Adding One More

Spring                                                       Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

Played space invaders again this morning.  My ophthalmologist insists on calling it a visual field.  It tests peripheral vision, a clue to advancing glaucoma.  I have already been treated with laser holes for narrow angle glaucoma, but now, in a not surprising development, my pressures have inched up past high normal, so I’m adding another drug to my list.  These bodies definitely have a sell-by date and mine is beginning to turn brown like the lettuce in an old batch.

In addition, to add insult to the diagnosis, my ophthalmologist, whom I’ve seen for twenty years or so, has decided to retire.  This is my last visit with her.  So, not only does the body begin to retire from its functions, so do the folks who take care of it.  My dentist retired two years ago; my internist left three years ago.  Pretty soon I’ll be the only one left.

Sculpture.  Here’s a peculiar lacunae.  I bought the Grove Dictionary of Art on sale.  It’s 30+ thick volumes of wonderful information.  But.  It has no sculpture section.  Strange.  Lots of stuff on individual sculptors, traditions, sculptures, but no general article.

Just finished the legcom call, now into Oceanaire for a birthday dinner with Mark.

Bee Diary: April 12, 2011

Spring                                                   Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

Hobby Bee Keepers tonight.  Kate and I heard a presentation on Minnesota Grown, a very interesting initiative by the Minnesota Department of Agriculture that supports local food 400_garden_0084based businesses with marketing assistance.  A woman gave a presentation on cooking with honey.  How to make truffles.  Uh-oh.  They were really good.  Not a healthful food, but my were they tasty.

The hobby beekeepers have a farmer look, a rural feel, even though there are many urban and suburban beekeepers.  Guys with hat line tans, checked shirts and blue jeans; woman with sensible cloths and no make up.  Tonight I learned what to do with all the honey I have left over from the demise of my two colonies; use it four frames at a time to feed my new package bees.

The night was clear and warmish.  Today was busy, as was yesterday and as tomorrow and Thursday will be.  My energy is up and I’m having fun.  I’m glad we’ve had the warm weather and a chance to get into the garden.

About that land my sister, brother and I own in West Texas.  Probably not gonna be used for a housing development.  Forty acres of mesquite and sand, plus, natives assured me, quite a few rattlesnakes.  Taste like chicken I’m told.  A certain, lonely hermit part of me finds West Texas desirable because of its emptiness, its vast spaces and little civilization.  I loved Marfa and could imagine a winter retreat down there in Imperial that could serve as a base for outings to Great Bend, Marfa, Guadaleupe Mountains, Carlsbad Caverns.  Maybe.

Think I’ll send Mark down there to scout it out, maybe hire a surveyor.

West Texas

The 2010 Census confirmed what anyone passing through the scrublands of West Texas already knew: People are leaving, and no one is taking their place, even with oil at more than $100 a barrel. The people who remain often drive an hour or more to visit a doctor, buy a pair of jeans or see a movie.

So you might wonder why anyone is still there, in this place where natural beauty is defined by dry creek beds and scraggly mesquite, where public transit is a school bus and Starbucks is a punch line.

“The greatest sunsets. The stars are just right there. You hear the coyotes howling,” says Billy Burt Hopper, sheriff of Loving County, home to 82 people and the least-populated county in the United States.

The New One

Spring                                                Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

(50th anniversary of human spaceflight)

An encyclopedic museum like the MIA has such a broad collection–by definition–that gaining familiarity with all of it is a practical impossibility.  This may sound like a disadvantage, but from my perspective, it’s pure joy.  Why?  Because it means I get to discover new art and new artists, even if they’ve been in our collection for a very long time.

Case in point.  John B. Flanagan, a graduate of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (1916-1919), a hard luck story wedded to artistic success and an early death.  The New One, brand new to me, has been in our collection since 1951.  I found it because I have a sculpture tour on Thursday and, since I’d never done a sculpture tour, I had to poke around the many, many sculptures we have.  In the process I discovered this artist and our example of his work.

He attempted to keep the personal distant from his work which he saw as searching for the unity that exists in nature.  This unity led him to the belief that a powerful organizing and vitalizing force could be found in all creatures, not just humankind.  This small sculpture, 6 x 11 x 6 inches, shows the unfolding of a fetus.  His work shows no identifiable influence, so wrapped up he was in this quest for what nature could reveal.

Flanagan and his search for the heart of the natural world expresses in stone a search I identify as my own.  How do we, all of us, living and non-living, express a link, a bond, the link, the bond that finds us all born of the same atoms and, in our decay, returning those atoms for use again and again and again.

This is not pantheism, as one art critic labeled Flanagan’s perspective.  It has no need for a deity, rather, it grasps the kernel of sameness that makes us all one:  star, toad, stone and whale.  What a wonder to find someone on the very same path as your own, someone skilled enough to turn stone into personal vision.  Miraculous.  Delightful.

Salute to the Spring Ephemeral

Spring                                                  Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

We have hundreds of daffodils just about ready to bloom.  A few scylla have popped up in the front and crocus, too.  Tulips have also broken through.  It’s an exciting time for a perennial lover, especially if you are, like me, a lover of the spring ephemerals, those hardy flowers that have their timing down to avoid the shade of leafy trees and shrubs, opening up and going to seed long before the darkness covers their little patch of land.  These little guys can’t wait to get out of the ground, sort of like greyhounds or whippets.

My next favorite flowers are the lilies and they don’t show up until July.  After that, I’m ok with whoever wants to bloom.

Lunch at Stacy Pydych’s, an Italian, Venetian theme.  Lots of good table conversation, good food and sunshine.  A perfect day with friends.  Thanks to everybody who got there.

A Busy Week Ahead

Spring                                              Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

 

Business meeting this am.  Looked at our IRA and Vanguard balances.  Both healthy thanks to good planning and the recent surge in the market.  Theses glances at our assets won’t be as much fun when the market heads south again, as it will.  Right now though they’re cheering.  I read an interesting article on whether it was better to start retirement when the market  was strong or when it was undervalued.  The consensus was that undervalued was better. I can’t recall why, but I imagine it had to do with a feeling of lack followed by a feeling of abundance rather than the reverse.  The latter could lead to too quick a draw-down on accounts, leaving less money near the end of life.  Ah, well.  We’re well under the recommended minimum per year withdrawal from the IRA so far and we plan to keep it that way.

Started three varieties of tomatoes this morning:  Roma, Black Krim and a yellow variety.  At the same time I started kale and chard, one variety each.  They go under the lights now and wait just before the last frost (May 15 or so), kale and chard, and until after the last frost, the tomatoes.  Wetting the potting soil resembles playing with mud, an early childhood memory trip.

We checked calendars.  This week’s a heavy one for me with political, artistic and bee-keeping meetings, plus a birthday dinner out for brother Mark at the Oceanaire.

Garden Diary: April 10, 2011

Spring                                                                Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

The outside gardening season has begun.  Kate and I worked in the vegetable garden together this morning.  She (I’m in destructo mode) cleaned out beds, cut down raspberry canes, weeded and  pruned.  I worked more composted manure into the beds, then planted American Spinach, Golden Beets and Lettuce.  I also prepared beds for the leeks and the potatoes.  potato planting 2010The leeks will go in the next week, already begun inside, and the potatoes will go out a bit after they arrive, probably late week after next.  The garlic, strawberries, rhubarb, asparagus, raspberries and a few stray onions have a jump on the season, as do a couple of perennial herbs.  When they come, I’ll drop in the carrots and beans and peas.  Feels good to have the outdoor garden started.

I plan to be more conscientious about planting successive crops of beets, lettuce, spinach, kale and chard, so we can harvest, preserve and eat those throughout the year.  We’ll also pay more attention to the harvesting of beans, peas and asparagus especially.

Mark went to bed around 6:00 pm last night and is still asleep.  No wonder since it’s midnight in Bangkok right now.  He’s had a tough last six months, but I can see he will get past it.

Bee Diaries: April 9, 2011

Spring                                                                             Waxing Beehiving Moon

This morning:  an auto da fe, an act of faith, but as you history buff’s know, also a burning.  Acting on the word of Mcarthur Grant Genius, Marla Spivak, I burned my old hives and frames since I believe they had an infestation of American Foulbrood.  They were old and came from my first bee mentor, Mark, so it was time to cycle them out of our bee yard hive-burninganyhow.

It took me a while to get them going, I felt a little bit like Crankshaft, pouring on the starter fluid, but finally the heat got high enough to melt the wax and then the fire burned, smoky and jumping high, all that work melting into flames.  While they burned, I cleared plant matter out of the raised beds, detritus from last fall, readying them for planting tomorrow, I hope.

(not mine, but a bee keepers fire)

Purification by fire, burning out a disease organism that can stay in the brood cells for up to 50 years, a small flake filled with the virus, only waiting for a moment when it can awaken.  This stuff can spread from hive to hive so scorched earth is the best answer.  In addition, Marla recommends burning five year old frames and hive boxes just to be safe.

The comb melted and spurred the fire higher, small bee bodies dropping from the brood chambers and the sides of the frames to the bottom board.  It’s been awhile since I burned anything, but it did remind me of the old days in Alexandria, Indiana where we used to burn our trash in 50 gallon oil barrels.  We had to poke it and move the the stuff around to insure everything got consumed.

I’ll use the dead bees and the ash as a fertilizer for the raised beds, a whole cycle.

If you go down further in my postings, you’ll discover the posting I removed earlier are back.  My brother is now here in Andover, away from Thailand.  Apparently an angry employer can retain foreign nationals for unfinished work contracts and Mark had a bit over three weeks left on his.  Nothing happened, so he arrived safely around 12:45 today after the grueling 17 hours in the air from Bangkok.  We’ve talked, he’s sleeping off his jet lag now.  Both Kate and I are glad he’s here.

Rainfall as Destiny

Spring                                                       Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

Let the rainy season begin.  Thunder in the forecast for tomorrow.  That means Rigel slinking around, barking at the sky, and, with Sollie and Gertie here, amping up the possible opportunities for red in tooth and claw encounters.  Temperate climates change the game every three months or so, just to see if we’re still alert.

There is an argument in the Star-Tribune today that correlates 50-100 mm of rain a year with democracy.  This is a new version of an old staple, geographical determinism, now sometimes called environmental determinism.  In essence geographical determinists equate a particular land form or climate with political destiny. An explanation from about.com is below.

“The main argument of environmental determinism states that an area’s physical characteristics like climate have a strong impact on the psychological outlook of its inhabitants. These varied outlooks then spread throughout a population and help define the overall behavior and culture of a society. For instance it was said that areas in the tropics were less developed than higher latitudes because the continuously warm weather there made it easier to survive and thus, people living there did not work as hard to ensure their survival…

By the 1950s, (my emphasis, note that this perspective held sway in geography until recently, and, in fact re-emerges now and then.  See today’s star-trib.) environmental determinism was almost entirely replaced in geography by environmental possibilism, effectively ending its prominence as the central theory in the discipline. Regardless of its decline however, environmental determinism was an important component of geographic history as it initially represented an attempt by early geographers to explain the patterns they saw developing across the globe.”

The main problem with this line of thought is that it confuses correlation with causation.  In other words it is deductive rather than inductive.  In its earliest and grossest form it posited, for example, that equatorial regions produced lazy, shiftless people because food was so readily available.  A later version of the same argument claims to correlate 70% of a nations or regions economic production by its distance from the equator.  The reasoning though is backward.

Take the article claiming the causal link between rainfall and democracy in the paper this morning.  It looks at democracies, notes that most fall in temperate regions and asks the question, why is that?  In answering this question they come to a conclusion that moderate rainfall has a goldilocks effect producing an ideal agricultural environment with an environment conducive to food storage (cold winters).  This leads to individual property and strength of individuals who can then join together in democratic government.

Well.  Here’s the way it would have to go if the theory were to actually work.  First, you would have to take a geographic or climactic feature, let’s say rainfall, then look at what rainfall produces and then predict what cultural and political configurations were likely.  At that point you could take your theory out into the wide world and see if it matched up.  If it did, then you might, note might, have a law.  The might, even in this method, is that even with prediction, correlation is not always causation.  That’s why scientific theories have to be tested and verified by others, others who don’t have your assumptions.

Both culture and political configurations are far too many variables removed from climate and geography to demonstrate causation rather than correlation.  That is, the human mind and the creativity of the group, can overcome, in fact, has a long track record of overcoming geographic and climactic variations.  Overcoming, not being overcome by.  We may argue whether that’s good or not, but it is a fact.

And, oh, by the way, this article doesn’t account for China, the world’s largest autocratic state with quite a bit of temperate climate.

The Latin Diaries: Diana and Actaeon

Spring                                             Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

All morning on 5 verses of the Actaeon story.  I’m not sure now that I’ll make it before May 1st when the Titian exhibit leaves.  I’m aiming that way still.  It’s a goal, but one dependent on my continuing to gain skill as a Latin novice and gain skill fast.  I’ve only now just gotten to the good part where Actaeon has entered the sacred grove, seen Diana and she’s going for her arrows and her bow.  After that?  Well, it’s not good news for our Actaeon.

Translating Latin, and I’m sure this is true with other languages too, requires holding several different pieces of information in mind, all at the same time.  That’s different conjugations, declensions, clause forms, word meanings (usually multiple for the same word).  The thing I still find hardest is not jumping to a conclusion and locking in a translation.  If I do that, I end up with words that don’t fit and decisions that go down wrong paths.

The very complexity of it is what appeals to me right now, that and the fact that I’m digging deep into a text and therefore an author and therefore a world that fascinates me, the world that sustained Greek and Roman gods and goddesses.  Ovid challenges this world, challenges it vigorously, with stories of transformation and injustice, but, in a great irony, also propagates it.

An Art Day

Spring                                                             Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

Two tours today, 2nd graders at 10:00 am and a group of seniors from Minnetonka at 1:30.  I took the kids through a mysteries of the ancient world tour.  I love 2nd graders.  They’re eager, uncensored, fun and often bright.  We learned how sculptures lose things that stick out, why the chinese used copper and tin for weapons, that folks have been fighting in Iraq for a really long time and that an artist 20,000 years ago made a small stone sculpture we could recognize today.

With the seniors we toured Titian, going over, once again, the splendid century, filled with wealth and spices and great artists.  We wandered among these great stories, the Christ child, the Three Kings, the bella donna’s, the courtesan count, the transformation of actaeon into a stag and callisto into a bear.  The museum literally brings the world to us and allows those of who guide there to travel over it ever time we visit.  Today, for example, we went to China, Greece, Iraq, France, Mexico and Venice.  Plus Mexico and, by extension, Italy, Israel and Cyprus.  Not bad for a day’s work.

This work is such a gift, a license to steal glances at objects made by some of the world’s great geniuses:  Goya, Rembrandt, Titian, El Greco, Bassano, Renoir, Gaugin, Monet, Van Gogh, Rodin.  The list goes on.  I visit Lucretia now as an ancestor who died tragically.  Germanicus, that brave general dying betrayed.  The sick Goya, nurtured by his doctor.  The Sufi crowd working themselves into ecstasy in Delacroix’s painting.  That wonderful brook by Thomas Moran.  Calypso mourning for her lost Ulysses.  So many, so wonderful.  Sometimes it takes my breath right away.

Is it spiritual?  If, as I am beginning to take it, the spiritual moments are those moments that nurture our Self, that best and richest person we could be, want to be, then, yes, every visit to the museum affords a chance for the Self to grow further into its most creative and full expression, goaded on by others who tapped into the depths of their own Self and who gave us a choice to join them on their journey.