"To Preserve Something of These Souls", "A Little Bit of Silliness", "Mysteries of the Cosmos"

March 6, 1999

Twelve forty-five am, and I'm so wide awake. Is it a side effect of the sinus drugs? I've been surfing. I've read through my own stuff as well. It's refreshing to visit old times. I sent my pick 'o the month to The Journal Collection, a special site where each journaller picks he/r best entry for the month. I selected my list of loves. Later, I found another journaller's, Carol Mathena, list of loves. I really, really love her words, which bring about such lovely images. (Note of June 2001: sadly, those words are no longer available.)

Goodnight, all. Morning will arrive much too soon.

~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~

I went back to bed, and didn't get up until nearly noon. I was too out of it to go with Laura and Julia to their bowshooting tournament. Laura was happy with a 215 score for 20 targets. (Her normal score with traditional bow would be 150 or so.) They have another 20 targets tomorrow.

Sweet Laura came back with ice cream bars for me, along with fancy lunch makings. So I had a tortilla with refried bean, cheese, salsa and guacamole , cranberry punch, and cream sundae bar for dessert.

Then I went surfing and learned:

More Bad News


Billy Jack Gaither

Another gay man has been tortured and murdered. Billy Jack Gaither, a thirty-nine year old textile worker, was beat to death. Afterwards they burned his body on a pile of kerosene-soaked tires. The two assassins, aged 25 and 21, said they did it because Gaither made sexual advances on them. Like that would have been an acceptable excuse??? The grandmother of the twenty-one year old, said ": . . He's just a typical boy.'' Yeah, right, sure. This is just good 'ol Alabama boy behavior. Right. But apparently his relatives are blaming the older partner, for the twenty-five year old wore racist T-shirts, and was known to get his kicks taunting blacks.

President Clinton made a statement, offering his prayers to Gaither's friends and family. He compared the slaying to the recent dragging death of a black man in Texas and the fatal beating of Matthew Shepard, the gay Wyoming college student last October.

Not AGAIN, I thought when I first read this morning's news. At least these crimes are being given national attention. If all of society expresses outrage, things may change.

~ ~~~ ~

I like this quote found in web-land, because there are so many levels of meaning to it. We can hate those who hate, but this is not a solution to all these evil things. It doesn't bring about healing.

"I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain."

-James Baldwin

Let's find all the pain, and the original pain from which they all draw their source. Let's target that, and see what will cure it. However rage filled we might be, it is more the stern calm concentration of the surgeon as she removes the cancer that we need. My scalpel is ready.

~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~

When I told Laura and Julia the day's news. Laura wanted me to put it in ATTWT, so I did some more research on the web, added some more details and there it is. I wanted to find out more of what Gaither was like. Sure enough, he was a hardworking, gentle, caring soul, who tended to his sick father . All his friends spoke highly of him. But I could tell that, just looking at his portrait. One news story had pictures of the killers. The vicious hate was apparent, especially in the older man.

I wish I could cast spells to make such hatred go away. But I can't. All I can do is research and write these little stories to preserve something of these souls whose lives were cut short much too soon. That's all. So I do it.

March 7, 1999

For breakfast I had a tuna salad sandwich on toast, three french fries, a few tomato slices, and a cup of tea


the geometrical form of one tomato slice fascinated me.

We spent part of our weekend recreation doing something we'd not likely do on our own initiative. My Mother, who is nuts about planes, had learned of an antique plane show right here in Casa Grande. She begged me to go and take pictures. So this morning, after Laura and Julia finished the last of their forty bowshooting targets, we rushed over to the airport, before the storm came.


The propeller of this midget plane was perhaps only one yard (one meter) wide.

The thing she most wanted me to see was a yellow piper cub.

My Mother even sent a letter with a tiny picture of one that she'd clipped out of a magazine. This plane, built from 1939-1947, was piloted by a cousin only three months younger than she was. He hoped to win a $10,000 prize during a midget plane race, which he'd use for further airline pilot training. But he crashed when both wings of his tiny craft collapsed as he rounded a pylon during the race. Pulled lifeless from the wreckage, he'd only just turned twenty-one one month earlier.

(from my Mother's letter ):

"I drove my first car, a thirteen year old 1937 Ford Convertible Coupe (which would be worth a bunch now - only 375 made) by myself without a driver's license yet, for his funeral and burial. I felt so bad about him getting killed. His coffin was closed at the funeral with just his picture on top. At the cemetary during the burial his flying buddies flew the missing V pattern overhead, a V with a spot left open for their fallen friend, which still chokes me up when I think about it. So you can see why yellow Cubs, airplanes and V's mean a lot to me.

Benny and I went to Forest Home Cemetary in Forest Park (near Chicago)) in 1996 to find his grave and take pictures of the gravesite. It all came back to me like it was August 1950 again."


Julia poses with a cub

March 8, 1999

Another Good One Goes


I drew a picture of Joe DiMaggio last November

DiMaggio had been suffering from lung cancer for some time. But shortly after midnight, he lost the battle. He was eighty-four.
He batted .325 lifetime, with 361 home runs, won three AmericanLeague Most Valuable Player awards, appeared in 11 All-Star gamesand entered the Hall of Fame in 1955. He played for 10 pennantwinners and nine World Series champions. For half a century, he wasintroduced as "the greatest living player." But he was more than just a baseball legend.

"DiMaggio, the consummate gentleman on and off the field,fought his illness as hard as he played the game of baseball andwith the same dignity, style and grace with which he lived hislife," said Morris Engelberg, DiMaggio's next-door neighbor." (From AP, via Starnet)

With all of this sadness, and people dying, what we need is:

A Little Bit Of Silliness!

One reader thought that the above pic used with the poem of March 1st was someone's nose.


Maybe it's a little clearer now what it is. . .
A belly button!
WHOSE?? I'll let you guess!
The subtle clues are there!

(The big hint is a laparoscopy scar. )

March 9, 1999

Our video diversion yesterday was Pecker, a fun John Waters film about a young photographer in Baltimore. Pecker (who got the name because he pecked at his food, in contrast to his young sister, a human eating machine) takes pictures of anything and everything he sees, the quirky characters in his neighborhood, cockroaches, rats humping, you name it. He's just having fun. He organizes a photography show in the diner he works at. The artsy fartsy big wigs from New York show up, and viola! he is instantly famous. But the fame and fortune wreck havoc with his family, friends and his art. So he tells the New York galleries to stuff it, and viola!, everything is fine again. Art must be Fun! This film has enough of the Waters quirkyness to satisfy quirky folks like us, yet it's tamed down enough so as not to offend the general populace too grossly.

Julia had a riotous time seeing scenes from her hometown, as well. The triad gives it SIX thumbs up!

In the evening, Julia and I returned the films to Blockbusters. On the way back, we looked up at the sky. "See that bright pinkish star just above Orion's belt?"asked Julia. I found the evenly spaced trio of stars, and looked up from there. This star was twinkling in a wobbly sort of way. "It's called Betelguese. Astronomers are very concerned about that star. It could go supernova at any time. Ordinarily, this isn't a problem. However this star is only 72,000 miles from us. . . " I could have that mileage wrong. Anyway the gist of it, is When she blows, we blow! It'll swallow us right up. I asked Julia if they had any idea when this could occur. "Anytime," she said. I looked again with nervous eye at that thing in the sky. What if 'the thing that finally gets me', gets us all, in one fell swoop?" Dreadful thought, that. What if? So much for all our illusions of grandeur. All that will have mattered is "Did we have fun while it lasted?"

Okay, I got curious. I can't just take Julia's word for it. What's on the web about Betelguese? Maybe it's all an unfounded scare. Here's the facts:

Should it go supernovae, the distance to Betelguese is 1400 light years (430 parsecs), which is far enough away to pose no danger.
The scientists at Nasa should know.

WHEW!!


March 10, 1999

I told Julia about what I'd read on the web about Betelguese. "Oh, you've made me look like a dummy!" Say you read it elsewhere!" She'd read it somewhere; she couldn't remember where. Possibly it was in one of those hi-IQ journals where 'geniuses' present their crackpot ideas. If it was in a respected scientific magazine, and the writer isn't totally off his rocker, at least other scientists are disputing his claims.

If, however, the Nasa scientists are engaging in a big cover-up, oh well, there's not much we can do about it by worrying.


March 11, 1999

Now that St Paddy's day is nearing, occasional stories about things Irish and green are making the news. Yesterday, Starnet featured a story about actress Fionnula Flanagan who misses being in Ireland on St. Patrick's Day. So she tries to have a bit of the homeland here in the states. Her house is filled with Irish things, and her family eats traditional Irish foods.

"When her guest asks about the shamrock's significance, Flanagan explains that when the Christian missionary St. Patrick, who converted Ireland from paganism, was trying to persuade the people to believe in the mystery of the trinity, he plucked a shamrock from the earth, pointed to the three leaves on the ``dear little plant'' and explained: ``Just as this plant has three leaves on one stem, we have three manifestations of God."

Well, I rather suspect the significance of the shamrock goes back a lot farther than St. Patrick. The Goddess Brigit has always had a triune aspect. It wouldn't have been that concept that would have been new to the ancient celts. Anyway, I like shamrocks. They're pretty. They're green. They're Irish. That's enough.

~ ~~~ ~

There are no more sweets left in the house! I ate about half of the container of chocolate pudding; Laura got the rest.  All the cookies and ice cream bars are gone.  The half-gallon of mint ice cream is, too.  I only had a little bit of that, though.  Laura ate over 1/3 of it Tuesday.  I had a fairly reasonable portion, (By little piggie standards, anyway!).  Then Laura showed up yesterday afternoon wanting cuddling. I had to laugh. Dark brown lined the edges of her lips and spotted her blouse. She smelled faintly mint-like. I made her confess: Yes, she polished off the REST of it. She also confessed to having a tummy ache!    Feeling her belly, there was a cold spot on her tummy, where inside, the digesting of it was going on.   I, of course, took full advantage of the chance to razz her.

1999's First Aloe Vera Blooms!


this is the plant by the car port


and this one is from our larger aloe vera

They may not be as big as last year's flowers , but they've bloomed and I'm glad to see them.


An utterly bizarre doodle, but I like it somehow. The 'alien' starmaker has a sort of innocence that appeals to me.


March 12, 1999

From the part of my brain that creates doodles, came the query I posed in ATTWT yesterday.

Getting Out of Town...

Getting out of town is always a good way to start the weekend, especially when you start it on Friday. I went with Laura to the fitness center and put in my 39 minutes on the treadmill. On the way home, Laura was saying, "We ought to take a weekday and go do something..." No day better than the present, we headed to Ahwahtukee. First, we took care of our bellies. Then we ventured into the Borders, which had just opened for business not too long ago. It reeked of newness. Of course, I made a direct line to the music department. The respectably sized area was well designed. Celtic and International music bins faced the folk music bins. I had only to twirl around to find my favs. I'd already read about the harp duo Sileas new album "play on light" from an ad Green Linnet had sent me. I was tempted to order it, along with the "Man in the Moon" Andy M. Stewart album I've mentioned earlier. But here this Sileas album was! Immediate satisfaction is vastly preferable.

Turning behind me, I learned Cris Williamson and Tret Fure have a new album out. The secrets within the Radio Quiet jewel case begged to be discovered.

I'd surfed the web before we left in hopes of finding a good movie for us to watch. I perused what was available at our favorite theater. Then I read the reviews at Starnet. Trying to find a movie both Laura and I would agree on that didn't sound sucky wasn't easy. We finally decided on My Favorite Martian. Because of its reviews at Starnet, I wasn't totally convinced. But it didn't sound horrid, either.

It was slow in the middle (I fell asleep!), it was silly at times, in a sort of irritating way, but overall, it was cute. The original Martian has a cameo role in the film. That was endearing, but overall, I'd give it a sideways thumb. Wait for the video.

Earlier, while we sat in the theater before the show began, I studied the liner notes that came with the CDs. Radio's Quiet's lyrics fascinate:

There are places on the earth that are so quiet
You can hear the whispers of space
We can stand beneath the stars and the heavens
And we search the Chaos for a face
We listen to the Matter for voices
From another time, another place. . .
Are we not alone in the cosmos? The mystery tantalizes.

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