Why I Don't Like THINGS

That is a picture of an antique iron, I think hot coals were placed in the bottom section.  I've never used an iron like this. I was given an iron, new circa 1956,  to take to college. It was a simple iron, no steam, a bit heavy. I used it until sometime when I already had two children and was living in the second house purchased as a family. Then the cord became so frayed it was a danger and I thought it time to invest in a steam iron. I like irons. They are simple tools with a simple purpose.  They have no real moving parts, they last and give me no trouble.

I do not like many other tools, gadgets and addtions to my household as much as I like irons.  Today I am almost  beside myself trying to put a new toner cartridge in my printer.  I had difficulty getting the used one out although in the past it has been easy to slip these cartidges in and out.  I suspect I've broken something.  I am contemplating taking the thing to a "genius" at Staples to have the cartridge inserted. This should not be happening.  It should not be difficult.  I REALLY, yes, REALLY need to print some things thing morning. As it happens the printer is large and unweildy (yes, there are smaller ones but this office model was given to me and it's a great printer.... most of the time.

I am not very happy with telephones or computers. I suspect they are way beyond my ability to comprehend what is going on in their teeny-tiny little innards. I have, at times, been deeply disgruntled with their glitches. The same goes for my sewing machine. Recently I "fixed" a problem or two on the sewing machine by taking off it's armor and, mostly just dusting out the lint that had accumulated around the bobbin case -- I  have been sewing as long as I have been ironing and I have never had to do that before. I'm not sewing more. The lint is accumulating more. Could it be the fabric?  I don't think so, I use good quality quilting fabric for the most part. Could it be the thread? I suspect so. Thread has many qualities and I pay far more attention to color than to thread material, weight and so on. 

Other things fail to work right that ought to be simple.  I know why the bathroom sink drain gets stopped up -- it's my hair. My hair is long and, in fact, it's a lot of places, like the  brush, the floor, and also the drain of the shower/tub.  At the moment I like it long but it causes these problems and I take responsibility for that.  But the faucet on my kitchen sink has to be turned just so or it will drip.  I have complained to the apartment management and a plumber as made minor adjustments but admitted that I need a whole new faucet and that must be requested with some tone of outrage.  (We won't go into the complications of living in an apartment complex owned by a family who are, as landlords tend to be, irksomely frugal -- we also won't go into my complaints about the exterior painter who left gobs of paint on my windows).  THINGS, as I said -- the word THINGS covers a large area. 

Mostly I'm an easy going person, I cope with the faucet, and the sinks as best I can. I think I'll get that irksome printer cartridge inserted this morning ... maybe after I get dressed and come back to it in a quieter frame of mind.  Or I'll have to go see the "geniuses" who will take pity on the white haired lady and be cheerful when they tell me I ought to get a new printer and save myself some money on the price of toner cartridges (while helping them earn a commission, I suspect).

Tai Chi, et cetera

First was hatha yoga -- I discovered it at age 29, when fewer than half a dozen yoga teachers existed in the USA. I learned from books and taught it (completely uncredentialed) for a dozen years. Little did I know that in 40 years there would be "yoga studios" in every strip mall in the USA and so many variations on the original even the multi-armed Hindu gods couldn't have done all the positions.

I did yoga very seriously many years and less seriously about the same number of years and then I went to China and, in Shangri-la, (that was its recently acquired name --for touristic purposes) I broke my hip. When it was replaced I recovered quickly, being in good physical shape, but had acquired a fear of straining the new connections in my hip and stopped doing yoga. A mistake!

 A couple of years ago I took six weeks of tai chi at a senior center. Short form, long form -- it just didn't work for me although the teacher was a nice young woman. My feet wouldn't coordinate with arm and hand movements. Then I found Tai Chi Easy, a trade marked system being taught at the community college by a psychologist. It is perfectly named: EASY. Feet are planted firmly, upper body moves, weight shifts, breathing is coordinated. It's mediative and can be done in ten minutes or stretched out longer.  It feels good and is both relaxing and invigorating. I found, in the summer, when there are no classes, that I can find a quiet place on a somewhat secluded beach and practice this routine enjoying the sun and breeze and sparkle on the water and breathing the fresh ocean-scented air 

Last Saturday I went to a tai chi "demonstration" by a 70+ year old man who has begun teaching tai chi chih. (It seems tai chi, like yoga, is morphing into a variety of systems. I seems Americans can't ever take up something Asian without putting their stamp on it.) He will be teaching at the gym I belong to and also doing free hours at the local senior center. It's somewhat different from the "Easy" version but without the complex foot movements of the other one I tried. After the beginning of next month I'm going to go to his classes and learn his form.

I joined that gym, to which my daughter has belonged for years, to take yoga. I find myself weekly in a class that is labeled yoga but which has more Feldenkraist movements than yoga, plus a routine created by the teacher, a woman over 80 - she includes lots of free movement, dancing, some ki gong and a long relaxation period. She's a character, small, wiry, kind and has done just about every kind of exercise invented, I think. She is an example of "use it so you won't lose it."  And I couldn't agree more. Feldenkraist was a Jewish/Austrian man who developed a set of gentle movements that are to be repeated "to break down old holding patterns" and open joints.  Most of them are comfortable and subtle.  The spine and shoulders are special targets.  My shoulders are tight although my spine has always been strong.  My back rarely aches.

I've never enjoyed sports or any of the "equipment" exercises. I walked miles most days the thirty years I lived in NYC and love hiking (and trekking) and now am delighted to have a beautiful beach on which to walk and other paths nearby. I don't like the yoga that is being offered so many places -- I'll admit that's partly because in several years of not doing it, I've lost flexibility and strength. So I turn to the gentler Chinese/Asian systems.  They're ideal for an older body.  I'll be learning more in the next several months.  Happily, I need no equipment and they can be done in the living room when it's cold and snowy outside.

A Word for Everything

I just received a word that is so wonderful I have to share it before I write about the super moon:

kakistocracy

PRONUNCIATION:

(kak-i-STOK-ruh-see, kah-ki-)

MEANING:

noun: Government by the least qualified or worst persons.

ETYMOLOGY:

From Greek kakistos (worst), superlative of kakos (bad) + -cracy (rule). Ultimately from the Indo-European root kakka-/kaka- (to defecate), which also gave us poppycock, cacophony. Earliest documented use: 1829. 

 

The word would not exist if it had not been needed in the past. It is welcome to day! That is not much consolation. Since 1829 we, specifically, and the world, not only in general but in gigantic proportion, has suffered seriously due to terrible leaders (many of them with diagnosable mental diseases) although, I'm glad to say, with a share of good ones.  'nuff said.

 

I saw this great moon last night, as it was heading towards its greatest splendor which, I'm told came about in the wee hours this morning when it was at its perigee, (closest to the earth--30,000 miles closer than it is at its apogree). At something like 4:00 a.m. it was at its closest and seeming brightest. Actually I awoke (a fairly frequent occurrence, especially since the ritual clock adjustment). I got up to go to the bathroom (more reflex than necessity).  I didn't think of looking at the moon. Since all my windows look east, I would have had to go out into the parking lot to look up to see the western sky.  I wish I'd thought to do it but I was groggy enough to slip back into bed and sleep another hour and a half.  

Via the Old Farmers' Almanac I've learned it was called the "Beaver" moon by the Natives of this part of the country. Supposedly they hunted beavers before the critters got settled in their dams for the winter.  I have come to distrust a good bit of what I read about Indian life and habits.  I just read an academic book called The Ecological Indian by Shepherd Krech who emphasizes how the fur traders who wandered Northeastern US and Eastern Canada , inspired greed in the Indians who slaughtered the beavers nearly to extinction in the 1800s as beaver fur became prized in Europe. I have seen only one beaver in the wild (in Yellowstone) although they were once plentiful in New England. Mr. Krech also takes on deer and, of course, bison. It was a depressing book but enlightening. Yes, I find enlightenment can be a good thing but it also is very, very often depressing.

 

Spreading the seeds

Two photos of exploded milkweed pods.  The seeds which were attached to similar feathery bits of the pds in the top picture, have been blown away by the wind -- which is exactly what always happens. 

These photos are actually of the same plant -- two different stalks of it. The lower photo shows seeds still clinging -- those pods are lower down, have suffered less battering by the wind.

Like a few other formerly rural people, I remember at age 5 or 6, walking thorough weedy patches with a paper bag or maybe a pillow case, collecting the silky part of dry milkweed plants. It seems the fibers were used during WWII instead of silk for making parachutes.  At least that's what we were told. I supposed it kept us kids occupied for a couple of hours. I remember it was more fun to blow on the fluffy white bits and watch them waft away, than it was to put them in a container where they immediately seemed utterly inconsequential.

Annual change underway

When November approaches my days have a new rhythm.  I am up in time to watch the sun rise.  It may be pink or orange or some shades of both. I can drink my coffee and eat my breakfast as I watch the sky change.  The above sky was three days ago. It will never be the same but, except for totally gray mornings as today was, it will always be fascinating colors.

Yesterday was nicely warm after several cool day.  As I walked to the beach for what may be one of the last warm walks of the year, I stopped to smell the roses at a house that has a nice border. The fresh new one had wonderful, true rose scent; the one behind it was withering and will disappear with the next wind and rain.  I am always surprised how hearty some roses are here on the Cape.  Before long the frost and then snow will tell these beauties to sleep until the Prince in the form of spring sun comes to wake them again.

Pumpkin time

Every year a traditional New England style white church on Rte. 28 in Yarmouth, here on Cape Cod fills it's expansive lawn with pallets of pumpkins, from large to small -- a sea of orange with green paths between. It's a gorgeous, autumn sight. For years I've muttered that I must take a photo. Today I took a few, this is one that show the size and expansiveness of the display. 

Pumpkins are not a favorite food of mine and I'm not enticed by the various "pumpkin spice" flavoring being offered everywhere from Starbucks to Dunkin' Donuts. Nor am I a holiday fan of pumpkin pie.  I do love their brilliant color and enjoy driving past that church  all of October. 

There are now white pumpkins for sale in the grocery stores.  They seem like freaks of nature, possibly grown so people can paint extravagant faces on them. Or maybe just "because it can be done."  We never stop tinkering with nature. I can't help remembering the first line of a James Whitcomb Riley poem: "When the frost in on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock..."  Once America's most quoted poet, (early 20th century) now forgotten.  A Hoosier, so we read him in school back home in Indiana.  I find it satisfying to think about how quickly hacks are forgotten.

Autumn is here

The new header is rose hips -- the red from red roses (natch) and the yellow from white roses.  They are full of vitamin C and they make good jam. I've been told how to do it but I haven't and probably won't. I use very little jam. I understand they also can be the basis of good teas but that I probably won't do either as I mostly prefer a black tea or a peppermint one.  But they're pretty! I understand you can't dry them (they shrivel up) and use them for Christmas tree decorations which sounds lovely .... but, alas, impossible.

 I often chat a bit a man who goes to the beach I prefer to walk on for a long day of sunning on weekends.  He works during the week.  We are "regulars" as is a woman I often chat with too.  (She feeds the gulls.) This man wanders along the beach, sometimes collecting can and other junk to put in the garbage barrel as he leaves.  One day I saw he had a gallon-size plastic zip baggie of rose hips.  I asked if he or his wife planned to make jam.  He said, "No, they're for the rabbits."  He explained two little brown rabbits live at the far edge of his lawn and one day he had brought home some rose hips which is wife didn't want.  So he put them out for the rabbits to eat if they wanted.  They very much wanted!  They loved them. Now they come into the yard looking to the house waiting for rose hips which he keeps in the refrigerator and doles out sparingly.  He says they have even sometimes come up to the patio slider and looked in. 

UDDATE about the manatee:  She swam around for nearly a month and then was  caught and taken to a marine animal center in Mystic, Connecticutt where she was given a pool of water about 60 degrees, and examined. They found she was pregnant.  The last I heard the plan was to take her back to Florida. I hope she survives.