Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Mentoring & Green Beans

 Marcel Marceau Mime French Artist Stage Theater
Marcel Marceau, French Mime

Miming Can-Do
Snapping Beans

Once upon a time (!) a long time ago, slouched down in a darkened college theatre, I was watching rehearsal of a spot-lit scene, waiting for my turn to come up.

The "Our Town" set was minimalist, with lots of chitchat, the actors miming, and audience hopefully imagining the activity. 

Miming?!! You bet. My mother was a just a riotous storyteller, miming the different parts, so I was all prepared to be jollified.

Two women, in the current scene, were sitting side by side  chatting away and snapping green beans. 

Except... they'd never snapped a bean in their lives. Had grown up with frozen ones, or canned.

I was deliquescing, having a Beam-me-up-Scotty moment, when the Director called for a snap bean teacher, from the sea of vacant looks among the troupe.

Green beans, eh?... Remembering, being by my mama and grandmama, with just-picked bush beans from the garden... A time before old folks disappeared into nursing homes, vacantly watching "soaps."

"Come on!" the Director shouted into the unlit theater. "Somebody's gotta know."

I slid like lasagna out of my seat, put a hand on the stage and vaulted up. Nudged a girl sideways with my hip, and explained what a bean looks like; how you snap off both ends; break each bean into bite-sized pieces; drop it into the bowl in your lap.

Fresh Green Beans

I pantomimed the motions, an early glimpse into food as virtual reality... junk, frozen entree's, GMO's, and in flooded Houston, probably MRE's.

Do I think America has gone terminally fat and stoopid? No! Only in low moments. I suspect lots of us will want to learn, those not sulking in multi-generational remove.

But, calling all mentors, we've got a ways to go, pragmatic hands-on to learn.

Man and Child Walking Near Bushes during Daytime

Kindle & Paperback:

Friday, August 4, 2017

Societal Hot Buttons, Smugness, Storms

rich kid on plane

I blundered into a hot button mine field at the recycling center, silly me. Standing by the bins, I was breaking down cartons with a box-cutter, the plane hijacking tool. 

A high energy woman joined me, tossing in cardboard bits and announced, making conversation,

"Aren't we good people!"

I laughed, giving her a grin.

"Yeah, I've about sprained a wrist, patting myself on the back."

Not only was she not amused, I'd offended her! She stomped off and shunned further interaction. 

Actually I'd meant no offense; I've been ruminating self-congratulation as a current societal meme, and a fracturing one. Very strange.

For example, I have many friends and many in this community who regard themselves as trail-blazers of societal transformation. A truly stupendous time to be alive.

Having helped elect the first pigmented president, by hook or by crook it was intended to get the first woman into super-power. Grief, rage and resistance soon followed.

Performance was never an issue, nor did it matter when possibly felonious, treasonous and certainly self-aggrandizing behaviors began oozing into public scrutiny. 

Intelligent folks, still patting selves on the back, were untroubled by continued pile up inconvenient whistleblower cadavers. 

I can spell cognitive dissonance, and navigated some when a total stranger threw her arms around me weeping at the US election results, saying, "I know you feel just as I do." Good thing I studied psych.

For awhile, I had made a study of commodity and equity markets, which means visiting what?--the snake pit arena of high IQ pathological liars.

There's a natural segue to politics, but hazardous to mention. 

And while we perform societal Terrible Two's, there's a lot going on, "new normals" the many, and attendant Angst. Consider, storms...

Yesterday a little after the noon hour we lost power, to the sound of distant thunder and smell of rain. Sudden wind struck with violence and heavy downpour; temperature dropped 30 degrees F. in what seemed a heartbeat.

It turned so dark and chilly in the middle of the day that I began reading by solar lamplight, and pulled an Aran cardigan and woolen throw out of the cedar chest. 

The outage lasted thirteen hours, a generous amount of time to ponder bar codes, ATM's, gas stations, melting food in the freezer, well pumps, and don't flush the toilet.

Yes, this happened at Rocky Mt. elevation, and yes I remember summer storms not dissimilar in the Alps. But it's barely August in a year of late snows and killing frosts. 

A year without local orchard fruits, and serious grain crop losses on the High Plains, olive crop failure in Italy, etc.

We've entered a Solar Grand Minimum, a cyclical phenom associated with colder temperatures and even Little Ice Age conditions.

It may be that the "Global Warming" scientists who corrupted data and lied for tenure and research grant lucre have harmed more than we realize.   

They've earned contempt from colleagues of integrity, but the science high priesthood, corrupted, can harm the Global Commons.

Those of us expecting torrid temperatures and continued plenty, do not insulate our houses, install wood stoves, or imagine feeding our families beyond a few days of inconvenience.

Liars may reap rewards short term, but long term, people and planet live the delusion.

Of very long term vintage, assurances were given of the affordability, safety and peaceful use of nuclear power. (Follow the money, that tedious refrain, though the "buck" stops nowhere.)

We give you Chernobyl, Three Mile Island and Fukushima.

Oppenheimer watched the first mushroom cloud of the atomic era and is alleged to have thought of the Gita: "I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."

File:Shiva's statue at CERN engaging in the Nataraja dance.jpg
And synchronistically speaking, the entry to the bowels of CERN in Switzerland features a statue of dancing Shiva, Hindu god of destruction, often worshiped as a lingam (phallus, penis.)

Storms aplenty ahoy, and tempest in a teapot diversions. What could possibly go wrong?

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Identifying as...

All Aboard 
the Transformation Express
Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The little dog laughed to see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

"You look just like Mother Goose! I love your English-garden hat."

I laughed, and stopped backing out of the Rock Shop parking. I'd just tucked rose quartz, amethyst and aquamarine in a little drawstring pouch to enliven water at home. 

 The woman was keen to chat. I nodded.

"Well, as it happens, Mother Goose used to be a nickname, when I counseled students, or read aloud to children. And if I carried a ruffled brolly, Mary Poppins!"

The woman herself looked like something out of Scheherazade. All swirly skirts and embroidered vest, many necklaces. Lots of bold creativity in these mountains.

I made it out into small town but touristy traffic and toodled along, people-watching, an inexhaustible entertainment.

Astonishing variety of tattoos and body-piercings, and it felt tribal, atavistic, from long ago and far away. 

Have been reading about blue-tattooed Picts in 6th century Scottish Highlands, and have admired Maori artistry while traveling in New Zealand.

Ngapuhi Maori elder Kingi Taurua's traditional facial tattoo (Photo: AFP)
Out of an historical lineage, what's going on at the local coffee shop and concerts?!

Perhaps a sort of declaration of being radically different, yet belonging--beyond the pale--despite broken families and few extended ones.

Photo of Zebra Tattoo & Body Piercing - Berkeley, CA, United States. Nose:60$ 

In fact, our times are becoming so bizarro, remaining interested seems more participatory than shock. 

Toto, we're not in nursery rhymes anymore.

Where are we? 

Are nervous systems and brain function in a process of change or transformation, as we immerse willy-nilly in constant EMF, WiFi, smartphones and texting?

cell phone radiation 

Also I watch the asylum of AgBiz and the so-called food industry... Gender-benders R us. 

Children of friends, raised on soy milk and tofu, with their phyto-estrogens, are identifying as... bodies with the other plumbing, than their birth configuration.

Going tranny, in fact. As the media glorifies drag queen lifestyle, and government schooling insists that kids decide on their sexual orientation, nudge nudge, as they learn to spell.

During the obama reign, tranny bathrooms became the burning issue, and trannies in uniform. 

The image below?...Uniforms to enhance breast cancer awareness:


Might all the focus on tranny-dom be a living memorial to obama lifestyle choices and a michelle born, michael?

And beyond that, there's monstrous global uproar about the so-called elite and an apparent predilection for pedophilia, using the media and Hollywood to grease those skids, as it were.

Somewhere in there, we'll sort it out. Whether on the San Andreas Fault, "fly-over country", Paris, Hamburg, or Venezuela (where food, is the burning issue.)

Is it ancient Rome yet?