Merry Christmas!

The Magpie, Claude Monet

At 4:01 on Monday, December 22, a black-billed magpie flew by my office window.

Magpies are common out here, but nowhere to be seen back east. As a child growing up mostly in the south, I had always wanted to see one, possibly because I watched the “Heckle and Jeckle” cartoons, but more probably because it was about the only bird I had not been able to match with its picture in a book of birds that belonged to my grandfather. The first time I ever saw a magpie was in France, two years ago this winter. I was fascinated then, and I am fascinated now.

Magpies, Versailles, 2006
Photo by author

Magpies belong to the crow family, and are said to be the only ones that recognize themselves in a mirror. The bird was referred to as “pie” (short for “piebald” most likely, because it is black and white) until the 16th century, when the feminine “mag” was added to the beginning (probably because it talks so much).

The magpie has many legends and symbols attached to it. The fact that it likes shiny objects gives it the reputation of being of thief, and it does have the habit of insinuating itself into other birds’ nests – and eating the eggs. An old English folk tale states that when Jesus was crucified on the cross, all of the world's birds wept and sang to comfort him in his agony. The only exception was the magpie, and for this, it is forever cursed, and in Scottish folklore, magpies were long reviled for allegedly carrying a drop of Satan's blood under their tongues. In the Middle Ages and during the witch-hunts in Europe, the bird was considered to be connected with witchcraft - just like crows, ravens, and black cats.

But I prefer to entertain the magpie’s more positive symbolism. The Chinese regard the magpie as sacred, and its singing foretells happiness and good luck. And Claude Monet obviously liked them.

So, to all my friends and family who reside on the east coast, down south, the mid-west, the west coast, or the continent, (and everyone else): may the magpie that you see in the painting above be your omen for a happy holiday season, and a very prosperous new year.

On My Way, or Thinking Outside the Box

A formation of Canada geese flies by my office window. On Wednesday, December 17 at 3:23 p.m. I decide to step outside. I put aside my work, put on my coat, pull on my gloves, and walk past the cubicles and rows of file cabinets that flank the path to the front door. I open it.

It is cold, but it is a good cold. It is a fine day for a walk.

I walk across the lot, turn the corner, and head up the street. At the end of the street, the path diverges. I can go left, or I can go right. To my left is the east, where the prairie rolls out. Over the prairie the sky is still blue, the clouds are high, and the way is clear. To my right is the west. The mountains block my view. The clouds are dark and hang low. This way could be tricky; filled with many challenges. I take the right way.

The path is icy in spots, made so by the recent snowfall that melted, then refroze overnight. But it does not slow my stride. Nor does it seem to hinder the others on this path, most of them runners. They race by me, focused on nothing but the rush.

But I keep a steady pace. I notice the things that they cannot. I watch the geese slide to a landing on the frozen pond. I see the twisted formation on the side of the giant cottonwood tree that looks like a ghoulish face. I hear the magpies whistling their warnings. I see the waning gibbous moon above me.

On my way, I sense a sudden stillness. I pause, and slowly turn my head to the source. A fox. I wait. The fox resumes her hunt, digging through the snow for a morsel. Finding something, she quickly chews it down. When she is done, she raises her head to look at me. Her eyes are steady. They hold mine. They seem to say “Well, what are you waiting for?” “Nothing,” I think.

The fox crosses my path and begins her hunt anew on the other side. I walk on. Satisfied with my answer to myself, I continue my journey.

Where am I headed? Anywhere I want. I may even make it up as I go along. I’ll need some tools, but a sharp pencil and a blank sheet of paper will suffice for this trip.

Up ahead there is a bridge on the path. I cross it. The world opens up. I am on my way.

May He Live Long and Prospero

Original artwork by Chris White

This story made the news in the December 10th edition of the Denver Post, but it comes from nearby my previous neck of the woods. About 35 miles south of Greensboro, Siler City, N.C. is a long way from Altair IV, but one of the city's inhabitants has a vision that's as grand as anything dreamed up by William Shakespeare or Gene Roddenberry. And I'm not talking about Aunt Bee's pickles.

He's already a stock market prognosticator, but junk collector Stuart Ellis also wants to be the "Christmas-light king of the world..."

Ellis is selling his flying saucer so he can pay off his credit-card and mortgage debt and then stake himself as a stock-options trader. "I'm going to excel in the stock market and make me some money, and then I'm going to be the Christmas-light king of the world," he said.

Ellis lives on 17 acres with thousands of trees. He's wrapped hundreds of them with about 650,000 lights. But he doesn't have enough money to power them up. So he's selling his saucer.

A Calabasas, Calif., auction company called Profiles in History hopes to auction Ellis' spaceship for $80,000 to $120,000 on Thursday. The auctioneer also hopes to sell Luke Skywalker's light saber from "The Empire Strikes Back," among other Hollywood treasures.

"My mom called me on the phone," Ellis said. "She thought I was totally broke. Which I am not. And she said go find something to sell." He turned to the 82-inch-diameter spaceship hanging from his garage ceiling. It was built for the groundbreaking 1956 sci-fi flick "Forbidden Planet." It also appeared in six episodes of "The Twilight Zone" before MGM auctioned it in 1970s.

Ellis, who grew up going to flea markets and auctions for fun, said he bought it for $150.

Learning to day-trade stock options, Ellis said he believes the Dow Jones industrial average eventually will fall to 500. "I just wanted to say that to you for no reason at all," he explained, "but in about seven to eight years, you're going to understand."

And perhaps by then, someone will look down upon Earth and see a patch of light streaming into space from North Carolina.

"Everybody has a stupid dream," Ellis said. "I have always wanted to be the Christmas-light king of the world."

Neige at Night

Photography by Lauren Oliver

The snow is late this year. Normally, it begins sometime in late October, but this year it didn't arrive until late November. Last night the snow started coming down at about 4:30 and it didn't let up until early this morning.

The weather outside was frightful(ly beautiful)

We were expecting snow on Thanksgiving day, but it came down on Friday instead. So we took a hike - in it. It was starkly glorious.

Oh, my aching back . . . or, how I went in for an injection and came out with a $6,730.00 bloody nose.

A little background. In 2003, I had back surgery to fuse vertebrae L4 and L5. The surgeon also did a little judicious scraping here and there to open up the nerve channels, and he replaced my once-functioning disc material with cadaver bone and titanium screws. Four of 'em. Limited mobility, but no pain, was the upshot. Until recently. It seems that sitting all day at an 8-to-5 job is not good for a person with my history. In fact, it's very, very bad.

Mind you, I do get up from my chair every hour on the hour to stretch, to walk around my cubicle, or to go mind somebody else's business, but evidently that's not enough. No, I have what is referred to in the trade as "Failed back-surgery syndrome." FBSS. Yes, there is probably some BS in there.

Not that I shouldn't have had the surgery. I should have. But I didn't follow up properly enough. I didn't strengthen my core. I didn't even know what my core was until I was told that I had to strengthen it. So let this be a warning to you all. Find your core. Strengthen it. Or else you, too, will end up with a $6,730.00 bloody nose.

I went to see a local Pain Specialist. What they do is this. They listen to your complaint, tell you that you have FBSS, and then they tell you that the only way to fix it is to have a steroid injection in your spine. Alright! That'll do it! Did I ask about side-effects? No. I had this same procedure in 2002, twice, prior to the surgery. So I knew about all of them. Sleeplessness, irritability, edema, headaches, etc. No sweat - except for the night ones.

Did I ask how much it would cost? No. My insurance in 2002 paid for it - all of it. Should I have? Oh yeah. I got the bill yesterday. I won't have to shoulder the entire burden. Only about $1,060.62 of it. Still. That's a lot to pay for a bloody nose.

So now you are asking - "What's up with the bloody nose, fer chrissake?" Well, just before the anesthesiologist squirted the stuff that would give me blessed release from the anxiety that accompanies the knowledge that someone I just met would be swabbing my naked backside with antiseptic and then threading a 30-foot needle into my back thigh via my sacrum, he inserted two tubes into my nostrils. Oxygen, he said. Fresh from the bottle, he said. Dry, he neglected to say.

For two weeks now I have been scraping bloody crustables from my interior nasal cavities. The air out here - minus 20% humidity - doesn't help. I'm probably anemic by now. But I figure that $6,730.00 is a small price (for me and my insurance company) to pay. Except for my wallet, I am pain-free. And I am well on my way to having a strengthened core. Whatever that is.

I Heart Alton Brown!

I have always liked Alton's show on the Food Network, but never more so than during the recent election. His show airs out here at 6:00 p.m., at the same time as network news - which I actually stopped watching about a year ago - but also at the same time as shows like "Bill O'Reilly" on Fox or "The Lehrer Report" on PBS. My husband is a politics/news junkie, but I was getting fed up with election coverage. I even published blog posts on it. Yikes - what was I thinking? That any of that stuff mattered? Well, yes, but that's another post.

By happy accident I discovered - after taking the remote into my own hands - that "Good Eats" could take the place of election coverage while I was cooking our eats. Now I'm hooked. I can't wait to get home, prepare dinner, and tune into Alton Brown. Yes, he's a little goofy, a little gimicky, but his recipes are good.

Tonight he recast that Thanksgiving classic (since 1955 anyway) the green bean casserole, into a suave, silky, eminently edible dish. I am going to make it. And it will appear on my Thanksgiving table! Along with another Thanksgiving classic, Chicken Marengo!

Vive l'haricot, vive l'oignon, vive le champignon!

Here is the recipe. I hope some of you will join me in this Thanksgiving treat:

Best Ever Green Bean Casserole

Prep Time:

25 min

Inactive Prep Time:

hr min

Cook Time:

45 min

Level:

Easy

Serves:

4 to 6 servings

For the topping:
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons panko bread crumbs
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Nonstick cooking spray

For beans and sauce:
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
1 pound fresh green beans, rinsed, trimmed and halved
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
12 ounces mushrooms, trimmed and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup chicken broth
1 cup half-and-half

Preheat the oven to 475 degrees F.

Combine the onions, flour, panko and salt in a large mixing bowl and toss to combine. Coat a sheet pan with nonstick cooking spray and evenly spread the onions on the pan. Place the pan on the middle rack of the oven and bake until golden brown, approximately 30 minutes. Toss the onions 2 to 3 times during cooking. Once done, remove from the oven and set aside until ready to use. Turn the oven down to 400 degrees F.

While the onions are cooking, prepare the beans. Bring a gallon of water and 2 tablespoons of salt to a boil in an 8-quart saucepan. Add the beans and blanch for 5 minutes. Drain in a colander and immediately plunge the beans into a large bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Drain and set aside.

Melt the butter in a 12-inch cast iron skillet set over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms, 1 teaspoon salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms begin to give up some of their liquid, approximately 4 to 5 minutes. Add the garlic and nutmeg and continue to cook for another 1 to 2 minutes. Sprinkle the flour over the mixture and stir to combine. Cook for 1 minute. Add the broth and simmer for 1 minute. Decrease the heat to medium-low and add the half-and-half. Cook until the mixture thickens, stirring occasionally, approximately 6 to 8 minutes.

Remove from the heat and stir in 1/4 of the onions and all of the green beans. Top with the remaining onions. Place into the oven and bake until bubbly, approximately 15 minutes. Remove and serve immediately.

Printed from FoodNetwork.com on 10/08/2008

© 2008 Scripps Networks, LLC. All Rights Reserved

We Are All Individuals!

I'm not.

(Click on bottom photo for something completely different)

It's a Big World After All

No matter who wins the election, it behooves us all to remember that politics does not move the world. The realm of politics is but a miniscule portion of life on planet Earth. Politics=this much. The Universe=EVERYTHING.

Politicians do not create, they do not innovate, they do not discover, they do not matter.

What if we gave an election and nobody came?

What would happen if we quit listening to politicians and listened to Beethoven instead?

What if, instead, we gazed at the stars, and wondered if anyone was looking back?

What would happen if we stopped giving politicians our oh-so finite and valuable time? What beautiful works could we create? What inspiring books would we read? What wonderful movies would we watch? What challenging discussions could we engage ourselves in?

What if we refused to allow politicians into our homes via the television, the radio, the internet?

What if they figured out that we don't care?

Would they go away?

Probably not. But we can hope. And we can keep looking up.

I'm Optimistic

In 1939 Dietrich Bonhoeffer (see Thought for the Day) joined a secret group of high-ranking military officers based in the Abwehr, or German Military Intelligence Office, who wanted to overthrow the National Socialist regime by killing Hitler. Bonhoeffer was arrested in April 1943 after money used to help Jews escape to Switzerland was traced to him. He was charged with conspiracy and imprisoned in Berlin for a year and a half.

Bonhoeffer was executed by hanging at dawn on April 9, 1945 just three weeks before the liberation of Berlin and one month before the capitulation of Nazi Germany. The manner of execution was, like other executions associated with the July 20 plot, so brutal and graphic that even Wehrmacht soldiers were loathe to watch.

Are you there Universe?

It's me, Janet.

Evidently we are still locked in the battle between Aristotle and Plato, but I want you to know that I am optimistic that Aristotle will win - in spite of the shape-shifters that would have us believe that the world we observe is merely an imperfect reflection of the 'real' world; that our senses deceive us; that we cannot trust our eyes.

Even Paleolithic man knew better than that. He recorded what he saw - so that future man would see it and know that he saw it. And that he understood reality. The paintings above are not allegories - they are the real thing. They are not shadows on the cave wall - they are paintings. They represent not a nebulous world, but the world of 15,000 years ago. If pre-historic man got it right, then why can't we?

Click on the last line of "Thought for the Day" for a treat.

On Holiday

If you need a break from the world today, add the above film to your Netflix queue. Click on the poster for the trailer. Review by guest contributor, Lauren Oliver.

Les Vacances de M. Hulot (1953)
No groups have advanced the art of film more than magicians and comedians. In the first decade of the cinema, the veteran stage magician Georges Méliès contributed inestimably to the bag of technical tricks. And when the famous Lumière brothers attempted levity (mixed with horror) with a man's crossing the street, being run over, and then dusting himself off, they discovered the in-camera edit. Legerdemain and laughs depend on the same thing: knowing and exploiting the peculiarities of one's medium, be they a seltzer bottle, a handkerchief, or a camera.

Jacques Tati was too late to be a technological pioneer like Méliès or the Lumières, but he possessed the same keenness for experimentation. He was a superb mime (which is nothing if not a combination of magician and comedian), and as young man bore a resemblance to one of his heroes, Buster Keaton. Les Vacances de M. Hulot, the titular Monsieur's first outing, could almost be a silent comedy. The dialogue is sparse and, when not essential, mixed into the background noise. Similarly, only the most important sounds deserve foley work, like the swinging door to the hotel's restaurant, or M. Hulot's gasping jalopy. The character himself is best described as the ancestor and better of Inspector Clouseau and Mr. Bean.

The film is frugal (it has but one musical motif, a light jazz tune) and plays at a pace befitting its setting: a calm resort that is presumably just a few hours from Paris. The holidaymakers include a retired military Commandant who retains his air of authority and talks often of the Ardennes; a British woman who finds endless amusement in M. Hulot's surprising skill at tennis and ping-pong; and a blonde ingénue who I don't believe ever utters a word.

M. Hulot, who walks propped forward with a bouncing gait, seems propelled by his own indefatigable je ne sais quoi. To say "zest for life" would not only be trite but wide of the mark; nothing ever fazes M. Hulot for longer than a few seconds, enough time for the reaction shot, and perhaps that is sufficient to describe his basic innocence and gentleness. Tati's humor has been described as civilized. I might apply that adjective to the plays of Oscar Wilde, but Tati's essence seems to be dignity; no character is ever made the subject of fun. We know all of their foibles, and they are endearing, as, for instance, when the Commandant stands at the head of an armada of automobiles and navigates them in characteristically clipped language to the picnic site. Even M. Hulot is never made out to be a buffoon.

You can be assured that by the end of a modern comedy, the protagonists will have had to change their ways, straighten out their act. There is barely a plot to Les Vacances, and certainly no act-straightening, but there is, nevertheless, a softly presented point, if that isn't an oxymoron. The Criterion Collection DVD includes a "Director's Introduction" by former Python Terry Jones. He calls the climax (and I use the term loosely) a metaphorical attack on the stuffiness of the older generation. His assessment isn't wrong, per se, but the enemy isn't stuffiness; it's broader than that. It's an attack on a way of life that ignores most of what there is to life. The residents of the hotel are preoccupied with news broadcasts and radio pronouncements by stentorian politicians, and not all are as old as dust; amongst their number is a heavily spectacled young man who plies the taciturn blonde with philosophy and headlines. A jazz record is anathema to these people. In their judgement (the harshest in the film), M. Hulot and the blonde are frivolous.

I won't say how and when M. Hulot triumphantly upbraids the fuddy-duddies, but if a smile doesn't crease your face, best to crank the news from Capitol Hill.

Blazing Sunset

Among the savage black rocks.

Blown Away

These are all over the creek path now. When the milkweed pods are ripe and dry, they pop open. Inside is a closely packed roll of several hundred flat brown seeds arranged like scales on a fish, each with a folded parachute of fine silky fibers. Gradually, these parachutes open and the seeds are carried away on the fall winds.

Click on any image for a larger version.

Ruff Times

She's keeping track of her T-bones.

Maple Leaves

These are from the tree in my front yard.

SpaceX

My Rocket Boys c. 1996

I digress a wee bit from my usual posts, but on Monday, September 29, a spectacular event took place. It got such piss-poor pitiful coverage that I decided to replay it here. SpaceX, a private company devoted to the exploration of space, launched Falcon 1, Flight 4. A privately developed liquid fuel rocket entered Earth orbit, becoming the first such rocket to do so.

The economic climate of today is causing many people to ask themselves whether there is hope for humanity. The answer is "Yes." And the proof is not in the political pudding. It's visible in the faces and borne in the hearts and minds of those who dream that a better, more livable world is possible through innovation, imagination, dedication, and hard work. Three cheers for all those rocket boys! May the candles you light never go out.

From Where I Stand

This is one of a series of ponds in the wetlands along the Boulder Creek path that I walk every day. You can see a little of the path in the middle right of the photo (click on it to enlarge). The creek itself is to the left of the lake, and hidden behind the row of trees. The mountains are the Flatirons, so named by early women settlers, who felt they resembled a familiar household tool of the time. My office is about one-half mile west of the pond, between it and the mountains.

My Flowers

First in my new series.

I Don't Like Mondays

So there I was, having a quiet weekend, when out of the blue: "Bam!" it's Monday again.

The Three Dabblers

Some water birds are divers, and eat fish. Others, like these Canada Geese, are dabblers. They eat pond scum.

Going to Seed

The Autumn Leaves

Drift by my Window

Click above for a song.

Back to the Future

Busy Bee Spacebook, 1953

From Flight, Today and Tomorrow, by Margaret O. Hyde, illustrated by Clifford Geary

Space Science Fiction, December 1953

Mooncon 1
Conquest of the Moon, by Werner von Braun and Fred Whipple, illustrated by Chesley Bonestell

Mooncon 2
Conquest of the Moon, by Werner von Braun and Fred Whipple, illustrated by Chesley Bonestell

Back in 1953, space was on everybody's mind. In the not-too-distant future, we were all going to live there, work there, even walk our dogs there. Today those dreams are all but vanished. But there's hope. Private entrepreneurs, engineers, and explorers are making progress in reviving those dreams.

My birthday wish today is that they all come true.

Lift

Something we all need on a Monday morning.

Thank Dog It's Friday!

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Blossoms, Dearie

More examples of Colorado wildflowers. I've been making drawings of these on my lunch hours. I usually walk for a bit along the Boulder Creek Path, find myself a big rock, sit down by the creek, and get to work. Click on the bottom blossom for a song!

The Softer Side

Because we had a very dry summer, the wildflowers were late this year. Autumn's approach has also brought rain, and with it, my favorites.

Birds of a Feather

The weather is getting cooler and the birds are getting hungrier.

My Stachelig Nature

The real danger when hiking in Colorado is not the bears or mountain lions. It's these little pricklers.