Off to Tonganoxie

Chief Tonganoxie
When Kockatowha died as Chief of the Turkey Band in 1861, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs refused to recognize Tonganoxie as the chosen successor. Not to worry. Tonganoxie won. He has a city in Kansas named after him. I'm sure that's more than the racist commissioner got for his trouble. Not only that, Tonganoxie's old lodge/tavern still stands. Of course, at this point it's a ghost bar but is more popular than ever now that the drinks are free.

Local news at 6:45

The magpies had to fight the wind to land in the Bird Park this morning. A storm is blowing in. Mr. Lee is ecstatic but he's a ski bum. The birds are not happy. At the moment one just jumped into the middle of the yarrow bush and tucked a tasty nugget there. Hope she remembers. The wind is blowing with such force, she is having trouble navigating even on the ground. Carson Valley is famous for its wind anyway. It blasts over the Sierra with such force that, even on sunny summer days, the currents offer world class conditions for glider planes. It's not so good for cyclists, runners, riders, hikers or anyone else in it. Makes even a walk to the mailbox an uphill trek both ways.

The magpies are still busy stashing food for the upcoming storm. I have been feeding them cheap small dog kibble lately. They seem to like it okay and I like it because it's cheaper than peanuts and not messy. Peanuts are problematic. It's the shells. I go in cycles. Sometimes I shell them, sometimes the birds do. When I toss out whole peanuts these days, I do less. That way, competition remains high and the birds fly off to guard their treasure, thus shelling them, you know, elsewhere. Does that make me a horrible person?

Just got back from Tonopah. Great weekend but I didn't take many photos this trip but I will post some soon.

Tonopah

Behind on everything but this morning I'm off to Tonopah for the weekend. See ya from there.

Cruel world but there's always NaNoWriMo if you don't feel bad enough already

I had laugh at the photo my daughter emailed me yesterday. So much for the new toy I sent Owen the dog. I guess it lasted about a day. Cruel world. The santa bear I gave him for Christmas lasted a week.

The big news around here is that the other day I finally printed out the manuscript I wrote a few years ago during NaNoWriMo. I finished it a day or two before the Nov. 30th deadline, or more accurately I belly crawled past the required 50,000 word finish line, called it good, encrypted it and emailed it to the NaNo word counter bot who counted it in about two seconds then shot back my NaNoWriMo "winner" badge, sort of like receiving a gold metal in the "special" Olympics. I then filed the manuscript and that was that. I never read it and tried not to think about it.

However, I thought I might have lost it during a recent computer upgrade so the other day, out of curiosity, I went looking. The shame over writing such total crap has kind of faded. Time heals. And there it was. It seemed harmless enough so I released it from it's digital limbo. It lives incarnate in the world as black ink on white paper. It looks impressive, especially printed out in 12 pt. Courier, double spaced with 1" margins, 197 pages of .... well ... words. I started reading it and kind of like some of it, although it is shamelessly about nothing. Uncle Monkey, Ugly Bear and Clarence are dubious.


Other than that, I'm headed up to the lake this morning. Some writer friends, also NaNoWriMo gold medalists, put together a weekend retreat. I planned on going last night but got to the base of the Sierra and was turned back by the flashing red CHAINS REQUIRED sign. I'm sure most people forged on, chains or no, but I did not. Okay. Gotta go.

Sunday morning coming round

The magpies weren't so sure about having sesame balls for breakfast this morning. I don't blame them. Sesame balls are greasy little gut bombs that sit in the stomach like a boat's anchor, not a high energy breakfast that gets you up and going. And then I scared them off anyway fiddling with my video camera. Crap. I consider myself the friend of all wild creatures but I am the one who usually scares them off with my enthusiasm.

Breakfast in Bird Land

Until this morning, I'd never seen a bird bump into a branch mid-flight. It never occurred to me that they might do such a thing. Cross off another naive assumption. The magpies came early this morning. I wish I'd had my video camera ready. Even through my office window is desperately in need of washing, their arrival is a thrilling sight, well not for everyone I'm sure, but I think it's pretty cool and I'd like to share the scene with those who also delight in the small wonders of ordinary life. However, doing so will first require that I recharge the battery and, if I want to do it right, washing the window so don't hold your breath.

I've been putting out small dog kibbles, much easier than peanuts and cheaper. I suppose I've gotten lazy. I don't imagine cheapo dog food is as delicious as hand-shelled, bite-size peanut bits but the daily preparation got tedious. Kibbles are the backup, like mac-n-cheese when you don't feel like cooking dinner. My kids got their fair share of those kind of dinners growing up. The most egregious slop I served was my very cheesy Spanish rice. I mean cheesy. There was a glob, matey. Ker-plunk. Dense enough to sink a pirate's ship. But it calmed them down. They slid off their chairs after dinner and just disappeared. Plus it was tasty. In my defense, another default dinner was tofu and broccoli stir fry but they preferred the Spanish rice. So I don't feel too bad feeding the magpies kibble. They gobble it up.

There was a fight in the Bird Park this morning. It was short-lived but rather thrilling, what with the screaming and milling crowd. One magpie had another on his back and was drilling into the poor fellow's neck with his fearsome black beak. For a second there I thought he'd kill him. Magpies are fierce with lots of attitude on top. They even land with a certain passionate swagger. It's more like a crash landing. They hit the ground running then hop furiously toward whatever object they're after. Wouldn't want it to be me. If you happened to be down, say in the desert, they would peck out your lovely eyes before you had time to blink. Magpies are classy though in their black tuxedos and white starched shirts. Preeeety. I am surprised more of them don't wear top hats. A shiny black stovepipe top hat really sets off a formal ensemble.

The crows came late as usual. I don't know what's up with them. The cheese and peanuts bits are gone before they arrive. A hunk of cheese went bad so the birds get it and there are some loose peanuts at the bottom of the peanut box so I've been including a few of them every morning as well. They are highly prized but the crows miss out on the good stuff. Go figure. I believe, in general, crows are considered smarter than magpies. They are more cautious. I suppose that's because they are smarter. Fools rush in where crows fear to tread. At the moment, a few magpies are finishing up the leftover oatmeal. It's always the last to go.

Dylan Ratigan keeps it real

Tired of the lies? MSNBC host Dylan Ratigan will cheer you up. Watch him interview "Tea Party" leader Mark Williams. It is a rare and brilliant journalist who doesn't allow himself to be a tool for lies and hate. Refreshing.

Local news at 6:23 PM

Rainy day. Even the birds stayed away today. I'm going out tonight to spend a little time with some poet friends of mine, Ash Canyon Poets. To their credit, they still meet every Friday night, even now, after Cowee died. Bill. I miss that guy. Anyway, the way I felt all day, I'd rather go to bed and pull the covers over my head but that's no way to live. Plus, I have a poem for the critique.

Seems I lost a directory full of photos and other miscellany during a recent computer upgrade. Shit. Found this one though. I so know that place.

Coffee with oracles

The neighbor's roof line, dark against a lightening sky, high streak cloud catching pink. I am on my second cup of coffee. The magpies are early this morning, accompanied by a noisy crow.

Happy Valentine's Day

Free Hug Guy gets pranked by #2 Deluxe Hug Guy proving once again what....? that people are idiots? or money can buy happiness? I dunno. Anyway, happy Valentine's Day or Single's Day or whatever. Don't be cynical. It's a day. Share it with somebody, even if it's just your dog. What the hell?

The examined life

Portland. I am here to take care of Baby Thea while my daughter and her husband move back into their home but the move has been delayed since Monday and we are yet uncertain if the floor is dry enough to put furniture on it. If anything can go wrong ... so we wait and, other than the fact that I can't indulge my coffee habit, it's not so bad. We are staying at his parents' house. They are very gracious people, mellow, smart, educated, animal lovers, gardeners ie. all around nice, easy to get along with. And it doesn't hurt that they have a very comfortable home. Unfortunately, the time I have to help is running out. I return to Nevada next Tuesday, but that is no reason to rush things. The newly refinished floors will be good for 50 years so a day or two delay is worth the wait. Plus, who wants to look at a gouge or claw mark on the floor forever thinking, "God! If we'd only waited another two days!"

And because of the delay, I got to spend a night at my friend judybluesky's house. That was a treat. I haven't done an overnight at a girl friend's house since I don't know when. We should plan a getaway weekend. They're great. Remind me.

Other than that, this has been a time of much inner reflection. It has been prompted as much by the season, internal winter, a time of reflection, a time to recalibrate, the dreaming seed preparing for the coming light, as it is a natural response to being at loose ends. I am reminded that an inventory of what is, and is not, working in my life is due. One can run on automatic only so long before an overhaul is required. But it's work. All the pieces are on the table for a closer look. Some things have to go. Some priorities need to be bumped up, re-grouped, re-listed, de-listed, some set aside for an even closer look. Not particularly fun but you know what they say about the unexamined life.

Cheap Wine & Poetry

"We should never have named what we buried. We know now it wasn't love." ~ Richard Hugo from Graves.

Last night I attended a reading at Seattle's Richard Hugo House, a Cheap Beer & Prose event hosted by Cheap Wine & Poetry, to quote their blog, "Seattle’s biggest, coolest, hippest reading series." There was a huge turnout. I went alone but met some really nice people who invited me to join them at their table. One had come to read poetry at the open mic following the main event. As it turned out, I read as well. It's wonderful reading to people who actually listen. By the way, the Hugo House is a great place. Next time you are in Seattle, check it out.

Chumming for the dog

Since Baby Thea discovered how much Owen and Uncle Sonny like tasty treats, in this case Baby Os, she has become their new best friend.

Local news at 5:15 PM

A gray white moment coming in the window from the bird park. Smooth snow pocked with claw prints. And mud reappearing covered in tiny black husks. This afternoon, under a bright blue Nevada sky hawk flashed by after a crying bird. Color fading now as inside the room around the monitor grows quietly dark.

Daily Dead Log

TEXAS

The extent of the cruelty and neglect PETA documented in this massive and filthy animal warehouse is mind-boggling. Tens of thousands of animals—including ring-tailed lemurs, wallabies, sloths, hedgehogs, hamsters, guinea pigs, prairie dogs, squirrels, ferrets, snakes, turtles, and tortoises—were dumped into severely crowded and filthy boxes, bins, troughs, and even soda bottles and left there, often without food and water, basic care, or minimal veterinary attention for their life-threatening injuries. The following are a handful of examples they documented of the daily, systemic mistreatment of animals:

• Scared hamsters were crammed by the thousands into litter pans, unable to move for fear of being attacked by other distressed hamsters. These cruel conditions resulted in rampant cannibalism, horrific wounds and infections, and a daily death toll. Faulty watering-system nozzles routinely flooded bins, drowning the animals trapped inside.
  
  
• Delicate green tree frogs were kept inside plastic soda bottles. Denied food and water, the frogs sometimes remained inside these bottles for weeks at a time until they were either sold or died—whichever came first.
  
  
• A young hedgehog (pictured here) who was one of hundreds of little "pocket pets" at the facility was denied basic medical attention after his front leg was nearly severed. Many animals—including a spotted squirrel whose neck was torn in half—were dumped into a chest freezer to die slowly.
  
  
• More than 12,000 baby turtles languished in cardboard boxes for weeks in the facility's warehouse and were deprived of food, water, space, humidity, heat, and ventilation. In just one day, 657 turtles were recorded in the facility's "daily dead log."

For more than seven months, a PETA investigator worked undercover inside U.S. Global Exotics (USGE), a major player in the pet trade. USGE buys and sells hundreds of thousands of mammals, reptiles, amphibians, and arachnids from all around the world, many of whom are eventually sold to large pet store chains PETCO and PetSmart—stores PETA has campaigned against and even won major concessions from over the years. This was the largest cruelty-related seizure of animals ever conducted. It has already affected the global pet trade, and with more hard work, it could change the industry forever.

If you'd like to join the fight against U.S. Global Exotics, and other traffickers in this barbaric trade, consider contributing. I tossed $5 into the can. How about you?

Storms and circuses

One of the many clowns at Reno's Circus Circus casino. I love/hate clowns. This guy in particular caught my attention the other day. The Circus Circus midway is a truly strange place. Macabre.

This little fellow, a midway prize, looked otherworldly amid the garish gloom. Reminds me of the Tarot's Hanged Man reversed which has some interesting meanings.

For instance, there is this interpretation:

Reversed: as the Hanged Man card usually involves sacrifice and insight, the inverse would be a refusal to surrender what needs to be surrendered, or a refusal to see things from a new perspective. In this regard, the reversed card is the assertion of the ego; stubbornness or selfishness. The querent is clinging to whom and what they are - all that they have - refusing to give it up even though the exchange could transform them and help others.

and this one:

The Hanged Man generally shows a life or situation at a crossroads - one with only two options e.g. in or out, up or down, yes or no. This is not a time to attempt to control people, outcomes or situations, it is a time to look critically at yourself and your options, and to be deliberate in your progress. If you don’t know what to do, at all, it’s often a clear signal to do nothing.

Well, much to think about but I am off to Reno today. Big storm coming. Stay warm wherever you are.

Local news at 10:09 AM

Today is the 31st anniversary of my mother's death. We share a tradition on this day, my sister, brother, and I; an email exchange and candles plus whatever goes on in our private thoughts. I included my brother's message below. Seems all three of us dream and redream our childhood home. It's like a haunting but that can be a good thing, I suppose. Or okay anyway.

Today in Seattle the weather was just like it was 31 years ago, that January day - cold with a dirty fog that closing in the city. We put mom in a wheelchair and pushed her around the hospital floor. Which one? The 7th? We stopped at the NW window looking out over 15th st. A very depressing, gray mist pushed up against the window. I distinctly remember feeling embarrassed showing her such things. I told her I loved her and that I would miss her dearly. She just looked out, saying nothing. Moving on, we went back to the room and I lifted her into bed. So light and frail.

The other night I had a dream of biking home to Beaux Arts. I was going up 106th street, the Akin's house to the left, the Wah's to the right, the road was cobble stone with emerald green moss growing and healthy between the stones. I was tired, it was a long ride from my office in Seattle, or wherever I had come from. In dreams you never really know, only the moment, the cobblestone path, and the thought that it was so so long a ride. Soon I would be home. But then I realized the family was not there and I would have to make it a home on my own. It was too far to ride.

One hell of a dream, eh?
Love to both of you.

I'll light a candle tonight.

I posted a new poem on my poetry blog today. I started it awhile ago, I don't know when. I found it in one of my old notebooks. Anyway, I finished it this morning.

As though

I am the shadow and the leaves tonight. I am pooled under trees. I seep into the forest floor and smell of mold and rot. I am quiet as moss and the dark side of rocks. I drink rain with an open mouth. I am the reflection that looks back with many eyes.

Local news at 12:31

I am a wreck. Have been for a while. My office is a wreck. Everything is a drag. I will tell you what. I am getting really sick of this. Just sayin.








Depressed Hamster

Cookies for breakfast but no Haloscan

Coffee can message holder
left at the peak of a lonely
mountain top somewhere
in the Nevada desert

They weren't the hit I'd thought they'd be but this morning I gave the magpies butter cookies for breakfast, the kind you buy at xmas in the big tin. I'm not sure how old they are. At least a year. By seconds the general consensus was they were weird. A few birds hung around to pick and nibble but even they left some on the table. Now, as usual, one fellow is still out there cleaning up but I hope he doesn't get a tummy ache. No more cookies for magpies. Maybe I will try them on the ducks. They are pigs with feathers.

In other news, Haloscam has finally extracted itself from my blog. Good! Skeevy bastards. It was waste of time installing their stupid service in the first place. Blogger comments always worked just fine. I was like a crow, enamored by a bit of shiny tinsel. The downside is that the brilliant, witty comments left here over the years are also gone leaving me at this outpost border crossing bribing birds for company and hoping a ragged traveler or two will happen by and leave a note in the can. Yes, they are only digital but they do make the world seem a friendlier place.

Local news at 12:17

From where I sit, twenty-ten came out of the gate sideways. Change. So be it. I don't have to like it. I just have to go with it. Even my favorite cafe in Reno closed. WTF? It had the best poetry open mic in town and was right on the river in the same building as a great gallery and an artist's resident hotel. On the other side of the spectrum, the assholes at Haloscan still haven't removed me from their service. Fuckers. Anyway, I am in Reno today. Will post some photos later. I hope your year had a more gentle beginning.

Real friend test

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Skin flick

Do you need heart or guts to watch this video?

Bird eat bird

Today is Haloscan's big deadline. Either start paying for their service or get dumped. Screw them. I have been wanting to switch back to the Blogger commenting system for years but, oh no, Haloscan didn't offer that option. Undoubtedly, part of plumping up the user base in hopes of getting acquired and/or eventually discontinuing the free service. Yes, I could have reverted to Blogger's default widget template at any time thereby (probably) deleting them in the process but didn't want to make work for myself so good. Delete me. Adiós assholes.

And while I am on the subject of good sites gone bad, WTF Technorati? Seems Corporate also decided to castrate this once saavy interconnected site and turn it into a top-down-one-way-maze leading to the inevitable craphole advertisement. Fuck you too, Technorati.

Okay then.

And while I am on the subject of predator and prey, a small hawk recently claimed the Bird Park as his personal hunting ground. He is eating the little birds and leaving disturbing feather piles in and under bushes and trailing across the yard in tell tale testimony to successful captures. Just yesterday he swooped by my window after some poor fellow who probably did not get away. The Bird Park is on the brink of becoming yet another Nevada ghost town. The magpies still come about 7 am but they just grab their peanuts and go and though, at the moment, the little birds are braving death for a quick breakfast, they don't stay long. I really miss watching them throughout the day. Now, more often than not, I just look out at the fence and ugly roof line of the neighbor's horrible house. No movement, no life just another dead suburban moonscape. While I really resent corporations who suck the life out of things, I don't blame the hawk. He is not obsessed by profit and control but, between him and the fat neighborhood cats who saunter by after breakfast to play lion, there is not much joy in the Park. It's sad. I'm wondering if the magpies might chase the hawk away or at least challenge his hold on the place. They'd hang around if I feed them more. They scream at the cats. Of course, they also eat finches. It is a bird eat bird world.

The pigeons don't bother anybody but the neighbor on the other side of the fence but he died last month so that's something anyway. His widow doesn't give a crap about the outdoors. And the quail keep to themselves and are very fun to watch. They too are plagued by hunters, mostly the babies, but that's in the spring. Talk about sad. I get instantly attached to the tiny fluff ball babies following their parents around like a little train winding around curves after the engine. Last year the hunters gobbled them up like popcorn. What are ya gonna do? We are all food for somebody no matter how I wish it were NIMBY.

Blue Moon New Year

The photo is from Beaver Dam Wash. We don't go there anymore. The one road in washed out. Only the moon goes there now.