Monthly Archives: December 2011
Fixed Calendar Not a Fix
I ran into an article on-line regarding the purposed calendar reform by two professors at John Hopkins University. The calendar called the Hanke-Henry Permanent Calendar, named after the two professors who devised and are pushing the reform, is based on a fixed day calendar. The idea is that there are always 7 days in a week, the year always starts and a Sunday, and you never have to change your calendars to reflect movements of the dates from one day of the week to the next again.
Just because you are employed by John Hopkins doesn’t make you right.
And if this ever did go through . . . do they really think they that name will stick? How arrogant to name a new calendar after oneself. I know it’s the academic thing to do, but it’s not like they just discovered new plant life or developed a new physics theory. They are proposing to modify how we denominate time. They are professors . . . not the pope . . . .
One half of this team, Henry, wants the reform so your calendar days stay the same every year because he was annoyed at changing the dates for his students for lectures and syllabi. I am sorry you are annoyed by that. How inconvenient. He himself admits: “The calendar I’m advocating isn’t nearly as accurate”; but he goes on to say “But it’s far more convenient.”
Wish that worked for me. Man, the P&P I just wrote isn’t very accurate . . . but it sure will convenient to use!!!! What, we are missing pieces? That’s okay . . . I’ll just tag it on the end every few years, no one will notice.
Blink Blink
Oh, you say it’s better for business . . . by all means. After all time is money right? That is the concern driving the second half of this duo to push reform. Hanke believes that a more business friendly calendar is more right for the times. Under their reform, The calculation of interest would be more uniform and holidays would be easy to schedule, always falling on the same day, especially not needing to pay people holiday pay for Christmas and New Years for they would always fall on Sunday.
Say good-bye to long weekends and the excitement of your birthday finally landing on a Saturday. Is that petty? Maybe. But I kinda like my birthday floating around year to year.
This is not the first reform proposal in recent decades. The last century was full of different concepts from different parties on how to better rearrange our marking of time. Bigger fish than two smarty pants professors have tried including the UN and their predecessor the League of Nations. And they failed.
The problem with calendar reform is there is no one solution to the multitudes of issues that people have with the current Gregorian Calendar.
- It is not perpetual. Each year starts on a different day of the week and calendars expire every year.
- Making it difficult to determine the weekday of any given day of the year or month. (this interrupts my daily life)
- Months are not equal in length nor regularly distributed across the year, requiring people to make up ways to remember which month is 28, 29, 30 or 31 days long. (I have a brain injury, and I can remember without tricks)
- The year’s four quarters (of three full months each) are not equal (being of 90/91, 91, 92 and 92 days respectively). Equal business quarters would make accounting easier.
- The Calendar is based on religious beliefs. 7 days a week. Sunday being the final day of the week, the Sabbath.
- Each month has no connection with the lunar phases.
- Leap Year every four years accounting for the .2422 days in a solar cycle not accounted for in the 365 days in the calendar year.
The Hanke-Henry Permanent Calendar
My biggest beef with this idea: lets take a giant step backwards and adopt an inaccurate calendar because it is more convenient. Take an abstract concept of time and make it whatever we want, completely disregarding the only natural indications of passing time: Nature. We do not account for the moon, why account for the sun?
The truth of the matter is, no matter how inconvenient the Gregorian calendar might be, when looking in terms of the solar cycle, it is very accurate.
But perhaps what the world needs is to adopt a calendar system more like the Mayans. They had three calendars. And they used how these calendars fell with each other to make extremely accurate predictions in solar activity. They had a Lunar Calendar, their shortest, the solar or agricultural calendar, their largest, and then a really weird 260 day sacred calendar. 260 days, or the human gestational period. Yeah . . . we can skip that one.
That will never happen. MULTIPLE CALENDARS to keep track of? SHEESH! How inconvenient. Well, Hanke and Henry, I don’t find your proposal more convenient enough for the hassle of changing our current system. I would rather make the move to the metric system. At least that system is indisputably logical. And despite how accurate and easy it is, look at the US refusing to make that change.
The big hubbub about this right now is the first day of the new year lands on a Sunday, as purposed by this calendar reform. It would be an easy transition to start it this year. Well . . . seeing how that day is tomorrow, I do not think the world is going to come around by then. They can spend the next five years petitioning. They will have another perfect opportunity in 2017, when Jan 1 lands on Sunday next.
You know if this Henry dude is so annoyed, he could save his syllabi for five years and just cycle it then. He would only need five copies. Really, though, you should freshen your classes more than that I would think . . .
I’m not terribly worried about waking up tomorrow or in five or ten years and having the Henke-Henry calendar on my wall. The last two times we overhauled the western world’s calendar it took a Pope and an Emperor to make the change. Sorry guys. You need a serious backer. Good luck with that.
Project “Squirrel Out” Day 3: Success!!
Previous Known Status: Open hole left in mesh for squirrel’s escape route.
Objective: Seal mesh back up with squirrel on OUTSIDE, keeping him out.
Mission: Accomplished
Late yesterday afternoon after having heard no signs of Mr. Squirrel and consulting with Dad again on my next move, we agreed that he probably just hunkered down when I tried to chase him out in the morning after opening up the corner of the mesh for his escape route. He more than likely waited until there was no sign of me before vacating. I guess I did make a lot of noise up there creating the hole for him, so he did really want to go that direction when I tried to scare him out.
So, it was time to try it again. Seal up the wire netting and hope he’s not in there. So . . . I dragged out the giant ladder, sealed up the hole.
He had not made any noise all day. No sign of him at all. After I closed up shop, still no noise. All night, nothing.
AT 8:30 this morning . . . there it is. Heard it all the way up in the bedroom. I could hear it pulling at the metal. I finished getting dressed and waited to check things out as I was just about to leave anyways. I figured if he is stuck inside again, he isn’t going anywhere . . . and if he is on he outside trying to get in, well, then, mission accomplished.
As I left the house this morning I peeked around the corner to where I was hearing the noise. On the south side. Nothing inside or outside of the mesh. Walked over to the north side, again, nothing. Hmm . . . I leave.
I look again as I come home three hours later. Check out both sides. Still no sign of anyone.
About a half hour later I hear it again. Something disturbing the metal on the south side of the house. I sneak out as quiet as a 90 year house will let you . I take the corner and sure enough. There he is. Sitting on the edge of the roof. Frozen. Looking at me.
On the OUTSIDE!!! SCORE!!
I decide I am a gracious winner and I speak to the little guy: “I’m sorry. I know this sucks. But you are not invited.”
He takes off running up the roof and jumps in to the big tree where he proceeds to cluck at me angrily. Sore looser.
It may have not been the last face off with the little red squirrel, for he will be back trying to get in I am sure. But it definitely was a defining moment in the war to keep my house critter free.
Project “Squirrel Out”; Day Two: Recovery Mode
Time to recover this mission!
Last known status: Trapped squirrel in roof above front porch.
Objective: Create an opening for the squirrel, Get squirrel out , and re-seal the opening.
Mission: FAIL
So, alarm set for a quarter to 7 am. One hour before sunrise. All I am thinking is these squirrels are usually up and attem long before me. I know because they are loud and angry little creatures. 8 am comes and I inevitably have two outside my bedroom window crabbing at each other.
So I don’t want to miss his wake up time. Really don’t think he needs to be freaking out any longer than he should.
It is dawn, plenty light out. I am up dressed, teeth brushed, shoes on, jacket on and tools gathered before the clock hits 7. Dreaming about squirrels all night and checking the clock every hour does wonders for helping me get my butt out of bed when needed. I waddle the heavy extension ladder out of the garage and waddle it to the side of the house. I had help yesterday. Did not move the ladder at all . . . Last time I tried to man-handle this ladder by myself was over a year ago. I got it up. But I could not get it down. I had to walk around it for three days before someone could take it down for me. Sad, I know.
Needless to say my last personal encounter with this monster did not end in my favor. So I am nervous as I drag the thing out all by myself. I got it open and up. Slick! Climb up with flash light and tools. No sign of my fuzzy unhappy friend. I tried to undo the bottom portion of the hardware cloth but it was stapled down pretty good and just couldn’t get the leverage to peel it up. So I aimed for the upper corner against the house. Cinch. Peeled it down and back and left a perfect squirrel sized hole. He will have to climb up a foot of wire mesh to get out, but their little feet are designed for that sort of thing. And when I found him last night, that’s where he was. Smooshed up toward the top.
OK! Time to get him gone! I climb down the ladder . . . The plan is to scare him out. Bang on the ceiling and have him vamoose! find his way out. Nope. Nothing. No noise, no scattering, no sign anywhere. hm. That sound of a sleeper? or that freaked out and hiding. Or worse . . . did you find yourself to access elsewhere? Believing he is sleeping in or scared is much nicer. After standing, dumbfounded, contemplating my next step I decide to let the little guy have his late morning. A little disgruntled because I would have like to sleep in this morning . . . .
I pack up the tools, and even manage to break down the ladder and waddle it back into the garage. I would hate for someone else to walk away with it.
I will wait for a second pair of eyes. Someone needs to see the thing Leave, and monitor to make sure it does not come back. And I will wait for its daily scattering noises when it warms up a bit later this morning or early afternoon.
In the meantime, I think it is nap time. 4 1/2 hours of sleep really isn’t my thing . . . That is if I can sleep. I am hearing and seeing squirrels everywhere still. Even in my dreams. Ugh!
Even if I was unable to finish my mission, I still am calling this one a draw as well. Last night we both lost. This morning we both kinda win. He gets access to freedom, I no longer have a squirrel trapped inside. For now, this is good.
Project “Squirrel Out”; Day One: FAIL
Known Status: Squirrel living in roof above front porch. Hole located.
Objective: Chase out squirrel and seal hole temporarily with hardware cloth.
Mission: FAIL
I had been hearing some strange noises, scratching, etc, while I am siting in the living room near the front window. Last Sat, the noises change. Scattering. I enter the porch and listen. The skitter scatter of little rodent feet!! I have a snow shovel (sad and lonely this season so far, fine by me) propped near the door. I pick it up and bang on the ceiling and the thing runs like mad. I bang and bang and chase the thing. My neighbor walking by: “Got a squirrel problem?” Witness, Lovely. She sees it take off up the roof and into the big fir tree. A little red one she says. Terrors they are. I walk around the corner to the side he vacated from and sure enough, there is a whole. Right under where the roof of the house hangs over the porch roof.
FABULOUS.
Like any smart and motivated girl of my generation I jump to the task: I call Dad and hop online for my squirrel solution.
I need a few things: staples for my staple gun . . . how am I always out? Why does it feel like I am constantly buying staples for this things? And hardware cloth. That’s what the roofer dude online said. Stronger and thinner mesh than chicken wire. Ok!
Well, I was loosing sun pretty quick on Sat, and Sunday was in no condition . . . so Monday I get all my supplies and Dad comes over with his big Werner multi-purpose ladder. GAME ON!
I show him where I saw the hole. Which is funny, cause we just looked at that spot a couple of months ago when we thought we saw a squirrel run up in that corner. No hole then. And Dad did my gutters just a few weeks ago. No hole then either. Apparently these guys work fast.
Dad asks about the other side. So glad he did. YEPPP! We have a matching set. I also have a hole in the bag that is old. I do not know if it is being used. Plan there is to stuff the hole with newspaper and watch for it to be disturbed. No disruption? No activity, can go right ahead and seal it up.
With all holes located, Dad stands outside while I start banging on the ceiling. Definitely in there! but not for long. Thing takes off out of the north corner.
We get to work. Seal up the larger south corner hole first. Then move on to the second hole. finish up with the stuffing job in the back. Dad heads home. I make tea and curl up on the couch. Mission accomplished.
Oh, if I only knew then . . .
I start to here scratching noises over in the north corner. I step out and sure enough, I hear the metal mesh being clawed at. I go inside and grab the flash light to see if I can catch the critter trying to get in. Maybe if I scare him a few time that would discourage his attempts to get back in for the night.
I step out shine the light up there . . . nothing. Must have scared him off. Go back inside . .. here comes the noise again, louder this time, sounds more frantic. Again I grab the flash light and head out side. Shine the light up . . .
NO! no no no no no !
What have I done?
The poor thing is STILL INSIDE!! Trapped inside. Trying desperately to get out. Or had been. With the light shining right on him he is frozen still.
The poor thing had sandwiched itself between the netting and the roof. Squeezed flat. I could tell the head end only because I could tell the tail end. Pressing against that wire grid his fur pushed out in all sorts of directions. MAN they are teeny. Flat as a pancake he was. Looked like road kill. I thought for two seconds that it had actually squeezed himself to death getting in that position. But alas, i moved the light for a split second and he was gone. Back into his hole.
How did this happen?!! So stupid. Should have given a bang on the ceiling before in between holes. He must have slipped back in. But it just seemed so unlikely he would run back in with all the noise. We were really noisy,
What’s a girl to do?
DAAAAADDDDD!!!!!!!!!! I am sure he loves these phone calls.
Now of corse my father is not burdened by the “I have done harm to a fuzzy thing” panic I am experiencing. Not that my father has a disrespect for life, I would guess he would say I just have an over sensitivity. We discuss the options and he strongly feels it could and should wait til morning.
If I give the guy a way out tonight, he will just be relieved to have a way out and will not leave. Its sleep time. He is where he wants to be right now. Dad assures me he will settle down and it can be dealt with in the morning. At which point being trapped for over 12 hours might give the guy second thoughts from going back in.
Ok. Father knows best. I hunker down and try not to think of that image of the poor creature trapped against the hardware cloth.
He was quiet for a while. Pretty sure the flashlight right into his eyes gave him an extra scare.
But then he started making noise again. Surprisingly not vocal. No screeching or clucking, just banging, scratching and gnawing. Hate the gnawing sounds. It’s like a broken record tormenting you with the repeating words: more damage, more damage, more damage, more damage. And now the noises are not near either exit point. He’s just gnawing on stuff up there. Well, that’s fine (not really). . . but you keep it up there my friend. No chewing your way inside. Got it?
oh, now he moved back to the exit. Oh! No . . . now he is in the middle of the ceiling . . . Yeah, he is pretty freaked out. Actually, as I listened I started think: He is. He actually is trying to chew his way out. AT THE CEILING LIGHT!! I pop my head out and listen. Sure enough, he is directly at the light. And he is busy.
I am torn at this. I don’t want the damage. I don’t want a squirrel in my porch. Should I bang on the ceiling to discourage him? or will that freak the trapped creature out even more? yeah, I think I should leave him alone. Just in case I however prop the outer door open a few inches so he can get out. I don’t want to walk out into a squirrel attack in the morning.
I can’t help think this would be an ideal time to rip open an escape hole for him in the netting, while he is busy else where. But I stick to the plan. Amanda and ladders are a bad mix. Amanda and ladders in the dark? Yeah I just can’t go there.
As I think about it, it really isn’t a complete failure. I had asked Dad who won today, us or the squirrel. His response: Its a draw. And truly it is. Our patch job was good enough he wasn’t getting out. So had be been out . . . he wouldn’t have been getting back in. He just happened to be in . . . which isn’t what I want. But I don’t think this is what he wanted either.
And now I am jumpy. I hear noise coming from the complete opposite side of the house and I freak out. “It got in! It’s the squirrel!!” Nope, that would be flipper, the roommate’s bird down in the basement. Yeah . . . I think it is time to retire to the bedroom. Stop listening to and for the squirrel. Only one of us needs to be this worked up.
Elevator Etiquette.
Why are there no standards for behavior in an elevator? People act very selfishly in an elevator. I wonder if it is related to how we don’t want to look at someone else in an elevator, let alone talk to them, so we completely disregard their presence. If they are not there, and you think you are alone in the elevator that might excuse your behavior, but you aren’t alone. So show some manners!
Top Ten Rude Behaviors On An Elevator:
1 ) Walk in and stop. Right in front of the doors. And then turn around ready for the ride. They do not go to the back of the elevator or even clear room for you to get inside, even though there are a half a dozen more folks waiting to get on. So WE are forced to squeeze around them to the back. Are they secretly hoping we will think “gee, maybe I will take the next one. This guy apparently wants to ride alone.” If that ‘s the case people, VOMIT when you enter. You will have the entire place to yourself. Don’t worry, we will, under those circumstances, wait another 10 minutes, or hour, for the next one. Hell, I’ll just take the stairs.
2 ) Release the kids! Riding an elevator should be like crossing the street, or trying to manage your way through a crowded place. Hold your child’s hand, and keep them next to you. AT ALL TIMES. Little pig tailed monsters bumping into other passengers because they have not learned the term “personal space” and you fed them a coke just before getting on and the sugar makes them bounce off the walls are not very nice.
3 ) Shoulder Bag Bullies. Oh, you know who you are. You are the woman with a shoulder bag too big for carry on luggage. Maybe you even have two. You would think women who carried these things on a daily basis would have expanded their conscious personal parameters to include that bag. But you haven’t. You still think you take up only as much room as your body. Because of life’s little necessities and your need to have this monstrosity tossed over your shoulder the rest of us now have bruises. What is in there anyway? You industrial strength hair dryer? Here’s a tip for you: take the bag off your shoulder and hold it from the hands in front of you. Better yet, leave the hair dryer at home.
4 ) Talking on the cellphone. I am not going to bring up a discussion on whether it is rude to talk on your phone in a public place. Whatever. BUT IT’S AN ELEVATOR. I do not care how big the elevator is, it is still a metal box. METAL. BOX. Box as in confined small space. Metal as in loud and reverberating. It is not big enough for you to carry on a phone conversation. Why? you ask. It has to do with the idea of shared space. This elevator is not yours. And even if it’s just you and me, you do not have the right to subject me or anyone else to your one-sided conversation. No logical person, in a rational moment, has ever been offended by the words: “can I call you right back?” And if you are not having a rational conversation on the cell phone, you definitely have no business bringing THAT on to an elevator.
5 ) Singing. The only more annoying than being forced to overhear half of someone else’s conversation is the kid singing along to music you can’t hear. Maybe they have their ipod with them, or maybe they are just grooving to music in their own head, either way, no one wants to hear it. This is not your shower, this is not karaoke night. This is an elevator. You have your ear buds in, head phones on, fine, that’s great. Enjoy your little world with your own personal soundtrack. Don’t share it.
6 ) Standing in the doorway. Oh, no we have not talked about this guy yet. He’s different. He is already ON the elevator when the doors open. He is going up or down past the floor you are now attempting to leave. And they don’t move. What? You think this elevator stopped on a technical error? GETTING ON PLEASE!
7 ) Button Hogging. The only thing more annoying than the jerk standing directly in the door way not moving for others, is the jerk standing right in front of the control panel blocking anyone else’s access to the buttons when there is a whole empty elevator to stand in. Do you think your destination is the only one? Are you actively preventing people from selecting a different floor? No. You are just completely unaware and inconsiderate. The idea that you might be hindering someone else by your position of choice has not even crossed your mind. And more than likely, even when three people say “excuse me” and reach over you to push buttons, you still will have no clue.
8 ) Perfume (Cologne). Truly there should be perfume alarms in one’s bedroom just like smoke detectors. They would monitor the amount of perfume or cologne sprayed or placed on the human before they leave the house alerting the user to possible offensive overload. This is a concern for more than just an elevator ride. It is rude period. However, in an elevator, I have no where in the world to go to get away from you. Would you feel badly if you caused an asthma attack or a migraine for someone else? Somehow I don’t think so . . .
9 ) Getting on before others get off. It is an elevator. There is one door that functions both as an exit and an entrance. There is an order to things. Common sense. The elevator has arrived at this floor, you think it is here only because of you. The doors open and you charge in. Worst is when there are a dozen of you rude self-centered idiots flooding the elevator while one single person already riding is trying to get off. Let people off the elevator before proceeding on and no one will get trapped or trampled.
10 ) Not holding the elevator. This gets me. Oh, man, does this drive me mad. You can pretend like you didn’t see me three steps shy of the doors, you can make like you tried but oh, the doors are closing . . . . sorry . . . Don’t know where the door open button is? That’s okay. Try blocking the doors with your arm. I promise you it is not going to chop your arm off. The elevator isn’t going to start to move with your arm out the door. Not that that is what you are thinking. NO! You are just being rude. You think you are in a hurry and it is too inconvenient for you to wait on someone else. Already late? Guess what! You are already late. It is not my fault, it is yours, and getting there one minute less late isn’t going to buy you props from the boss. Give one moment of your time, hold the door. Let one more person on. It won’t ruin your day. If it did, your day was bound to be ruined by something else menial and stupid. And that is, again, your fault. “Think of all the times when others have to wait for you . . . ”
Overall I think an elevator ride is a condensed version of how our world functions. People who behave rudely on an elevator don’t get into an elevator and suddenly turn into jerks. They are most likely rude outside of the elevator. Putting people close together like that, for even so short of a time gives them the opportunity to showcase a concentrated version of our unconscious behavior, good or bad. Our best and our worst traits come shining through. You are either considerate or you aren’t. Next time you ride an elevator, think what kind of person you want to be.
Worthy of Love
There have been a lot quotes floating around out there these last few days about the whole idea of loving oneself. No one can love you til you love yourself . . . Love yourself and all else falls into place . . . . and so on and so forth. You all know them. And these things are true. Always have been.
Formerly, I believed the purpose of such quotes were for those melancholy lonely romantics that have no self worth without love in their life. Focus on loving yourself and Mr. or Miss Wonderful will fall in your lap. Well, that’s bogus. Not the whole “love your self before others can truly love you” bit. I get that. Whatever. That message isn’t for me. I am not really concerned about other people loving me right now. Not really high on my priority list. Especially romantic love. Ish. No room in my life for that crap right now.
But, I really need to listen to the preachy “love yourself” propaganda. Because it truly is about more than how other people see you. How you see yourself, feel about yourself influences every aspect of your life. Your life is based on perception. How you feel about yourself alters how you perceive EVERYTHING. I am a true believer in this. I believe in this more now than I ever did when I did indeed have love for myself. Funny how now that it is gone, I can see how it truly affects my life. I didnt see how I benefitted from self love when I had it.
Having your identity wiped from your life, hitting the reset button on your sense of self, alters how you see, accept, and love yourself. The standards you hold yourself to, the criteria you judged yourself by, they do not change over night, even when your person does. Those things lag behind. Dramatically.
So, with the journey of rebuilding your life and figuring out who you are again, you have the added struggle of relearning how to love yourself. For most of us it took the better part of two decades to form our identities and build self-esteem. Even though they continue to grow and change, you did the hard work, progressed over developing years like everyone else. To do that all over again, with a sense of urgency ( I need to accept myself NOW!!) . . . well, lets just say it is a very different process.
A big chunk of it becomes a choice. Mental gymnastics. Choose the proper perspective. Think the right way. But no matter how you spin it, deciding you love yourself and doing so are very different things. Its a bit more complicated . . . and yet fundamentally simple all the same. Simple. Not easy.
If you pull yourself out of the equation for a minute and look at why we love. Value. We love because we value. Simple concept. We value our friends, our family, our pets. Because they have value to us, we love them. For those of us that love life and believe in the preservation of wildlife, and the environment, and people, we do so because we see the value in all life. For those that love their money and their cars: its all about what one values. Screwed up priorities not withstanding.
Bring yourself back into the picture. What does it mean for those of us living life without love for ourselves? We hold no value in ourselves. For those that do love themselves they know themselves to be of value.
Its kind of a scary thought to know that truly, deep down, I see no value in myself what so ever. The realization of something like that is far scarier than the oppressive life style of not loving yourself. The understanding of that simple concept is ground shaking. This is where I was when it hit me: There is something very wrong with that.
It changed my battle tactics. I have been hanging on to the excuses . . .the reasons why i do not love myself, with a mile long list of all the things I wasnt anymore. sabotaging my progress. The reality of it is . . . well . . . i am not what i am not. I am what i still am.
The people that love me, still love me, do because of what I am. And the reality is, they never loved me for the things I was and am no longer, anyways. Those things I lost, the career, the organization, the cooking, the reading, the running, the eating, did not define my worth, my value. They did not make people love me.
What things in people are of value? What things make some one loveable? What are the things that others have seen in me? Can I see those things in myself?
I am sure I could. If i looked. I just need to start looking at those things. Need to take the time to evaluate myself on truthful and worthy characteristics, like loyalty, honesty, charity, kindness. Those are the things that make a person up from the inside. Its not about what job they go to everyday or how clean their house is, or how healthy one is. The unhealthy, messy, under-employed people of the world still deserve to be loved. And so do I. I deserve to be measured in the same ways I measure those around me. Need to determine my actual value. My worthiness of love.
It is in there. I will find it. After all, Amanda means “worthy of love.”
Sine Sine Qua Non
Sine Qua Non
“Without Which Not”
Traditionaly a legal term, but also used in medical terminology, philosophy, and just plain English. Though, its not English. It is Latin.
Sine qua non, a noun, or a condition . . . often translated as “without which cause not”.
The essential element. Without this thing. . . it just isn’t.
Cheese in the macaroni.
Chocolate chip in the Tollhouse cookie.
The pig in the bacon.
Yes, I just stated all food. Very important foods . . . . if you will: they would be the sine quibus non (plural) of my diet. Ah, I wish this was true. What is true is that those three things are on my favorite food list, I just don’t need them, they are not vital, and I do not eat them with regularity.
In all seriousness, I did not want to talk about food. I wanted to talk about life . . . purpose.
There is an episode of Battlestar Galactica (this century, not last) entitled the same: Sine Qua Non. Their definition, quoting a line from the show:
“those things we deem essential that without which we cannot bear living. Without which life in general loses its specific value . . . . becomes abstract.”
Most of the time I feel I am living sine “sine qua non”. Life has become abstract. A more accurate statement I would be pressed to find. I have lost my sine qua non. I have lost my essential element that makes life feel worth living. What was my sine qua non? Perhaps what it might be for most of us: Purpose.
One’s purpose is not the same as another’s. Our drives are not the same. Whether it is love, family, charity, country, money, sport, or even self, we all have a driving force. Some more noble than others.
Perhaps my former purpose was not so noble. Perhaps its specific loss should not be mourned, or sought. Perhaps endeavors such as efficiency, perfection, control were driving forces building a life that would have left me empty, alone, unsatisfied. I truly never was satisfied. I felt satisfaction and complacency were the same. And complacency was death.
Perhaps now my journey has flipped. Emptiness is now . . . at the beginning. Sparing me from a life of empty at the end. A second chance to find a better purpose. A more noble, fullfilling one. To live a fuller more promising life.
in the mean time: emptiness. purposelessness . . . . sine sine qua non.
Do you know your sine quibus non? ask yourself . . .
Bat-tastic
Well, the wonders of home ownership never cease. The adventures of Amanda and Luna never get old around here either.
Sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at the tree, watching some hulu . . . drinking some egg nog, there is a very familiar sound of Luna running down the stairs, followed by a highly unusual sight of something dark flying through the air coming out the doorway from the stair well. And of corse the thing looks HUGE. It circles once around the dinning room and swooshes right into the dinning room curtains. That I JUST hung.
I am getting desensitized. I didn’t jump. I didn’t make a sound. I watched these brief seconds unfold. . . and thought to myself: “great. just great. This is not how I wanted to spend my night off.”
Luna is at the base of the curtains, reaching as high up as she can on her two chubby fuzzy back legs. She gets the curtain in her claws and starts to shake, trying to knock the creature down. I think: pretty smart. Still just watching. Now, the bat does not dislodge like Luna hopes . . . so she now tries to climb the curtains.
Yep, this game is over.
I am up, off the couch and into the other room before both back feet are off the floor. “Luna, No!” She knows “no”. like I said, smart. She also knows that tone . . . No yelling. A very low, “don’t you even think about it” kind of tone. She lets go, gives a mew . . . and sits and stares at me and the then the curtains.
I look at the curtains. See nothing.
Great. Now where did it crawl off to? Cuz I know it didn’t fly off.
I lean over to the wall and look through the curtains. oh, yeah, there he is. Positioned snugly between the sheers and the drapes.
Now how in the world am I going to peel back the drapes without sending this thing flying?
I take one look at Luna, who is waiting anxiously for more live action play, and realize first things first. The cat has GOT to go. I see rabies and falling over Christmas Trees in my instant future and will have none of that.
I head up the stairs and call the fuzzy one . . . she follows. This is easier than expected because the bat came from upstairs, and what I learned with the mice is if she “looses” it or it just doesn’t come out from hiding in two seconds, she gets bored really easily and back tracks to where she saw it before. She follows me right upstairs, and in to my bedroom and she is sniffing all around like a blood hound.
Great. Came from the bedroom. Probably the shoe closet. Which I actually go into and grab a shoe box, dump the shoes, and proceed to shut the cat in the room. I tell her I am sorry. But that she is not invited. I would come back for her soon. She is such a good girl.
My bat-in-the-house instincts kick in and I go open the front door, and go prop open the porch door. I know how this works. Bats don’t want to be in your house. He starts flying around again, he will leave.
Oh, please, Amanda . . . such an idiot!! ITS THE MIDDLE OF DECEMBER!!! HE’S IN HIBERNATION!! He wants to be in your house a lot more than he wants to be out THERE!!!
Doors get shut.
I unhook the drapes from around the tie back, let them fall and start pulling the drapes along the rod from the opposite side thinking to draw back the first set and expose the little guy. Something’s not right. Something is not working here . . . the sheer (on a totally different rod) starts to come with the outer set of drapes.
OH! MAN! I take the two steps to the other side of the window and peak. Sure enough, the little bugger is latched on to both sets. he’s got three of his four little bat claws into the sheers and the last hanging onto the drapes.
But amazingly, this little guy did not move. I tug a little bit more on the drapes til he is more exposed and spread eagle on top of my curtains. and still . . he does not move. He is SOUND asleep. huh.
AW . . . you’re super pretty! Such a handsome coat! (who am I, really?) but yes, these words came out of my mouth. He was beautiful. Chestnut colored fur, bright sheen to it. He was good sized, four inches in body length. And had a bright white belly. I didn’t know bats could have white bellies. Makes him cuter. Like Bambi.
Well, this I have to document. I grab my camera, not that he is out in the open and snap a couple of shots.
And then looking at this guys hanging position, there is no way I am going to nudge him into the box while he’s hanging between my curtains. huh again.
The only thing I can think of to get this guy down is to . . . swallow . . . remove him with my hands.
Well, I know better than to touch a bat with my bare hands. i need gloves, preferrably leather. Their teeth are small and won’t bite through leather. I get the gloves. When I get back. The thing is gone.
WHAT?!! HELL NO!!!
Hello?
Where did you go?
Please don’t be somewhere I can’t find you . . .
I lift the curtains . . . looking at the rod, the floor . . . I panic and look in the garland and the Christmas tree. I think: he didn’t go far. The dude is sleepy. I go back to the curtains, looking and looking. Dude found good camo.
As I am calling to this little creature and lifting the curtains my roommate walks into the room. “What are you doing?” John asked, just as I found the little guy. Peeling back the curtain I said, “John, meet our new house guest.”
“What?” he steps closer . . . . ” your kidding me. Is that bat?”
“I know right?”
“What are you going to do?”
I don’t know John. Get a second one so I can have a pair and start a trend decorating with bats? I told him I had grabbed gloves, and had an empty shoe box. I asked if he would do me a favor and help. “Sure”, he says.
AWESOME!! I hand him the box. I get on my step stool, put on the gloves, point at the little guy who still looks sounds asleep and said “Now don’t you dare come flying at my face!”
And I hesitate. “Oooohhh!”
And John, God bless him . . . and forgive me for all the bad thought and judgments and frustration . . . John asks if I want him to do it. “Are you sure?” “Yeah,” he says.
I ask him if he thinks his hands will fit in my little girl gloves (not that I am a little girl, my gloves just happen to be slender and made for women) and he is not a big dude at all and says yeah. So he puts on my pink leather gloves (don’t ask me why I have pink leather gloves, I don’t know. I don’t even know if they are really mine) and hops on that stool. Without hesitation he takes both hands, cupping gently takes the bat between his hands and tugs just enough to free his grasp from the curtain. I had the shoe box held up and ready, lid positioned just so. John places his hands inside the box and I closed the lid around his hands, and John slides them out of the box.
It was slick. easy. sweet. expert.
The dude is a manager at PetCo. LOVE IT!! For once this is a good thing. He has a magic touch with little critters.
Well, the bat doesn’t think so. He is SCREAMING. Man bats are loud. John even comments on how loud he is. We take the box outside; all through the house I am saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am sooooo sorry!”
I set it on a bush, and flip the lid.
I have psyched myself up so much for this thing to come flying out I pre-emptively squeal like a girl and jump back like three feet. Yeah . . . that was embarrassing. The thing doesn’t even get out of the box right away. It just SCREAMS. And we watch it. And my heart sinks. This little guy isn’t going anywhere. He tries to fly a bit and lands in the bush wings spread, all the time still screaming. I know that bats don’t take off from a seated position really well, that they tend to drop from a hanging position and take flight while falling. But . . . he looked so sad . . . and John I questioned if he was gonna try to go anywhere.
My heart sinks even more. . . knowing I have essentially just killed this bat. It is 16 degrees outside, and will drop to 3 tonight. This little mammal will not make it. Why did it leave its little nest for the winter? It should be hibernating!! Yes, it was probably hibernating in my attic . . . possibly with a few of its good friends. Like I said: fun never stops here!
Perhaps he is sick. John thought he could be, he was not moving well . . . but the thing is in hibernation mode, too. Acting drunk and slumberish seems appropriate for the season. But again, flying around the house is not. If is it sick, forbid has rabies, I won’t feel so bad having just sentenced it to freeze to death. Well . . . yes, I still feel terrible. But it couldn’t just spend the winter in my dinning room curtains. I just really hope I don’t find a bat carcass come spring. I will bawl my eyes out.
Meantime, I released Luna. She sits at the base of the curtains crying for a while. Reaching up on her hind legs every once in a while and running away as fast as she can with a single look from me or snap of the fingers. Only to return to the base of the curtain when she think I’m not looking. She doesn’t quite get the fact that its gone. Once again Mommy has taken away her toy. I’m a mean mommy.
And apparently a rodent hostel. Mice, Squirrels, Bats . . . any other rodent out there that needs a home? Apparently my house is your house!
Yeah . . bats are going to be a problem. They give birth in the spring . . . have to wait for the babies to be air born before I can bat proof. But then I am planning on having my roof done, which will probably only drive them into the walls or worse . . . into the house. First things first: time to seal that hole in the shoe closet!
theidiocyofamandajarvis 