Geneology

via geneology.about

. . . and so, you see

I have been researching

my family tree, and when

you've lived as long as I, that can take

an eternity --

                    or thereabouts.

And that is one of the reasons you haven't seen 

too much of me.

My family tree is long and strong;

it goes back centuries.

On looking, I see a pattern

emerge, a story that is only marginally

about me.

It's about humanity.

I am, after all, just one tiny shoot

off this ambling oak, and one that bore

no progeny --

at least not in this lifetime,

so my place on the tree is like

earth in our galaxy.

via coolcosmos

Still, I'm part of the pattern, but

not without duty, or responsibility

to the health of tree.

At this particular point

in this particular generation,

without me, the tree

would not be.

via laceyville

This is the pattern I've drawn:

there is a long, strong base

that documentably links my family

to history.

It's full of soldiers, war heros, pioneers,

Admiral Perry,

and a questionable link to the wife

of our first president George.   Notably,

it's my mother's mother's ancestry.

But within that long noble trunk

it appears

every fifty or one hundred years,

someone stumbles,

drinks too much,

and looks askance

at the teaming world.  Smitten

by the beauty there,

that person beds, then weds

one who their own Society would label

risky:

An Irishman, a German, or

godforbid, a Pole,

an Indian, a Turk, or even Negro:

the whole clan mutates 

into a jumbled hybridity

that all adds up to me.

Accidental, incidental,

those periodic lusty embraces

between two so mismatched social faces

have produced a tangle of branches

that links cultures,

to the point that I can say,

with fair certainty,

that, dear reader, you and me

are kin, if only 

remotely.

via viz

CONVERSATION

Chios

I was recently on the Greek island of Chios,

which is just off the coast of Turkey.

I've lived in Turkey,

and been to several places in Greece,

but I had never been to Chios before.

Chios, like other islands in the area,

has been invaded and settled over time by several

different powers,

including the Greeks, the Persians, the Italians,

and of course the Turks.

Because of the island's vulnerable, coveted geographical location,

the people built up cities that were natural fortresses,

like this one, the medieval village of Mesta.

This is its outer wall:

The houses in these village/fortresses are built so close together

that you have to look for the hole

or chink

in the fortress, so the speak,

where you will find the entrance:

And then you walk through narrow passageways

that ultimately open out into fabulous central courtyards

The most fascinating of these medieval villages was Pyrgi,

also built so to protect itself:

But the remarkable thing about Pyrgi is the amazing designs 

on the buildings there.  It's almost like graffitti,

but controlled into fabulous patterns.

It reminds me, in a small way,

of the island of Bali,

a land where art and living work collaborate continually.

But in Pirgi, the artwork comes from very humble means.

It begins with putting plaster on stone walls,

then digging it off into different designs

using spoons:

This people of Pyrgi began doing this to their houses 

a few hundred years ago.  The more geometric patterns

come from that time.  The most recent designs

date back fifty years or so, and they are more

elaborate.  The result is a most definitely Greek

village that might have been imagined

by

Dr. Seuss & Gaudi:

. . . ah, it is so wonderful to see

what the human compulsion

for self expression.

There will, I believe, always be

some form of art.  And it is most fabulous

when our art is also the place

where we live.

(all photos by Makropoulos)

Two Kinds of People . . . .

glad.com

The Twisters & The Knotters

So, you're in this kind of upscale

grocery store,

where they actually trust you

to package and price your own produce.

It works like this:

Very rustically organized loose fruits

and veg, in a wood highlighted,

low lighted 

space.

You take as much

as you want;

they provide the plastic bags

and the twistees.

You collect your food, put it in 

the bag, take note of the code,

enter said code into the 

scale, weigh and price

the product.

(couponsherpa)

OK?  

Easy enough.

A child could do it, 

and many children have done it,

taken to the upscale grocery by his mom,

the kid gets a kick

out of weighing and pricing

the food.  Alec Baldwin,

for instance,

may have done this as a child,

for the sole purpose

of making his mother happy.

And it was this very evening,

as I was trying to open some spinach

purchased earlier at the upscale grocers,

struggling

with a poorly tied knotted bag,

that I thought that oft thought thought:

There are two kinds of people in the world:

The Twisters 

and

The Knotters.

 ( papermart )

 Now, I'm sure you're just

dying to know what

this all means:

Well, it's simple, and 

it manifests itself at the moment

of trying to open the bag.

I confess, I am a knotter.

By that, I mean:

when at the upscale grocery store, putting

my spinach into

its plastic bag,

I realize:

there are no twistees to be seen.

                        I scan

the produce horizon,

                          and all

                       I see

are empty twistee containers.

So, what do I do?

I knot it.

I'm sure that if I looked,

just a little further,

or planned my bag closure for later in the department,

I would most definitely find twistees.

Somewhere.

Most definitely.

But do I wait?

No.

I knot it,

then weigh it,

then price it,

then get on my way.

Now the Twister people are the ones

who do all the things I just told you I don't do,

or better yet,

they find an employee and say:

"you're out of twistees."

Thus, the employee replenishes the twistees,

often faster, depending upon

how many Twisters have pointed out

the deficit.

Now, at the moment of trying

to open the package at home,

the difference between Twisters and Knotters

becomes even more apparent,

because the Knotters realize

fairly quickly

for the umpteenth time,

that they just wasted a perfectly good bag.

Faced with the encased spinach,

the Knotter rips,

and knows they cannot reuse

that bag if any of the product remains,

therefore, they need another storage item

for the remainder 

of the spinach.

This is why Knotters have quite a selection

of fancy zip lock bags or other

assorted storage devices.  Either that, or they

keep using the same tattered bag, and then

end up throwing it all out - spinach and bag.

Twisters, on the other hand,

have quite a nice collection of twistees at home,

so they can reuse that bag, easily.

Furthermore, since they have such terrific foresight,

Twisters generally finish all of

whatever

they have in their fridge,

because they remember twisting the twistee

on that planned portion of food.

Knotters, on the other hand,

often forget what's in the fridge, and it 

rots and leaks

all over.

In general, then, Twisters are more frugal and efficient,

and Knotters just

kind of don't give a damn.

Knotters, in fact, get frustrated over the whole thing,

especially since they generally don't have time

to clean their fridge,

so they do 

one of two things:

a.) they start shopping at the local big box

flourescent lit store, because it's easier

and results in a multitude of small packages in

the fridge they can't ignore

or

b.) they buy a new fridge

or 

c.) both a & b

Twisters, on the other hand, make their fridges last

forever, and always know

what's in them.

Now, before you go forming your conclusions,

about Twisters and Knotters; let me

add another dimension to the 

analysis:

after these shoppers

Twist or Knot,

they all place their own personally packaged

produce 

on a scale, and enter

a code, 

the appropriate code

for that item.

Now, no one's watching -- 

                                   hell,

there are no twistees here!

Where's the person

who's supposed to make sure

there are twistees?

(Where ever they are,

I'm sure twistees are the last things

on their list of tasks to do.)

So, anyway, unmanned,

unsurveilled, who is to keep

a shopper from marking spinach

with a cheaper price,

or tossing an exotic fruit in

with a few fuji apples?

Yes, this is where the division

between Twisters & Knotters

gets blurred,

because the most diligent Twister might also be

the one who knows what she

can mix in with the romaine, and get

cheaper.

And the Twister may also be

the person who knows the check-out

people (oh, the poor check-out people, who

are burdened with the task of making sure

the shopper has grapes in a bag priced for grapes).

So, this particular Twister knows exactly which

check out person is tired and not looking at what

they're doing, so that frugal Twister

is also getting a double, maybe triple bargain.

If they're really meticulous,

they have coupons, and they might end up 

getting paid for their trip

to the upscale grocery store.

Meanwhile there's a Knotter struggling to find

her glasses in her purse, so she can see

the correct code.   She may get it wrong 

the first time,

and goes back and gets it 

again, until it's right.

These pathetic people generally waste a lot of money

and time.  But

they're kind of funny to talk to.

So the Knotters of the world, as a consituency,

are really not deserving of

reproach.

This is not to say, too,

that all Twisters are

schysters; indeed,

some of my best,

kindest

friends

twist and they also always

get the right code.

In fact, on my better days, 

I do that, too.

And there are Knotters who wrongly code, and degrees of coding and closure in between.

So what does this all mean,

in the larger scheme of things?

Does it mean that there are not two different kinds of 

people in the world,

but rather a vast multitude of individuals.

Or it may also meant there is

really only one kind

of person: 

the Sometime Twister & Sometime Knotter

who wishes they could be

consistent?

Either of the above could be true,

as could this, which I read

on a fortune cookie

the other day:

There are two kinds of people in the world:

those who think

there are two kinds of people in the world,

and those

who do not.

Ditsy Day (written sometime after midnight, last night)

I've been walking  around all night,

thinking to myself:

I'm having such a Ditsy Day,

I must write a blog entry

about having a Ditsy Day.

But I've wandered around

from task to task,

wondering

what it was I was trying to get done 

in the first place, and thinking:

sometime tonight,

I should write

about having a Ditsy Day,

and putting it off,

and forgetting to do it,

then remembering,

then forgetting,

then --

I'm in bed now,

with no intent

of cranking up the laptop

and hitting the keys,

no I'll just write this note

to myself, telling myself

to write a blog entry

about having a Ditsy

Day.

We all have them.

I suspect that in the normal

monthly cycle 

of the average human, we

- both men and women -

all have an average of at least three 

Ditsy Days,

and we should get permission

to be excused from normal activity on those days,

those Ditsy Days,

--because it may hurt us,

or we may hurt someone else.

It's

sort of like when I was in high school,

in swimming class,

and girls were allowed to take

a certain number of

"resting days"

a month.  For the period

of "resting," the girl would arrive

at the pool in her one piece

gym outfit with the gunky red pants,

and declare "resting" when her name

was called in attendance, as if the collected 

assembly (all of whom wore swim suits, 

unless they too were resting)

could not tell.

Some girls were always resting, 

and if the teacher looked at an eternally

resting student quizzically and said:

"aren't you resting a bit too long?

the girl would glare,

as if to dare

the teacher to ask

for evidence.

I, for one, saw no reason

for so many Resting Days during 

the swimming semester: it was all the other sports,

like volleyball and basketball

and gymnastics that I wished

I could be excused from when

the cramps overtook my body.

Resting Days

these days

are just Ditsy Days,

days when I have to come squarely to terms

with the fact that I am becoming

my mother.

In fact,

I'm writing this on a Ditsy Day,

a day when I have to write a note

reminding myself to write

a blog entry about having a Ditsy Day.

cafepress

people will be people

Tonight, for a reason I won't go into right now, I found myself looking at the online police blotter
in a community near where I live,
and I was amazed and delighted by the stories it told.  This is really just a randomly chosen sample:


A Broadway resident called to say her dog had locked
her out of her running car while Police responded to a call 
from a Walden Avenue hotel
that a man who was not staying at the hotel had been
wandering around and smoking a cigar all day. The man
stated “Mr. Millenium” told him he could stay there
anytime. Police escorted him off the premises.

Police stopped a 23-year-old Park Place resident who
was running in the middle of Main Street. When police
approached the man, he reportedly turned around, ran
backward and said vulgar statements to the officer while
punching the air in front of him.  

Officers responded to a West Seneca home due to an
intoxicated man who attempted to use a plow truck to
push other vehicles out of his driveway. 

Police responded to Clinton Street for the report of a
highly intoxicated female who was walking in the middle
of traffic and attempting to get into stopped vehicles. She
told police she had been drinking in Arizona earlier that
day.

An elderly Cheektowaga woman called police, stating
that someone was in her closet and wouldn’t come out.

A Union Road woman called 911 because she didn’t
know how to use her phone.

A noise complaint was reported on Pin Oak Drive. Police
responded and found a 50th anniversary
party. The seniors were advised to turn down the Frank
Sinatra music.

Police located a man, 19, walking on Interstate 290. He
told police he was walking from Buffalo to
Syracuse to see his girlfriend. He was transported home.

A Harlem Road woman reported that an acquaintance
stole her 2008 Pontiac. The culprit had driven her home in
her car the night before because she was drunk. The
complainant did not know the suspect’s name.

A Harrison Avenue resident reported a man walking
through several gardens and back yards. When questioned
by police, the man claimed to be heading home, walking
through the lawns because God wanted him to clean up
the Earth.







A house on Dellwood Road was egged overnight and
three slices of bologna found on the windows.

 Officers received a complaint of suspicious activity on
Fourth Avenue. The complainant reported seeing a man
hugging several trees.

A Delaware Avenue resident reported that her neighbor
might be harboring a rooster.




A woman complained that she went into a facility on Alberta
Drive for blood work and when she left she realized her car had
been stolen. The misplaced vehicle was located on the other side
of the building.

Someone broke into an apartment on Pacecrest Court and stole
a multicolored disco ball light from a dresser drawer. Owner
needed the ball for a dance that night.

A man called from Maple Road to report an encounter he had with a raccoon the
previous night. He said the raccoon challenged him.




A Lancaster woman reported she suspected her husband, with whom she is in the
middle of a divorce, put bird droppings on top of the coffee grounds in her coffee
maker.

Police were called to Paradise Road where a man was on
the roadside cutting up a deer with a chainsaw. When
police responded they discovered a man working on a
fallen tree, not an animal.

A Mapleton Drive woman told police she could hear
voices through her smoke detector.

A dispute was reported on Grandview Drive because a
mother wouldn’t give her 16-year-old daughter the cell
phone charger.

A patrol observed a vehicle pull onto Seneca Street
without yielding to traffic and nearly causing an accident.
When asked how much he had been drinking, the driver
said, “Too much to be driving.” When asked to perform
field sobriety tests, the man replied,” Why bother? I won’t
pass them.”

A one-legged turkey was reportedly in the middle of
Willow Ridge Drive. The complainant said the bird was
unable to move to the side, but it chased the patrol car
that responded.

A patrol stopped a vehicle on Seneca Street because it
had a missing brake light. The driver could not produce
her license, but told the officer her date of birth was
March 3, 1982. However, the driver appeared to be about
50 years old. Investigation revealed she was
impersonating her daughter, who was also in the vehicle.
The suspect was lying because her driver’s license had
expired in June 1996.

Deputies responded to a home on Billington Road after
receiving a report from a resident that a ground hog was
attacking her cat.

and. . . . .

A jogger found what he thought might be a bag of marijuana. Police determined it was actually oregano.

A group of kids were playing hockey in the street on California Road.

A dog was howling on Abbott Road.

A man was charged with criminal trespass after he fell asleep on a sump pump in an apartment complex storage shed.

  

   
     

No place like nowhere

. . . . . which is everywhere.

Everywhere we live

is no where,

yet we make it somewhere in our life's experience --

Or let's put it another way:

every day

we wake up

and somewhere,

deep inside our guts

we know

we'll be lucky if we get through that day

alive.

Do you ever feel that way?

Every day we face

thousands of dangers

and threats

to our very lives;

and if we're lucky

we survive.

After all, we're all only

animals, and

if we had not become 

wise,

we would have remained animals,

in large part, and lived and died

like animals, who more or less recognize

and resign themselves

the cycle of the organism:

we move from physical life to spiritual life and back again,

in a constant

regenerative

cycle.

However,

because we are the most

vulnerable

of animals,

hu-mans built homes and

killed animals and plants and trees

so they could preserve their physical lives.

The more we hu-mans became aware

of the distance of time between life and death

(between being in a physical state and dreaming a physical state),

the more we grew to fear death,

and the more we imposed ourselves

on the lifecycle of other creatures on the planet.

(from:  hurstwick )

(wikipedia dugout )

( picturetrail )

The problem is

in each new stage of our

"civilization" -

ie: our ability to preserve the life

of our species,

we moved further and further

from the organism we are part of.

In our ticky-tacky life,

life becomes predictable,

and so we seek

more dangers

more challenges,

so we can feel

the quick of life

otherwise we're numb

 And this is why we seek out adventures.

We do it to remind ourselves that we are living dangerous lives;

every single day is a dangerous life.

We've sanitized our planet so much

that we don't even know that anymore

*

Artists live dangerous lives.

They dare to look at their environment honestly;

politicians, too

live dangerously.

But so does the busdriver

and the race car driver,

and the butcher

and the salesman,

and the mother

and the child,

and the teacher

and the student -

all seek something different, something that could challenge

their very existence;

they face their challenge,

and make it part of themselves.

Some choose to watch

the brave

make the challenge

and succeed.

We are the spectators,

who seek out the daredevils

who live right on the edge

of this life and the next.

We live in a world of too much spectatorship.

Too many people

are merely watching, while

only a few 

take the risk,

acknowledging

our immortality.

Who are you?