Life's Pace

This to revisit and proceed on from the earlier hippy/zippy/Mr Natural entry. You have heard from me before about torque, gear changes, and the like. Years ago, a least a long decade, I found myself looking at a bulletin board in a local hardware store in Minneapolis. There I found a card for a "cattery" advertising Maine Coon Cats. This breed has always interested yours truly because of their size and length (I think they still hold the "Guiness Book of Superlatives" record for both, domestic cat category, of course), Todd Bobo's place was just blocks away, and I had considered giving myself a retirement present.

A phone call later a visit was arranged, the new born kittens were around their mother, and there was a orange one ( prerequisite color) and it was soon evident that he was a contender. Not only was the color right, but he was already in fairly high gear, even though all his litter mates seemed to barely have the eyes open and were immobile. I said I wanted him, and Mr. Bobo warned me about his possible character problems.

I saw no problem, made a down payment and picked him up a few weeks later when he was properly weaned. He was definitely a zippy cat, who not only possessed memory and intelligence, but was seemingly a cat for life. His name, Cajun, was given by my dear Wife and partner, Joni, and he has lived up to it well. Now at 12 years old or so he is going strong, has solid torque and speed (eg. flying up and down stairs, going up the wall a bit for good measure at times) and can be an arm full at times. Not for everyone, but I came "out of the gate" much as he did and thus appreciate his gear ratios. (A picture will be posted of him, again in the near future.)

Curiosity

Some years at this time my mind wants to search around in Sir James G. Frazer's "The Golden Bough." Why, because his was the first detailed description I found in my life about the origins of Christianity, especially of the pagan myths which are conveniently passed over by most Christians, including theologians and the present Republican presidential contenders.

A fellow sailor, who had studied philosophy at the University of Chicago, a steam engineer by trade, had pointed out this huge work of Frazer's in the fifties (originally published in 12 volumes, luckily Frazer's wife suggested a one volume abridgement, which they did together -- evidently, although in the edition I have, The Macmillan Company, c1922 -- it had gone through 12 printings by 1972, she is not given an iota of credit) . It is called "a world classic..." and was the reason he was knighted by the Queen in his lifetime.

The work is a huge monument to human curiosity and intellectual scholarship. I am amazed that it is so little known now-a-days. The copy I got from the local library had to come inter library loan from a high school library in another part of the state (the local library has a beautiful, heavily illustrated version which unfortunately is very short on content). Called "One of the 20th century's most influential books ... Sir James Frazer left a lasting mark on science, literature and history of western thought." Don't miss it, especially at Easter and Christmas times, but any time your curiosity about the past is active and searching.

Hippy & Yippy

A visit to a local middle school English writing class focused on this BLOG and solicited comments and request for improvement suggestions. One of the students wanted to know if I was a "hippy;" fair enough question since I have consorted with hippies, often partied with them and exchanged views, street, community, etc. My response was "no," that I was a "zippy," superficially a high powered "hippy," but the description/descriptions goes much deeper than that.

Like all monikers, the words are fictitious but useful at times. Just as I have always been suspicious and distrustful of diminutives and nick names, I have as well eschewed names which tend to be often used in dismissive way, to typify someone who is, in fact, which more complex and unfathomable when burdened with these names, eg, expletives used on people from minority groups.

Mr. Natural was a comic figure created by R. Crumb as a key person in his panoply of characters which depicted subcultures of that time, including, of course, hippies. Because Mr. Natch was on the zippy part of the spectrum (many of his characters were not, in fact most were not), he held a special place in American life of the sixties and seventies and I found myself putting a decal of him striding down the way on a window of my van (another question, I think by the same fellow, "did you have a van?). Well, this was a mistake, in part, because Mr. Natural then became one of my monikers, whether I liked it or not. With a beard down to my chest, it was if I were a younger version of this amazing comic character.

"So what?", as Andy Warhol would have said. In order to try and illustrate the difference a bit I pointed out to the students that Abbie Hoffman and his gang of merry zippies could be examined as exemplary of zippy activity. For example, throwing hundreds of one dollar bills around to the floor of the N.Y. Stock Exchange as a bit of political satire and avant garde protest antedating by many years the current protests against Wall Street. The spectacle of suited stockbrokers groveling and competing for one dollar bills on camera is certainly one of the most expressive examples of zippyness. Carry on.

"Intangibles"

Last week a pair of old, quality scissors arrived from Practical Goods in St. Paul. Some of you may remember my praise of Wendi Ward's store some time back; in fact, some of you have commented on visiting there, and how pleased you were with what you found. I will not repeat the story, but hope you look up Wendi and her place, or revisit there when you can. Because of the "difficulties in the marketplace" (my words) she will be having a 20% off sale in the next few months. Please avail yourself. What follows are sentences from a manifesto of sorts from her called "About Those "Intangibles":

" -- We pay both property and sale taxes, unlike some charities, cyber businesses, etc. We

invite you to consider what this does for the community's "tax base."

-- We reuse and recycle locally.

-- We keep local money here in our community,

-- We don't push over consumption, or over packaging.

-- We don't push credit cards, debt slavery or high tech invasion of customer privacy.

-- We don't "feed" big banks or big shipping companies, and our prices will spare you that,

too. (Those guys have plenty already.)

-- We have a potty, and you can use it.

-- We don't condone or profit from exploitation of workers here or abroad.

SOUND GOOD? SHOP HERE. "

Carry on, Wendi Ward. at 1561 Randolph (near Snelling) - phone: 651 - 690 - 1122

Lapse of Consciousness

A hard fall on the ice this morning brought back several memories: one of an acquaintance's broken hip and subsequent trip to the emergency ward, an operation and then rehab; another of a young fellow who had gotten himself into the ditch not far away, with absolutely no circumstances around him to put him and his vehicle there (and that happened to me a couple of years ago as well); and a story recently of some one's encounter with a deer crossing when they had been looking down and not out of their vehicle. A lapse of just a second or two is all that it takes.

I come from a background of cautionary tales, both in literature and in family and friends stories. Thus it is very "natural" for me to want to share stories which I imagine may save people from hardship, pain, even death; and yet, there is something nagging my eighty year brain and that says that these tales are not exactly welcome in the present circumferences of consciousness. My hope is that this Blog will be of use, and not just the sounding board of an old, cautionary man.

I am convinced that nothing is going to prevent momentary lapses of consciousness, it is the may human beings think and don't think. This morning's fall could have been catastrophic, I was lucky. Will I "do better next time," I hope so. And I hope you do too, dear reader. Thank you for putting up with my cautions. They are well intended, as were those of my grandparents, uncles and aunts, parents, teachers and mentors. Sometimes unwelcome, but certainly well intended.

Mr. Careful

The family gathered at Castle St., and soon my Mother was asking me to step aside. Her question was, "are you racing motorcycles?" and my answer was a guarded "Yes." (I have referred to this in an earlier Blog entitled Carelessness/Careful Less). She was concerned, of course, and wondered if it might have something to do with my riding a "street machine" on the freeways and streets, and whether this might be considered a dangerous way to go. "Wouldn't it be better to just stay with the VW Bus?"

My response was that I would be careful, as I was with the Guzzi on the street; but then she reminded me that she had heard a story (probably slipped by my Father) that the Guzzi had sucked a valve at fairly high speed on the Santa Monica Freeway and that only luck and secondarily quick thinking had saved my neck. Again, I repeated that I was a careful person, first born male, stuck with responsibility and obligation, careful ways. She huffed when I said that my middle name was "Careful," to which she replied that it is was, in fact, "Lee," and that the words were not synonymous as far as she knew.

I tried to mollify her to no avail. She repeated her cautionary tales and I tried to convince her that this was a part of my so-called midlife crisis, was no more dangerous that driving a car in L.A.; and that my other midlife hobby, body surfing, although not completely without risks, was, in fact, fairly harmless ... as was motorcycle riding. She was having none of it, and then I told her that it wouldn't be long before both were going to be hung up because of an impending job change (to another state) where there would be neither surf nor motorcycles in the picture. Well, I was saved temporarily by this "paradigm shift," "What, you are going to New York, haven't said a word?." etc., etc. Julia was always one for going last yard with myself and siblings. Bless her Heart, she was great one.

Blog Writing

I've mentioned, in apology, my "policy" of not having a way for people to respond to my BLOG within the Blog. Fortunately many people have found their way around this to give me response one way or another. One of those mailed of a story in "Harper's Magazine" (Oct. 2009 pp. 64 - 66) by Jonathan Lethem called "The Dreaming Jaw, The Salivating Ear," in which the blogger, Jaw, tells of the perils of having The Whom and justiny moving around in the blog world.

The story, both amusing and alarming, takes you into the never never land of the blogesphere, where the pros and cons of blog life are examined. The Whom is menacing, and the Jaw extremely reactive to the menace. justiny wants to praise the Jaw, but seems to drop away when support is sorely needed: "A first appreciation has come. A tentative thing, a shred of sensibility, something that tiptoed in on little cat feet and graced me with praise. A he or she, I can't tell from the byline: justiny. i wuvvv your blog, justiny said, in a note, a seashell-pink crayon scribble on a fragile curl of tissue, the equivalent of a whisper, a thing I found stuck to my boot as I made my proprietary rounds, polishing brass railings and marble doorknobs and such like, and which I might have failed to notice."

Continuing, The Jaw says: "My blog loves you too, justiny, in its way. But I think my blog's love is more cosmic or Buddhist, more impassive and impersonal, than the need always to answer. My blog is for all ears that might listen, and who know how many might be? justiny happens to have piped up. (Barely.)" Dreaming Jaw, Salivating Ear.