The mighty beaver (no perversion here)

Being challenged to use an animal for my avatar, I considered many things.  Then I remembered a personality test I took in a workshop while in the public school system.  I was a beaver, industrious, compulsive, creative.  Okay, then.  Well when I went looking for a beaver picture for my avatar, I ran into some info, so I'm including it just so you'll know.

Beavers are more than intriguing animals with flat tails and lustrous fur. American Indians called the beaver the "sacred center" of the land because this species creates rich habitats for other mammals, fish, turtles, frogs, birds and ducks. Since beavers prefer to dam streams in shallow valleys, much of the flooded area becomes wetlands. Such wetlands are cradles of life with biodiversity that can rival tropical rain forests. Almost half of endangered and threatened species in North America rely upon wetlands.

Besides being a keystone species, beavers reliably and economically maintain wetlands that can sponge up floodwaters (the several dams built by each colony also slows the flow of floodwaters), prevent erosion, raise the water table and act as the "earth's kidneys" to purify water. The latter occurs because several feet of silt collect upstream of older beaver dams, and toxics, such as pesticides, are broken down in the wetlands that beavers create. Thus, water downstream of dams is cleaner and requires less treatment.

Beavers' ability to change the landscape is second only to humans. But that is just one reason why we find the flat-tailed species fascinating. Adults may weigh over 40 pounds, and beavers mate for life during their third year. Both parents care for the kits (usually one to four) that are born in the spring. The young normally stay with their parents for two years, and yearlings act as babysitters for the new litter. While some beaver behavior is instinctive, they also learn by imitation and from experience. Dr. Donald Griffin, the father of animal cognition, has said, "When we think of the kinds of animal behavior that suggest conscious thinking, the beaver comes naturally to mind."

Wildlife rehabilitators find beavers to be gentle, reasoning beings who enjoy playing practical jokes. An Indian word for "beaver-like" also means "affable." Once weaned, their favorite foods include water lily tubers, clover, apples and the leaves and green bark (cambium) from aspen and other fast-growing trees.

November 11, 2006 GOD BLESS THOSE WHO SERVE

Every war must be our last, must be the final test of strength and will

And yet again midst disagreements men still take up arms and mount their hill.

With each new conflict weaponry evolves piling horror upon horror.

And at each ghastly end we reevaluate the loss and senselessness of war.

There are things worthy of the fight.  Each man must settle then his mind and heart

And know beyond a doubt if work and prayer or leaving home and bearing arms should be his part.



Long years ago, my father fought his fight on islands and on foreign ground

While those who history still calls tyrants faced an end that brought their efforts down.

And many of my friends went off to struggle in a war that knew no victory

A number of them struggle still and fight a war within an unkind memory.

Today my nephews live and serve a place of heat and wind and storms of sand

Sometimes the end seems further than it was years past when all of this began.



I read a journal of a man commissioned to record on film the civil war

He joined the fight excited by a job he’d do that never had been done before.

Hist’ry in the making yet so soon he lost his zeal and innocence

The overwhelming conflict fought by friends and brothers came to make no sense.

And though he thought it right to wage and win the battles and the war.

His final entry spoke of hope that man would learn to live in peace and fight no more.  DW'06



One of the most honorable men I have known was my father, a highly decorated soldier from World War II.  As I look at his medals and mementos, I am reminded that he never spoke of the war.  He spoke of the children in that foreign land.  He spoke of the men and their antics aboard ship.  He spoke of his days in basic and his time as a drill sergeant.  He never spoke of what the medals were given for, though at times I saw him looking at them privately with sadness in his eyes.  Only recently have I learned of the horrors he personally had to face in his service.  My heart broke for this man I still love dearly though he had departed this earth.



I suppose that man will always wage war, justly or unjustly.  Sometimes the decisions have nothing to do with the men who fight or loose their lives and yet as soldiers they serve without reserve as they are commissioned.  We must always be proud of the men and women who serve honestly, doing the best job they can under the circumstance they are given. 



God bless those who have served and who still serve our country in the military.

whilst our hamsters process your request

I'm probably not the best blogger in the world.  I certainly haven't been blogging so long as many of you.  My page isn't the most creative, and I don't even care about moblogging!  But dadgummit, I've become a blogger.

At first it was a request: Come look.  Then there was an invite: Be my friend.  Then I started experimenting.  It's a place to dream, a place to care, a place to find people I never knew existed that care whether I have a brother named incognito or not.  People I didn't know started leaving little comments.  I laughed, I interacted, I fumed, I cared.  Wow!  Now I understood the virtual world.  I considered my science def from college. "Virtual: not real."  We'll just send that to the recycle bin and beyond.

Next, I discovered that I had albums, or at least I could make albums.  I could share pictures that revealed another dimention of my "real" world to my virtual friends.  I photographed some things just for my new friends.  I sorted and posted old things and created albums to say, "Here.  This is me.  This is what I know, and what I do, and where I walked today."  I have albums planned, albums prepared and albums I've only begun to imagine.  But alas, the hamsters have been poisoned.

Not only that, but I find that not all the hamsters are sick.  Some people still have healthy hamsters and they continue to roll out those photo albums.  But my hamsters are poisoned.  I can't tell you how that frustrates me.  (See virtual photo above.)  It may be true that I neither knew or cared that I had albums available a year ago, but all that changed when I became a blogger.

I went to 360 with my inner panic, but like all governing agencies, they are ignoring the complaints while they try to figure out what the blazes has happened to the hamsters.  I'm sure they've appointed a committee to try to see who poisoned which hamsters and why that person would do such a thing and what kind of rehabilitation they will need to live a virtually productive life in the future, cohabitating peacefully with hamsters.  They probably haven't touched on the veterinary bills yet or the psychological dammage done to the bloggers.

Growl, snort, sigh.  I just want my friends to see my photo albums.  Somebody let me know when the hamsters come back to work.  Oh my.  They might not have been poisoned; they might be on strike.  Now why would 360 cover something like that up?!

This time of year

This photo was taken by my friend who lost his dad this past week.  I included it, because it's really more about life than death to me.

At this time of year, while I watch,

the trees struggle between life and sleep

through the strongest brilliance they will know,

shedding their coverings for the harsh, brittle

state of winter.  I see that the only way

they can possibly live again is to die –for now. 

Dropping all signs of life through a grand

array, they lie still and bare until,

through the wonder of spring,

they are resurrected to beauty and vibrance.

Such is a picture of our seasons

and of our lives.

Mosaic for my aquarium wall

If only I could get this mural done!

The world is out there waiting with its fun.

I’ve friends to greet and meals to eat

and sweepstakes to be won,

If only I could get this mural done.



If only I could get this mural done,

I’d catch the final romance of the sun.

I’ve leaves to rake and bags to take

to goodwill or some one

If only I could get this mural done.



If only I could get this mural done

I’d finish other projects I’ve begun

I’ve soup to make and bread to bake

And recipes – a ton.

If only I could get this mural done.



If only I could get this mural done!

I’d spend awhile with my aged mum

I’ve tales to spin, art to begin

Ideas that die alone,

While I must work to get this mural done.     DW 2006

This mosaic wall is 5 ft by 8 ft tall and when completed will be composed of glass, rock and shell with a black grout in the glass area.  At about 6 ft it will be broken up by a shelf and hopefully a waterfall.  I must complete it to move my aquarium out of my bathroom where it has resided for a little over a year.  I've played with it for almost a month and have worked seriously since I returned from my trip to the southwest between classes, firing, home, meetings and blogging.  It's moving a little faster now that I'm into the glass phase.

A cat condo and the southwest

We're going to be gone about 9 or 10 days starting in a few hours.  So I planned to create a condo for my kitten so he won't get too bored staying here and just seeing a human once or maybe twice a day.  So that's what you see above.  His tent and his condo in the making and then at it's present mostly finished stage.

So I guess I'll see you guys later, unless one of our reservations should happen to have wi-fi in the room.  Not a likely.  Some of those places don't even have cell phone service.

Peace, grace and don't mess the world up too much while I'm gone.  I'll have pictures and stories when I return.

Jon today

Today we went to another town, to the home of people we don’t know and attended a barbeque in honor of my grandson who will be leaving Wednesday for navy basic training in Michigan.  There he was, standing tall, posing for pictures with bunches of different people.  There he was, sitting with his arm around his girlfriend, laughing and joking in a not quite shy grown up manner.  There he was cutting a huge cake that looked like an American flag.  He hugged me long and hard before we left and I saw a wetness in the big boy eyes. 

For the last month, he’s come to see me at least once a week and we have laughed and dreamed and discussed.  He gave me his kitten.  Well, it wasn’t his technically, but he had adopted it out of their cat’s last litter and he knew he couldn’t take it with him.  So, when he learned I wanted a yellow cat, he brought it to me without remorse.  Last week, he sat in the floor playing with the cat and his (the cat’s) Barbie tent while I finished with my art students.

When he was small, he was gramma’s boy.  I have so many memories, so many pictures.  His birthday is 2 years and 2 days after my youngest daughter’s.  When they were little, they were together so much and were so close to the same size, coloring and general appearance that people assumed they were twins.  We always celebrated birthdays together.  My daughter and family came to our house a lot.  Gramma loved her Jonny and Jon loved his gramma.

I took him to his first large art museum when he was 5.  That night he was talking to daddy and told him about the museum with great intellectual excitement.  He finished by saying “Oh, yeah, and I saw a great big statue of a guy who didn’t have any arms, but he had a great big penus.”  We were all shocked, but laughed at the workings of a 5 year old male mind.

On that same trip, he and Amanda loved the hotel swimming pool, which was a little on the cool side, and loved it so much their skinny little bodies both turned a shade of blue.  Noticing this, I called them over to the not quite hot tub I was sitting in to get their body temps up.  Jon stood on the side looking at me in horror refusing to come in.  Amanda a little slow to respond came and got in, dog paddling to my side.  Finally after insisting, Jon came gingerly toward me big tears in his eyes.  He thought it was boiling.

He was in early elementary when, during a family visit, he was helping me in the kitchen.  His brother Josh wanted up on the step.  Mom insisted Jon was there first and gramma worked happily on trying to ignore the squabble.  A couple of times Josh tried to push him aside to no avail.  I’m not sure just why Jon had to leave, maybe the call of a parent, maybe the call of nature, but he ran off promising to be right back.  No sooner had he gone than brother Josh climbed the step to “help”.  Jon returned to see the situation and demanded his spot to which mom replied that he’d left and Josh was on the step now.  Eyes flaming Jon surveyed the room and found an ice pick.  Gramma averted a disaster of Biblical significance by pulling the ice pick from his hands in route and quietly saying “We don’t take up weapons against our brother.”  A short time later, having proved his equality, Josh found other things to occupy his interest while Jonny mounted the step to help again.

As teens he and his brother were proud scouts.  Our family camped a lot and the boys loved to show off their skills and knowledge.  Coming back from a long all day hike tired, cold and wet from a common Rocky Mountain thunderstorm, we saw that the teenagers had made it home ahead of us.  We assumed that anyway, because they always did.  This night long before we reached our base camp, we could see the fire.  Actually, they could have seen the fire from the international space station had it been overhead at that time.  Walking into camp I saw Jon’s big proud smile.  I also noticed that there was not one stick of firewood left for the night or next morning.  Dull and tired I simply said “You guys could make a person hate boy scouts,” and went about my business.  Before the twilight died off, I had a large neat pile of wood gathered, and stacked for the morning.  I did say “Thank you.”

As a child, Jon came to see me at least once or twice a month and the memories are so many.  Some pride and decency will not allow telling, but mostly time and respect for the reader leave them contained only in my heart and memory.  Then there came that business of the teen years when friends and school and work and whatever took their toll and the visits grew seldom and were shallow.  But now: the impending separation.  I faced it sadly at first, missing the joy of the bygone closeness.  I guess I wasn’t the only one who remembered how much we once shared.  So I cherish the sweet little stories and plans and suggestions we’ve known for the past month.  They’ll have to do till Christmas. 

Hurry Christmas.