Back Crackin'

 

"The art of medicine consists of amusing the patient while nature cures the disease." - Voltaire

 

Today was another memorable first for Gina, in a year of so many memorable firsts.  Today she had her first chiropractic adjustment.

 

Having been in and out of chiropractic care for some 20 years now I'm sure this will be good for her in the long run.  We all have little aches and pains, and some big aches and pains, to show for the wear and tear of life.  In Gina's case it may be that her adventure on the giant slide at the Iowa State Fair was a little too exciting.

 

She did really well with it.  A few soft "ows" and only one poignant "ouch".  Not too bad, a real trooper!

 

Of course watching her 'enjoy' her new experience got me to thinking, which of our animal friends would most benefit from the manipulations of the chiropractor.

 

The snake was a rather obvious choice.  He's really just one very long spine with a couple of sharp teeth and a talented tongue.  Slithering around through the grass and across the sharp rocks all day, surely he would be in need of an adjustment. 

 

Then again, in many spiritual traditions the snake is literally the very symbol of healing as well as the symbol of eternity.  Shedding his skin as the cycles of his life pass by, continually renewing himself, it is an honor well appointed.

 

Another likely candidate for chiropractic care is the giraffe.  With his long supple neck surely he knows what a pain in the neck is all about!   

 

Adult male giraffes will use their long necks in battles for dominance known as necking.  These contests can vary in intensity from little more than pushing each other to huge swings of the necks that can (rarely) end in death.  The winner of the contest will have greater success in his attempts to breed, although will first use his dominance to mount the loser.  

 

The ostrich is another likely candidate for cervical care with their long fluid neck.  

But unlike the giraffe this odd looking bird doesn't use it's neck as a weapon.  Instead the ostrich has an extremely powerful kick, and they have been known to kill lions in the wild by crushing the cat's windpipe.





















Maybe the apes, especially the great apes, are prone to the ills that plague mankind's lower back.  They are of a very similar build, and carry a great deal of weight on their ample frame. 

Yet I can't imagine any of them holding an ice pack to a sore neck, or complaining "Oh, my aching back!"  And would a massive silver back ever proclaim, "Must be rain a comin'. My knees are acting up."

Would any of the fauna that inhabit our world with us benefit from a well placed vertebral manipulation?  Would they be relieved of that so very annoying cracking, popping, and creaking that emanates from my worn out neck? 

Probably not.  Many of the aches and pains that we humans suffer from are largely self inflicted, and more often than not the result of our use of technology. 

Eye strain, neck and back pain, carpal tunnel syndrome are just a few of the maladies that result from the use of computers. 

Stores are full of back cushions, neck cushions, heated cushions, and vibrating cushions that all offer dubious promises of relief.  We spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars on "ergonomic" furniture that promises to ease our suffering while we work or play at our desktop, laptop, tablet, or smart phone.  And every year a new crop of snake oil gadgets hits the market.

In the end I must conclude that, barring the occasional accidental injury, it is only the human species that really needs the services of the chiropractor.

At least, until gorillas start using "Apebook".

Pooh Corner

"You'd be surprised there's so much to be done.

Count all the bees in the hive.

 Chase all the clouds from the sky."

 

House at Pooh Corner by Kenny Loggins

 

 

 

 

In the television program Ally McBeal the main character is given an assignment by her therapist to come up with her own theme song.  She chose the song "Tell Him" by the Exciters. 

 

That always seemed to me an interesting exercise.  A theme song describes you in a very basic way.  It tells the world who it is that you want the world to see.  It makes people want to get to know you.

 

So I thought about what I would pick as my own theme song.  Eventually I settled on "House at Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins. 

For one thing it is a really nice song, and one of the few songs in a key that I can sing without making the neighborhood dogs howl.  An important factor in choosing a theme song.

My choice was also inspired by one of my favorite books.  It was the book "The Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Hoff that first awakened my interested in Taoist philosophy.  The book explains some of the principal beliefs in Taoist thinking using the timeless characters in A. A. Milne's beloved stories.

There is 'wise' Owl, who is so fond of explaining things in a scholarly way, but somehow he manages to keep his feathers from getting dirty.  Eeyore the donkey, schlepping his way through life in a permanent funk, always looking for the gloomy side, and always finding it.

Rabbit is perhaps the character most typical of today's modern lifestyle.  Always on the go, always having someplace to be other than where he is.  Measuring life by how many things he does, yet never seeming too concerned with how well he does them. 

Then there is our little friend, Winnie the Pooh. 

Pooh bear, so misunderstood.  People mistake him for a simpleton.  Yet it is his simple approach to life that makes him the wisest of them all, without being wise about much at all. 

He exemplifies many of the ideals that the Taoist masters strive for.

First is right seeing.  To approach life with eyes open, seeing all the world for what is important, for what matters most. 

He sees that Rabbit is constantly running from here to there and back again, yet he sees that there is not one single step that isn't to help his friends.  While Owl drones on with his pontifications, Pooh sees that he only wishes to make the lives of his friends smoother through the wisdom of others.  And while Pooh sees Eeyore  moping through the Hundred Acre Wood he sees the eternal bright spot that Eeyore carries in his heart for his friends. 

Pooh sees that his friend Piglet may be small in stature, yet he also sees that Piglet is large in the love in his heart.

Next is right action.  By seeing the world in it's true nature, by letting the world be what it is, and allowing the world to work the way it must work, we live in harmony with the world.

Pooh may get his nose stuck in a honey jar from time to time, but he finds the most delicious part of the honey at the bottom. 

Pooh loves going on adventures with his friends, because he knows he is with his friends.  And if you can be with your friends the world will work itself out. 

Many people confuse the idea of right action as a "go with the flow" attitude.  If something is hard to do you shouldn't try. 

Perhaps if things seem impossible the real problem is that it's something you shouldn't be doing.  Not because it's hard, but because it's a mistake. 

Yet if you are seeing the world for it's true nature, and you are letting the world do what it must do, then things will work themselves out of their own accord.  It may be hard, but it won't seem impossible.  If the sidewalk is icy don't run, slide.

The third and most important ideal in Taoism is compassion.

When all is said and done, when you set aside the rituals and fancy robes, the prayers and the proverbs, isn't that what every religion is saying?  Isn't that the single bit of advice that will make the world a better place?

Pooh has compassion.  He has a heart that is more full of compassion then his tummy is full of honey.

This blog has turned into something very different than what I thought it would be when I started.  Thankfully it became what it needed to be.  And in that spirit I should let it come to an end of it's own accord, with a quote from the greatest Taoist master of all, Winnie the Pooh.


"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."



 



 



Dancing Lessons

"As Bokonon says: 'peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from god.'"

- Kurt Vonnegut, "Cat's Cradle"

 

 

Looking back at my life there are many times and places that, at least in retrospect, don't seem to make sense.  It's not that I'm confused about what happened, but perhaps more in awe that the universe somehow conspired to put me in that place at that time.

 

Arguably one of the most dramatic dancing lessons I've received happened when I was 11 years old, barely old enough to really see what was going on in the world.  In that year my mother packed up the family and moved us from Michigan to Iowa.

 

There was a time in my life when I wondered what my life would be like if we had stayed in Michigan. Would I be a doctor?  Would I be a famous poet?

 

All that I can say with any measure of certainty about that move was that it left me feeling very alone, and very vulnerable.

 

The next few moves in the dance seemed more like a horrible misstep, ending in my dropping out of high school. It was never that the work was hard, or that I didn't love to learn.  My decision to leave high school had more to do with being surrounded by teachers and students who didn't seem to care. 

 

Somewhere inside my heart I just wanted to get on with life.

 

At the age of 17 I was married, and at the age of 19 my first daughter was born.  Instead of going into nursing school as I had planned I took a job with a convenience store chain (that will remain nameless so no one can decide to sue me later). 

 

I will have to admit, I've never been one to suffer fools gladly.  And considering some of the, let's say colorful, examples of humanity I had to deal with at 3 am, it's a miracle I stayed there as long as I did.

 

Stumbling along through life, doing the best I could, just trying to be the kind of person other people wanted me to be, hating myself for no good reason.  Eventually my wife left me and took my kids away to a far off land.  My employer decided it was time we had a parting of the ways.

 

The darkest days of my life.  Yet the dance continued. 

 

Step by step the dance brought me closer to the next lesson.  Going to college for at least a few semesters, a few dates here and there.  Work was a challenge I enjoyed, and gave me opportunities to travel. I got to see other parts of the country I would other wise have missed. 

 

The need to lose weight twirled me into taking hikes, which dosey-doed me into photography.

 

Somewhere in there I two stepped into the notice of another amateur photographer.  The dance turned into a Virginia reel, and started one of the most hectic periods of my life. And the most important.

 

So here I am.  Some times when I look back it seems like a crazy dance, some times it seems more like a pinball machine that had gone haywire. 

 

I could still ask, what would my life be like now if we had not moved to Iowa, if I had not dropped out of school, if I had not become a photographer.  In the end it's an empty question, you can never know what's down the road not traveled.  And I truly don't care any more.

 

I'm happy where I am, and eagerly waiting the next dance step.

200 Motels

 

"I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds."   - Jack Kerouac, On The Road  

 

 

 

Although I certainly can't claim to be much of a world traveler I have spent my fair share of time in hotels and motels. All hotel rooms are more or less the same, and often the circumstances and the city have more to do with the experience then the amenities of the room.  

 

My first experience with a hotel was in Detroit.  My brother and I were treated to a trip there with our mother, and we stayed at the Holiday Inn.  There is a vivid memory of sitting on the bed, eating a Whopper from Burger King.  That was so cool!  Sitting on a bed, eating a Whopper, and watching TV all at the same time!

 

Every part of life in one room!

 

One of the worst experiences with a hotel room came when I travelled back to my home town in Michigan.  I arrived earlier than expected, and had to find a place to spend the first night at the last minute.  It was 11 pm on a Saturday night when I arrived. The only place I could find was a flea-ridden dive on the outskirts of Grand Rapids.  That night I got no sleep, afraid the cockroaches would carry me off in the night.

 

From time to time I used to go to Iowa City for a mini retreat.  There was a nice motel there just off the interstate that I liked to stay at.  Then one day the news reported that the police had discovered many of the rooms had video cameras hidden behind the mirrors.

 

Now, I'm not going to get into what they may or may not have recorded.  Still, needless to say that was the end of my visits to that motel.

 

On one occasion when a blizzard moved into town while I was at work I decided to spend the night at a local hotel near my office.  The news had been warning the coming storm was going to hit the hardest during the evening rush hour, so I had a bag packed.

 

It was actually a very nice hotel, and even with the discount for the storm a little pricy.  It felt like a bit of an indulgence, but my fiancé at the time (now my wife) insisted I stay safe.  Who was I to argue?

 

There have been a few business trips out of town.  The longest was for 11 nights in Los Angeles.  Strange things happen to the mind when you spend that much time in a hotel. 

 

It was Saturday night around 11 pm that I started taking photos of the room, it's contents, and myself.  The self-portrait banner photo for this blog is one example of that body of work.  

 

Out of sheer luck I managed to get one of the precious few smoking rooms left in California, if not the planet.  It's a tad scary what my mind would have been like if I had been forced to go cold turkey back then.

 

Almost all hotel rooms these days are non-smoking, and thankfully so am I.  But back then it meant frequent trips outside to the front of the hotel to indulge my bad habit. 

 

Most of the time that wasn't too much of a problem, it was actually nice to go outside and walk around a bit, get some fresh air.  Yet that can poise it's own dangers.

 

In Billings, Montana I was warned not to cross the rail road tracks, or I would likely be robbed.  In Los Angeles, California the hotel was close to what appeared to be a nice little hiking trail.  However it turned out to be closed, a serious chain link fence blocking the path, and a very stern sign proclaiming that I should not enter because of toxic soil.  In Houston, Texas it was just too dang hot! 

 

Of course my most memorable hotel stay was in a place much further away, literally on the other side of the world. 

 

It was at the Marriott hotel in Manilla.  It's a wonderful hotel, the rooms are spacious, the view is glorious, the food a gourmet delight.  There were 2 things that I most remember from my stay there.

 

The first was the security.  To enter the hotel grounds you had to pass armed guards, who looked quite capable of using their weapons.  They checked the outside of every car, including scanning the underside of the car with a mirror.  To enter the hotel itself you had to pass through metal detectors.  

 

That really brought it home, I'm no where near Kansas, Toto!

 

The other, and most memorable, part of my stay at the Marriott happened on my first day there. It was then that I saw my future wife in person for the first time.  

 

What I will always remember most, of anything that has ever happened to me in any hotel anywhere in the known universe is this: The way she smiled and her face lit up when she saw me standing in the lobby. 

 

That was worth flying 8,000 miles for.

 

 

 

 

 

The Mad One

 

 

"I was halfway across America,

at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future."　

That was the thing about him, the thing that made him a true American in a sense that only true Americans can understand.  He came from the East, but he was forever a son of the West, the offspring of the spirit of the West, the progeny of the spirit of freedom.

 

He was a founding poet of the beat movement, along with Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs.　 The term "beat" generation came from the post WWII sickness of the status quo.  They felt they had been "beat" by life, knocked around the block and they were sick of it.  There was too much living to be done, too much to be seen and hear and felt and touched and smelled.　

"This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do."　

 

What was there to say about the culture of front lawns that had to be manicured every Saturday, the culture of the Sunday barbeque with neighbors you don't really like because they are the same as you, the aesthetics of the lowest common cultural denominator?　

 

What was there to be said about the white bread and mayonnaise America by young men who had seen their friends die in far off places called France and Germany, young men who had to kill because people were trying to kill them.  The new plastic lawn chair America wanted them to settle down and buy a power mower and build a picket fence, but their souls burned, oh how they burned.

 

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved."　

There were the detractors, there's always a line of critics ready to pounce on any nuance of a phrase or thought and declare the work void of meaning, void of culture.  Some claimed that he was just running away, that all of them were just running away and they needed to just grow up and accept the responsibilities of modern life.

But they created something great, and he was their spokesman.

"Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion."　

He loved the world, the whole world, and he embraced it with the passionate hunger of every feverish lover.  That was a gift he passed on, embrace it, embrace it all, grab onto something that you can believe in and go go go.　

A whole generation was inspired, and then another generation.  Yes, mistakes were made along the way, some lost the passion only to fall into an empty hedonism.  Yet many took the passions that burned within, took that love of the whole wide world, and they made it better.　

The beat generation was the spiritual parent of the hippy movements of the 1960's, although he hated them, he never accepted the "hippy-dippies", like many parents never truly understand their spiritual if not physical offspring, just too much the same while not being completely and exactly the same. Or maybe they were exactly the same in the metaphysical sense, the only sense that matters, the only sense that means anything worth meaning.

 

For him, the passion burned too hot.  He embraced the world, every corner of it, and when he embraced the world the redemption he had hoped to find slipped from his grasp.  Perhaps it was inevitable that his burning passion would be sidetracked, and lead him to his own failings, his own insecurities, his own downfall.

"I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you."　

In the end it was alcohol that took his life, a life that was wrapped up in the crazy march towards anything, a life that slipped into a nothingness, but not the nothingness of his Buddha soul beliefs, only the nothingness of the drunk, the nothingness of no pain that only promises to beget hunger, hunger for more of the same.　　

"I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life."　

 

"On the Road" inspired generations to move, to fall in love with the wide open spaces and the possibilities of the road.  "Dr. Sax" opened our eyes to the shadow world behind this "real" world.　 In "Tristessa" we fell in love, and in "The Subterraneans" we became beatniks.  In "Visions of Gerard" we learned the meaning of born innocent, and in "The Dharma Bums" innocence was reborn.　

Anyone who has read the works of Jack Kerouac and has been moved by them has probably been inspired in a different direction, each to take one special phrase or sentence as meant for them and only them, and that's their piece and they plant it in the garden of their lives. The mad ramblings of the holy shaman have been passed on to whom so ever shall listen, as the mad ramblings of every shaman are.

 

"Be in love with your life, every detail of it."　

* all quotes Jack Kerouac



Pushing the Limits

 

The Edge of Reason

 

 

Commander Spock was frequently heard to point out that the conclusions of his human crew mates were illogical.  At times he seemed almost frustrated (an emotion!) by this observation. 

 

Humans are illogical.  Spock should have realized that there is a logical reason why human beings are illogical.  One could even say he should have relaxed and enjoyed the irony of it all.

 

To explain, let's explore the tale of the librarian's catalogue.  This may sound silly, but stick with me for just a bit. 

 

One day the Head Librarian of all libraries put out a call to all the libraries in the country.  Each library was to create a catalogue of all the books in that library. 

 

Within a few months the Head Librarian had stacks of catalogues.  After sifting through the volumes she noticed that some of the catalogues listed the catalogue itself as one of the entries.  Other catalogues did not list themselves as one of the books.

 

So the Head Librarian decided to make two Master Catalogues.  One which contained all the catalogues that contained themselves called Catalogue Y, and one that contained all the catalogues that did not list themselves called Catalogue N.

 

Hang tight, we're almost there.

 

No problem for the catalogue of catalogues that listed themselves, Catalogue Y.  In that catalogue the Head Librarian listed Catalogue Y.

 

But, what about Catalogue N?  The master catalogue of catalogues that do NOT list themselves?

 

If Catalogue N listed itself, it would be incorrect because it should ONLY list catalogues that do not list themselves.  If Catalogue N did NOT list itself then it would be incomplete, because it would not list a catalogue that did not list itself.

 

Still with me?  Good, here's the important part.

 

There is no logical way to resolve the dilemma because the catalogues are "self-referencing" systems.  They refer to themselves in a kind of closed loop.  It is this self-referencing nature that places them outside the limits of logic. 

 

And it is the self-referencing nature of human beings that places them outside of the limits of logic.  So why do I say human beings are self-referencing?

 

Everything I know, I know because of my own experiences.   

 

You can say that someone can describe their experiences and knowledge, and thus impart knowledge to me that is outside of my experience.

 

But consider this, I can only understand what they tell me based solely on my experiences. 

 

If someone tells me they played a grible zinkzat that is meaningless, and no knowledge is imparted. 

 

If someone tells me they played a purple violin, then I can understand and create knowledge in my mind.  But, that knowledge is based on my previous experiences with the color purple and violins. 

 

Had I previously been shown a flute and told that was a violin, then the knowledge my friend tried to share is distorted.  And, it is distorted based on my own personal experience.

 

Imagine what the world would be like if we could share experiences directly, if we could step outside our own experiences?  To know exactly how our fellow humans feel.  To feel their joys, and their pains, and to no longer be blinded by our prejudices. 

 

Human beings aren't logical, and there is a logical reason for it.  It is that ability to step beyond logic that gives us creativity, that gives us the arts,  that creates all that is good about humanity. 

 

And, the irony of being illogical, it is our existence beyond logic that creates and perpetuates prejudice, and all the evils that attend prejudice.

 

What will you create when you step into that wide open space beyond logic? 

 

What will you create with your humanity?

Time In A Bottle

 

"What then is time?  If no one asks me, I know what it is. 

If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know." - St. Augustine

 

So then, what IS time?

 

When most people ask questions like that they are referring to what is called physical time.  It's the stuff that clocks are supposed to measure.  It's the flow of change that causes bananas to turn from yellow to brown, seasons to go from winter to summer and back, and women's hemlines to rise and fall.

 

Through most of human history there was the idea that there was such a thing as absolute time.  Time may seem to slow to a crawl while listening to someone explaining the tax laws, yet somehow, somewhere, there had to be a universal time, something measured by God's Swatch. 

 

We know now that there is no such thing.  Time is malleable, it is elastic.  Time can be bent and stretched.  My time and your time will only agree so long as we move along together, side by side.  But once either of us moves away then our time is no longer the same.

 

Take the case known as the twin's paradox.  There is a pair of twins, only a few minutes apart in age.  One becomes an astronaut, and leaves the Earth.  He travels about the universe at an incredible speed, close to the speed of light.  That's 186,000 miles per second!

 

The astronaut twin travels about the nearby universe for what seems to him 1 year.  Yet when he returns to the Earth he finds his twin, and everyone else he loves, has aged 10 years! 

 

If he had travelled faster the difference in ages would have been much greater. If the astronaut twin could have travelled even closer to the speed of light he would have found that his 1 year in space was 100 years on Earth. Or 1,000 years. The faster his speed, the greater the difference in time.

 

You may well be in disbelief.  You may say that the "real" world doesn't work that way.  Consider this, not only have these predictions been verified in the lab, but the equations that describe how time does this are built into the GPS in your car and your smart phone.

 

So keep that in mind when you're navigating down a freeway in a strange city in rush hour traffic.  Your little GPS only works properly because time really does work that way. 

 

Things can get even stranger, yet time always seems to flow in the same direction, just at different rates.  But does it need to?  Some of the best minds studying these issues still do not have a definitive answer. 

 

The math that describes the universe works the same forwards or backwards.  Because of this it's even been suggested that there is only 1 electron in the universe.

 

The positron, a particle exactly like the electron but with an opposite charge, fits the description of an electron moving backwards in time.  This one electron travels from the beginning of the universe to the end, then travels back from the end of the universe to the beginning as a positron. Then back to the end, etc ... etc ... etc.  Each time taking a slightly different path.

 

There is the smallest measure of time, called Planck time.  That is 5 x 10-43 seconds.  Or, .00000000000000000000000000000000000000000005 seconds. Any smaller unit of time is meaningless.  Anything can happen, so long as it takes no longer than that time.

 

Scientists sometimes refer to "deep time."  That's just another way of talking about the same physical time, but on a scale of the history of the universe.  Deep time is 13 billion years, give or take a week.

 

That's physical time.  What about psychological time?  The time that flies when we're having fun, and crawls when waiting for water to boil.

 

How we measure psychological time is affected by many factors.  

 

Age affects it in the larger view.  When we are 5 years old a year is a whopping 1/5 of our total experience.  At age 50, that year is only 1/10 what it once was.

 

When we are bored time seems to slow down.  It seems the cruelest irony, the more we desire time to hurry and pass by the more it slows down and forces us to think on how miserable we are.

 

Athletes share something in common with shamans and other holy men.  In times of intense physical concentration, just as in times of intense meditation, time becomes almost meaningless. Most people have had the experience of being in a state of deep concentration, like trying to find Waldo, only to realize an hour has passed! 

 

Psychological time is simply how we perceive time, how we feel about it.   And how much we regret sleeping in last Saturday.

 

Jim Croce mused, "If I could save time in a bottle, ..."  

 

Of course, that's impossible.  We all know you can't really save time, you can only spend it.  You can spend it wisely, or you can spend it foolishly.  

 

Or you can let it slip away.

A Love - Hate Relationship

 

 

Cougar, Henry Doorly Zoo, Omaha, NE

 

 

There's something about going to a zoo that I really love.  The chance to see animals that aren't normally found wandering the streets of Des Moines is worth the drive to Omaha or Kansas City. 

 

There's something I really hate about zoos.  To see those magnificent creatures, miracles of God's handiwork, trapped behind steel wire in tiny cages breaks my heart.

One of the most valuable  things that zoos provide is the opportunity for children to see animals close up.  To feel the thrill of looking a tiger in the eye!  

If only a handful of the children that visit a zoo walk away with a deep sense of wonder about wildlife perhaps it will all be worth it.  Maybe that little girl will one day grow up to become the Jane Goodall of tigers, or the Dian Fossey of bears.

Perhaps, just perhaps, one day a species will continue to walk the earth because of this little girl.  A species that will one day lead to a  cure for cancer.

It's also important to keep in mind that zoo's have helped keep some species alive.  There are species of animals today that exist only in zoos. 

The Species Survival Plan (SSP) was developed in 1981 by the Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) to help preserve species that are nearing extinction, with the hope to re-introduce these species to the wild where they can thrive.  As of 2007 there were 172 different species being helped by 116 different programs in the SSP.

Zoos also provide valuable educational services, especially to their local communities.  The AZA provides programs to help educate children and families, to train educators, and provide research opportunities in the biological sciences.

While all this may be true, there are times when it disturbs me to think about the individuals. 

However much good the zoos may do for the health of the ecology, and human society, can that justify the indignity that some animals suffer? 

Certainly the better zoos spend considerable time, effort, and money to provide their charges with what zoo keepers call "enrichment."  They look for new and better ways to provide a combination of entertainment and education.  Hiding food under barrels for the cougar to find, or more intricate rope swings for the apes to explore.

There are some people who take the position that mankind was given dominion over the Earth and all creatures on it by God. 

That's not a belief that I could say I agree with, yet I can accept it at face value.

But when that's used as an excuse to treat any animal any way you want, I object.   When God is invoked to try and justify cruelty of any form, I object. 

With great power comes great responsibility. If mankind does have "dominion" over the Earth then it is given in God's name not as an absolute right, but as a revocable stewardship. 

The creatures of the Earth are not our property but our responsibility.

As for the zoos, I'll continue to visit whenever the opportunity and time allow.  I'll marvel at the animals, and reach out to them with my heart, hoping we humans are living up to our responsibility to them.  I'll wonder if, when all is said and done, the zoos gave more back to nature than was taken.

And I'll wonder, how do they get away with charging $4 for a small soda?

Main Branch

 

Norman Borlaug World Food Prize Building, Des Moines, Iowa

 

This old building along the Des Moines River, now the home to the Norman Borlaug World Food Prize, was the main branch of the Des Moines Public Library back in the long ago.  It's a building I knew well.

My family moved to Des Moines when I was 11 years old.  The apartment building where we first lived was only a few blocks from the river, straight across from downtown.  I used to spend a lot of time exploring downtown.  And being the awkward nerd that I used to be (so long ago) much of that time was spent in the library.

Back then the side facing the river didn't have the grand staircase that now adorns the building.  Only a small back door, more of a fire escape then a real entrance.

The main entrance to the building faced west towards the rest of downtown.  There was a large stone outdoor stairway the led to the heavy wood and leaded glass front doors.  After climbing the stone steps on the front of the building you entered a small landing, and the dusty odor of decades of books strikes you in the face.  Pure ambrosia!

After climbing a smaller stair case you come to the main lobby of the library. The center of the building was an open atrium, with an ornate glass inlay in the middle of the floor, unevenly lit from below. 

Looking around the main lobby there were usually a few older men lounging in the overstuffed leather chairs.  Most of the chairs in the lobby where well worn with age, as were the old men.

On the north end of the lobby was the reference room.  Some days I'd satisfy my historical curiosity, pick some month and year at random, and scan the microfilmed rolls of the local paper.  There were some days when I'd look up a famous event, such as the Hindenburg explosion, and other days just look over the local news events.

The reference room also seemed to have it's fair share of older men, sitting at the tables, slowly paging through old magazines and newspapers.  They always gave the impression they weren't really reading the material, it was just their excuse to be there.

Over looking the river to the east was a small room with the card catalogues.  It was the key to unlock all knowledge, but only if you knew the secret code.  Only if you were an acolyte of ... the dewey decimal system.

To the south end of the main lobby were the stacks.  That was a wonderful place to explore and to linger awhile.  Long narrow aisles.  You can pick out a book then sit on one of the rolling stools. 

And get lost. 

Portnoy complained, Mr. Goodbar was found, and Godot never arrived.  I learned about the rise of Nazi Germany, and the fall of the Roman Empire.  I learned about The Three Laws of Robotics, and the Bene Gesserit litany against fear.

When I got a few years older it was finally time for me to be allowed full use of the collections in the lower level, the basement, the catacombs.  The media room. 

There, finally, I was able to check out albums with music by Cab Calloway, The Kingston Trio, and The Byrds.  And old 16mm reels of classic silent films like The Phantom of the Opera.  So much more to experience!

The main branch of the Des Moines Public Library today is a modern building.  It's made of glass and steel instead of stone.  It's an open space that let's in the sunlight instead of being a refuge from the world.

It has more to offer, I can't argue with that.  Music CDs and old movies on DVDs.  The card catalogue is computerized, and you can surf the web.  Instead of checking out books from the friendly librarian your items are scanned, then so is your card. 

The chairs look as if they belong in a doctor's waiting room.  They're a place to sit, and they're comfortable enough.  But they don't invite you.

The musty odor of old books is still there, barely, if you look in the right little nooks and crannies.  But it's not the same.  It's all too new and sanitary.

There are many downtown places from those days that have long since disappeared. Most of them have simply disappeared into the past. The main branch is one of the few places that was actually replaced, but I still miss it the most.

It can never be the same without that old book smell.

The Grasshopper, The Ant, and The Butterfly

Reiman's Garden Butterfly House, Ames, Iowa

 

Most of you are probably familiar with the story of the Grasshopper and the Ant, one of Aesop's fables from ancient Greece.

 

In case you've forgotten, the story tells the tale of the care free grasshopper on a summer day, enjoying life in the field as the ants struggle to store away food.  Comes the winter, and the poor grasshopper is starving, while the ants are well fed on their cache of grains.

 

When I was a young man in the land of far away we had a record (yes, actual vinyl) of the story, complete with music.  As I recall, the grasshopper played the fiddle, and sang "Oh, the world owes me a living!"

 

In this version of the story the ants save the grasshopper, giving him soup to warm him up and help him regain his strength.

 

It would be easy enough to lead into a discussion around the welfare state in this country, the virtues of charity, or the obvious virtues of thrifty living.  But I'll skip that.

 

Aesop certainly makes a useful point, yet the point also should be made, what can real grasshoppers (the non fiddle playing kind) and real ants (the non soup making kind) teach us?

 

Each has it's role to play in a healthy ecology. 

 

The ants as they dig their tunnel systems turn and aerate the soil, making a more plant friendly bed of the forest floor.  Plants they drag into their lair decompose and affect the levels of nutrients in the different layers of the soil. 

And ants, working as a colony with a single "mind", can even prey on some larger creatures.

 

While the music loving grasshopper is fiddling away he also is playing his part to make the world functional.  It is true that these little fellers can cause damage to crops, even major damage, yet they too have a beneficial affect. 

By breaking down plant matter in the natural world he too fertilizes the soil, even more efficiently than larger animals.  When he passes away his nitrogen rich body easily decomposes adding valuable food back to the earth.

 

And of course, the tasty grasshopper provides a food source for birds and other wild life.  Not to mention the occasional misguided gourmet.

Finally there is the beautiful butterfly. 

It flitters about from flower to flower and tree to tree.  The flight of the butterfly is so erratic because it is such a terrible flyer, yet that very lack of skill helps to protect it from predators.

And as the butterfly gathers up nectar from here and there it's little body becomes covered with pollen, which it carries here and there for the plants. 

The plants have learned to take full advantage of this free ride for it's future progeny.  It lays out colors to attract the butterfly, secretes one set of odors to attract it, and yet another set odors to shoo it on it's way when done. 

The colors and patterns of the butterfly serve their own purpose.  Some are camouflage to allow it's wearer to hide amongst it's chosen flowers. Patterns can serve as labels so butterflies can find their true sweethearts. Some colors serve as warnings to birds and other possible predators that "this tastes bad!" 

And of course some species imitate the bad tasting bugs as their own defense measure.

All these insects, like all of the life of this beautiful blue ball in space, have a role to play.  They have learned over the eons to use each other's characteristics to further their own quest for life.  Some are busy bodies, some just fiddle about. 

Some are serendipitous beauty.

The Wild Life

Dangerous Bunny!

 

One of the nice things about living in this part of the world is the lack of truly dangerous wild animals.  For someone who enjoys photographing wildlife, the lack of species that will gnaw off major body parts is very encouraging.

 

Of course, one can’t say there are no dangers when stomping through one of Iowa’s picturesque state parks. 

 

There are a few, very rare, poisonous snakes in Iowa, particularly in the East Central part of the state.  Among these are the timber rattle snake, possibly found in rocky outcroppings. 

 

Should you be worried?  They are so rare that if you see one the Iowa Department of Natural Resources would like you to give them a call.  You can even call collect.  And the last reported fatal timber rattle snake bite in Iowa was in the 1880’s. 

 

There is also the occasional black bear that wanders into the wooded areas of Northeast Iowa.  Most of these are young adults, new to their manhood.  They’ve been chased away by the more mature males, and are in search of a female to start their own family.  Think of them as a nerdy sophomore who has been chased away by the football captain.

 

For other large mammals there is always the ever present danger of stepping in their, ah, leavings.  While slipping and falling is never a pleasant thought, the idea of slipping on a pile of deer scat adds an extra dimension of humiliation.   Bambi’s revenge, indeed.

 

The avian variety of this particular danger is one that threatens city and country folk alike.  Many a promising career has been cut short when one of our fine feathered friends left his mark on an otherwise dapper business suit.  Even pigeon poop on an old t-shirt, or worse on one’s freshly washed noggin, can certainly ruin your day. 

 

And certainly there should be no need to caution you: when walking through the forest primeval, full of singing birds in the trees, look up, but keep your mouth shut.

 

Now, I’m sure there are some of you who would include the occasional stray dog on this list of dangerous fauna.  Perhaps the issue with the odd canine culprit is not the poor animal, but it’s owner.  If the puppy is growling, barking, bearing it’s teeth, or biting your shin then perhaps that is it’s natural response due to poor treatment by it’s owner.  At the very least a dog owner needs to be aware of the tendencies of his charge, and take the needed precautions to protect not only his dependent, but the public at large.

 

Sometimes it seems that even the flora are out to inflict severe bodily harm.  And that is not limited to eating a poisonous berry, or overly ripe strawberry!  The Honey Locust tree sports thorns (spikes) that can be 2 to 8 inches in length.  On more than one occasion I’ve grabbed onto the trunk of a tree to steady myself only to have my hand skewered by one of these monsters.

 

Is wildlife dangerous?  Of course, it can be.  Most of the residents of the forests and prairies will run away whenever human beings appear.  We are arguably the scariest animal around.

 

But if you manage to pick up a squirrel or a snake, or try to pet a dog you don’t know, or corner a young buck  in the forest, you will get hurt.

 

Try to keep things in perspective. In the United States in an average year people are killed by:

bee/wasp stings – 53

bulls - 3

sharks – 1

alligators - 0.3

auto collision with deer - 200

food poisoing – 3,000

 

Want to keep safe?  Cook your food fully, drive carefully.

 

And don’t pet the wildlife.

One Road

The Winding Road, Utah

 

In his song "Crossroads" Don McLean wrote, "They walk one road to set them free,

Only to find they've gone the wrong direction."

 

Americans have some very strong ideas when it comes to freedom.  Some take the extreme position that freedom means they can do what ever they want, when ever they want. 

 

As the old sayings go, freedom of speech does not extend to yelling "FIRE!" in a crowded theater, and the right to extend your fist stops some where short of the other guys nose.

 

Freedom in the sense that most Americans think of it really comes down to who sets those limits, and how they are decided.

 

In the "ideal" situation limits are set based upon that which allows for the maximum freedom for each individual and the maximum security for each individual, as determined by the common vote and guided by the overall principles set forth in the constitution.

 

In practice that rarely happens, at least not directly.  In practice there are conflicting groups each demanding that they have the right to do things their way, while at the same time trying to impose their beliefs on others. 

 

But over time, somehow, we struggle through it.  In large part because most of the judges in the higher courts do live up to their oath to consider ONLY the law and not "the will of the people", and to always consider the constitution as the supreme law.

 

All of that refers to our external freedom.  Yet I think what Don McLean's song is really referring to is internal freedom.

 

What is internal freedom? 

 

In the ballad "Me and Bobby McGee" Janis Joplin sang "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."  While that may be a romanticized ideal it's not one that I could totally agree with.

 

Just as external freedom can sometimes be understood in terms of what limits us, so to can internal freedom.  But it's not so much about having nothing left to lose, but the knowledge that everything has already been lost.

 

What ever road we walk down to find that freedom, the destination is the same for all of us.  This life ends. 

 

Do  you believe that the end of this life is the end of you?   Then perhaps you have gone down the wrong road.  Do you believe that there is some essential "you" that survives the death of flesh and blood, then you are going down a right road.

 

Once you have taken for your own the idea that what is beyond not only exists, but in some way is the more important part of the story of "you", then you can let go the grip of "I must" and instead embrace "I will".

 

True internal freedom is not something anyone else can see from the outside.  Embracing "I will" and being compelled by "I must" look very similar from the outside.  But for those who have let the "I must" fall away and embraced the "I will" the future isn't so scary. 

 

Freedom's just another word for knowing there was nothing to lose to begin with.

The Old Soft Shoe

 

Godspeed, My Friend

 

My wife has a blog which she bases on a book she bought of 365 questions, one for each day (http://loveandfreetobe.blogspot.com).  As a challenge my entry for today is based on the question of the day from her journal.

 

"What's the oldest thing you're wearing today?"

 

I'm pretty sure that would be my underwear.  And it's not that I wear my underwear until they are nothing more than a few loose threads holding my dignity together.  Although I must admit the elastic band is no longer 100% attached.

 

It's just most of my other clothes today were newer.

 

Which is not to say I don't own other clothes that are older.  When I find an article of clothing that fits well and flatters my youthful figure I hang on to it.

 

A good comfortable pair of shorts are always valued highly.  They need to have the cargo pockets, a very useful fashion statement to carry the odd candy bar or bag of trail mix.  Not so tight as to leave a red mark around my waist, yet not so loose that a good stiff breeze will remove them. 

 

I used to have some that had a camouflage pattern.  Then one day there was an epiphany, "who the heck are you kidding?"  Those shorts are now in the bottom of the closet.

 

Nice, comfortable shirts are a must, but the best ones are hard to find.  A good pullover, collared shirt is a must.  The collar is important for going on a photo shoot, because it helps to keep the camera strap from chaffing my neck.  T-shirts, however fashionable or clever the art work, just don't measure up.

 

The real challenge is to find a good pullover shirt with a pocket.  For some reason these are no longer sold in the stores here.  When I was a smoker that was the preferred place to hold my pack.  Now that I no longer smoke I don't really know why I need the pocket. A place for my pocket protector?

 

With all the walking around, going on photo shoots, you know a comfortable pair of shoes is a real must for me.  Dr. Scholl's or nothing!  But even those wear out quickly, so a good pair just doesn't stay around long enough to get old.

 

In the end, more than anything, the right hat can be the most important part of the ensemble.

 

It should rest comfortably on the head without needing to be forced down like a bottle cap.  The brim should be wide enough to protect the face from the blazing sun, yet not so big to impede one's vision while looking for avian life.  It should keep the head warm, while not promoting a sweaty scalp.

 

It does not have to be in style, but it must be stylish.  It should make it's own statement about what kind of man the wearer is.  In my case, crumpled but classy.

 

My old hat was just such a hat, perfect.  At least perfect for me.  That hat protected me from sun and rain on many a photo shoot.  Oh, the adventures we had!

 

Then, cruel irony dealt it's blow.  The hat was blown from my head and tossed into the Raccoon River, on it's way to it's own adventures.  It has probably found it's way to the head of a great bluesman in New Orleans by now.

 

I was able to take one last photo of my perfect hat, looking at me accusingly.  And still perfect.

 

Crumpled but classy.