to this day, feel bad and embarrassed about my behavior. Guilt – my superpower.
I learned and evolved.

With Ten, jealousy isn’t on the table, even though we’re 3,000 miles apart. Christ almighty, some hot bright babe could swoop right in, whisk him off his feet. I’m not there to defend my territory //snort//. This COULD really happen BUT, I’m just thrilled and surprised that I’ve found someone who gets me and vice versa. If he finds someone else (or someone else finds him), I’ll be mega sad BUT still molto happy for this experience and the time we’ve had together.

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
Changes – David Bowie