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Creative Fancy

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Tag Archives: New Year

New Year Resolution by Glynda Shaw

22 Sunday Nov 2020

Posted by Rohvannyn in Glynda's Writings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Dog story, environment, Glynda Shaw, New Year, resolution

1.

We were in what passed for downtown. So far we’d been lucky with the snowfall. Little had been felt this year before New Years day which it was right now, which generally meant we’d have our major dumps in Jan and Feb. For now though, It looked like just another chilly day, rife for walking.
We’d set off from our rather modest house, a repo purchased for sixty thou’, to this meager remains of a business district; objective, have something hot and oily at the local Thai restaurant.

We’d walked because the air was brisk and we feared the dulling effects of loitering around in stagnant air, or over-reliance on the Toyota Echo for mobility.

Standing now in front of Thai Cuisine, Eleanor read “Closed for New Year. Please have a safe and warm meal with family and friends.”

“Goddamnit!” I expostulated. “I know they’re closed for Oriental New Year. You’d think they could be open for our holiday!” I’d clamped my cane under my arm, preparatory to opening the restaurant’s door but now deployed it for further walking.

“Well,” Eleanor said “I don’t want to eat at Lynn’s. That place turns everything into a grease-ball!”

Grease balls just now were sounding to me much better than total starvation, but my belly sometimes can be melodramatic. It was then that she noticed the dog.

“Oh baby,” Eleanor said. “Did you get lost?” The dog walked up to me, bumped against my knees, presented a rather large head to my hand.

Feeling the top of the head I finger-traced the shark ridge atop and the bifurcation leading to each eye ridge. Lab or at least a mix. I patted the proffered brow. “Hi Sweetie,” I said. A long tongue came out lollopping my hand.

“She’s so sweet,” Eleanor echoed what I was thinking. “Somebody must care about her.” I felt the head shaking to accompany the wagging of a very long tail.

“So,” I said “We’re not getting dinner here. What else is in walking distance?”

“That Mexican place,” Eleanor said “And that Chinese restaurant across the street that always takes about a hundred years and serves you only one thing at a time?”

“Dubious,” I decided. “Our friend here,” I patted the dog atop her shark-fin ridge, “Needs to eat too.” The dog seemed to nod as I said this.” Some folks don’t appear to know this but when confronted by a stray dog on New Year’s day it’s really bad luck not to feed it. Bad luck accrues to anyone who is unkind or stingy to any animal any day of the year of course, but the new year definitely magnifies things, kind of double-dutch Kaarma if you can handle that.

“I guess we could make it to Jack in the Box,” Eleanor suggested. “We could get a plain burger for her, maybe a bag of fries.”

“Suits,” I said. “I think there’s a Congressional mandate that Jack in the Box is open on all federal holidays.

“I feel sorry for those workers though,” Eleanor said. I did too but not quite as bad as I felt for my depleted stomach.

Reaching the Jack in the Box drive-in Eleanor started reading off the choices on the billboard as soon as we got into perusing range. “Chicken nuggets,” she sang out. The dog was walking along sort of pressed to my right knee. I felt this sidewise waggle.

“She’s shaking her head no,” I announced.

Eleanor laughed. “Well how about a Superjack?” she said. The dog seemed to be describing yes on my pant-leg. “I think we’re getting warmer,” I said. “She seems to approve.” I thought about it a moment then inquired, “How do we know she’s a she anyhow?”

“She looks like a girl,” Eleanor decreed. The dog nodded her head.

2.

“You’re not supposed to walk up to the drive-in., the barely legal Jack’s crew-member gargled through the speaker. “You gotta come in.”

“I’m not allowed to drive,” I told her. “Besides I’ve got a dog.” She seemed to take a while processing this. “Hello?” I said.”

“Order please?” the girl said.

As it turned out, we all got Jumbo jacks and two orders of fries to share. It was walking weather but not at all sittting weather so we decided to find a dumpster to stand beside and eat standing up. We carefully spread our friend’s portions including ample fries atop the bag on the cement. Dogs eat incredibly fast and this one was no exception. She was done much sooner than we.

“Well good-bye friendly dog,” I said, folding up my wrapper and sliding it into the dumpster. We took turns patting that Labrador head.

“Go find your mamma and daddy,” Eleanore coaxed as we turned toward home. Like a suction cups on a sink mirror though, The Dog kept contact with my right leg and followed us.

“You need to go home,” Eleanor repeated with some urgency in her voice. No response from our new friend and continuing companion.
We increased our pace but of course nobody can outrun a dog and she kept right along jowl against my jeans.

“Where do you live?” Eleanore tried again, her voice gone plaintive.

“I could ask the same of you,” The dog said without rancor.

3.

“Are you shitting around with me?” Eleanore demanded, looking meward.

“Wouldn’t even consider it,” I protested. “It was you, wasn’t it, Girl?”

“Let’s get home,” the dog said. “I’m tired of this cold cement and I’m only about half full.” With an intro like that, who could do other than invite our canine friend home?

“Something I’ve always wanted to know,” I asked. “Do dogs have names for themselves? I mean do you just soak up whatever we humans hand you or is there some other name we never know about?”

“Names,” said the dog “are as much a matter of odor as they are sounds. We don’t use a special bark for one another say. We pretty much just know one another. The name thing is totally a human deal.”

“Well,” I said, “would it be too forward to ask what name you might have? I mean were you given a name was anyone else–some human?”

“You could sniff my butt if you’re really interested in my identity,” the dog said, sounding matter-of-fact about it.

“Oh,” I said, “maybe later.”

“Yeah,” said the dog. “so far as the human moniker thing goes, I got one of those hung on me a while back. It’s Leah.”

“Leah?” Eleanor said. “That’s a nice name.”

“A family I was with for a while had a female child named Rachel and there seemed to be something really humorous about me being named Leah while she was Rachel.” Leah said. “Some sorts of humor things, I’ll probably never get.”

“So,” Eleanor took over again, “You’ve had a home?”

“Yes, several,” Leah said. “In each case it didn’t really… work out?”

“Work out?” Eleanor repeated, “Were they cruel to you, poor thing…?”

“Not cruel necessarily,” Leah said. “Just inattentive more than anything else.” Leah was silent for a few beats then “You know,” she said, I’ve been looking for you two for quite a while now.”

“You have?” I asked. “How come?”

“Several reasons,” Leah said. “You’ve got all the right visuals, you’ve got on what look like second-hand clothes, neither of you smell all of cosmetics and the like. You’re walking while everyone else is driving. Mostly though, we’re talking. I guess I’ve never really gotten over that hurdle before.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can see that’d be a problem.”

“Ra-ther,” Leah said. The first person I tried it with dove head-first into a bottle then kept me up all night jabbering about not much of anything at all. Next morning he gave me a steak bone and showed me out the door. Next one, a woman thought she was having a psychotic melt-down and called for an ambulance. I ended up in a van destined for the local animal shelter. I was a bit of a while escaping from that. The two of you just stand here talking with a dog like nothing’s particularly unusual.”

“Well,” Eleanor said, “I guess we’ve always talked to our animals–” Her voice caught a bit as if she may’ve said something wrong.
Leah merely inquired, “but do you spend any time listening to what they have to say back?”

“Mmm,” I said, “I guess we would if they said anything. I assume we’ve been proving that point for the last five minutes or so.”
In a seeming change of subject Leah said “To be really sure, I need to have a look around your home. I perceive we’re close.”

“To be sure of what?” I demanded, “and how would you know where we live. Have you been shadowing us?”

“You walk a lot,” Leah explained. “Your scents are all over the place.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Eleanor said “are you planning to stay a while or what?”

“We’ll see,” Leah said. “First though we’ll, talk some more.”

4.

Coming to the edge of our rather generous yard, only 60 feet along the front sidewalk, but wedging rearward to nearly twice that; “Hey a ball!” Leah bark-shouted. Leaving my side she was back in a moment with a ball meant for horses but managed handily by Sally our Blue Heeler. Leah dropped it against my shoe. “Toss this it for me a few times will you?” she asked.

I obliged, lofting the thing by its carry handle across the yard. Panting and growling playfully Leah intercepted the ball on the fly, bringing it back to fall at my feet.

After a half dozen cycles Leah let go of the bully-ball. “Thanks,” she said, “Couldn’t resist that. Guess it’s in the genes, sort of like fucking up the ecosphere is in yours?”

“Say what?” Eleanor and I said together. “Do you know how many trees we’ve planted, how many low on the food-chain meals we’ve cooked, how many times we’ve turned the thermostat down, refused to use an air conditioner? We compost, recycle, as you pointed out we wear hand me over clothes!” Eleanor ran out of steam, stood spluttering.

“Yeah,” I put in, “What she said!”

“I know, I know,” Leah raised a paw, letting it fall on my knee. Your hearts are in the right place. That’s why I’m talking to you, not your neighbor over there (She nosed left), with the ride-on lawn mower, or your other neighbor (nosing right) with cement over most of his yard.
From inside Sally was setting off her customary flurry of barking. She’d have been out here with us hadn’t we planned to go to a sit-down restaurant dinner.

“Sounds like somebody I should meet,” Leah said.

“Sally,” I said. “Well, come on in and get acquainted.”

Leah bowed slightly. “Charmed I’m sure,” she said. We had the expected log-jam in the open doorway, Sally and Leah sniffing each other, engaging in mock combat.

“Girls!” Eleanor barked in her turn. “In or out!” The two dogs melted away into the living room, sprawling companionably on the rug.

“Sally,” I said. “Can you talk too?”

Sally made a low rumbling noise. “She say’s she generally doesn’t have anything to say,” Leah explained. “Besides it’s so much cuter to do the charades thing to let you know what she wants.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ve heard that line before. I bent way down,” patting Sally’s head, feeling a little self-conscious in doing so. Was I being patronizing, or did Leah expect a pat too?

5.

“Now” I asked, “what’s this about us ruining the environment. “By the way do you want anything more to eat?”

After Sally and our guest had shared some kibble (buffalo and sweet potato with blue berry) out of separate dishes and water out of a common bowl, Leah belched, excused herself. Sally belched, not nearly so loud, looked to us for affirmation, said nothing. “It’s the carbon you know,” Leah declared.

“You mean greenhouse effect?” Eleanor inquired, “all that?”

“All that,” Leah agreed. “So much of that stuff in the air that you could build many buildings out of it each year just carbon. Eleven hundred billion tons of it per year.”

“So,” Eleanor said “We go to hybrid cars. we put solar cells on the roof. We minimize our carbon footprint any way we can.”

“Not enough though,” our guest growled.

“Well what else is there,” I snapped back getting a bit pissed at this superior pooch.

“New ways of thinking,” the dog said. “Live in greenhouses in which you reclaim water, releasing latent heat, pulling CO2 out of the air you breathe. All sorts of complicated chemistry to make the air clean again. Mostly though, band together with like-minded people!”

“You’re an alien aren’t you?” Eleanor accused.

“No more than you are,” Leah reposted.

“But why are you telling us all this stuff?” Eleanor plead. “We already know what’s wrong. We’re saving up to do what we can for the environment. We’re getting a Prius next year. What else can we do?”

“There’s a number on my collar,” Leah declared. She got up came over to where I was standing. “Here, feel.”

I touched the modest band of leather and it’s appended tag, still feeling rather intrusive though I’d been given permission. There were engravings in the leather, vertical strokes and what might be arrows downward pointing.

“A phone number?” Eleanor wondered bending next to me to examine the markings. “It’s all in roman numerals.”

“Right,” Leah said. “You recognized the eights didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” She said. Then to me, “see, VIII VIII, VIII–“

Once started it was easy to follow, “V, V, V, five, five, five,” I took over. “I, VIII, VIII, IV.”

“See?” Leah put in. “Most people would just blow it off as some sort of decoration.”

“So we’re to call this number?” my wife asked, rising again.

“If you want to find other imaginative folks,” Leah told her, “People with the imagination to talk to a dog.”

Leah dropped then into dog conversational mode. She and Sally demanded outside, went sniffing about the yard, playing tug of war with Sally’s rope. After sharing silence with one another for quite a while I called.

A neutral-gender voice asked me if we owned our home, yes. Did either of us have a technical degree? Yes. How did we find out about this number? Yeah, I told the truth.

Now we’re involved with a not quite secret but shadowy movement, globe-spanning, with support from off-planet but locally administered. We’ve bought into a sort of habitat for humanity on steroids, building houses which help clean the air, recycling food, water, materials.

In the high mountains of Ecuador a catapult is being constructed to fling rock into space where processing facilities will refine silicon, printing solar cells for powersats. We’ve found all sorts of uses for pure carbon from graphite to diamond and economic incentives for mining it out of the atmosphere. We pretty much ignore the governments, especially our own. Most of our representatives are more focussed on staying in office than working global change and how could it be otherwise? As A.C. Clarke said, projects of this magnitude need to be funded by the century not by the fiscal year.

Once things got started and that was long before we joined, a critical mass was reached very the process has been snowballing since.

When The Donald and his ducklings, notice us now and then, quacking after just why we think we’re so smart, we tell them, “Next time a dog talks to you, listen why don’t you?”

-Glynda Shaw

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Story for the New Year

09 Thursday Jan 2020

Posted by Rohvannyn in Glynda's Writings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Glynda Shaw, New Year, short story, speculative fiction

New Year’s Resolution

by Glynda Shaw

1.

We were in what passed for downtown. So far we’d been lucky with the snowfall. Little had been felt this year before New Years day which it was right now, that generally meant we’d have our major dumps in January and Feb. For now though, It looked like just another chilly day, rife for walking.

We’d set off from our rather modest house; a repo purchased for sixty thou, to this meagre remains of a business district. Objective? Have something hot and oily at the local Thai restaurant. We’d walked because the air was brisk and we feared the dulling effects of loitering around in stagnant air, or over-reliance on the Toyota Echo for mobility.

Standing now in front of Thai Cuisine, Eleanor read “Closed for New Year. Please have a safe and warm meal with family and friends.”

“Goddamnit!” I expostulated. “I know they’re closed for Oriental New Year. You’d think they could be open for our holiday!” I’d clamped my cane under my arm, preparatory to opening the restaurant’s door but now deployed it for further walking.

“Well,” Eleanor said “I don’t want to eat at Lynn’s. That place turns everything into a greaseball!”

Grease balls just now were sounding to me much better than total starvation, but my belly sometimes can be melodramatic. It was then that she noticed the dog.

“Oh baby,” Eleanor said. “Did you get lost?” The dog walked up to me, bumped against my knees, presented a rather large head to my hand. Feeling the top of the head I finger-traced the shark ridge atop and the bifurcation leading to each eye ridge. Lab or at least a mix. I patted the proffered brow. “Hi Sweetie,” I said. A long tongue came out, lolloping my hand.

“She’s so sweet,” Eleanor echoed what I was thinking. “Somebody must care about her.” I felt the head shaking to accompany the wagging of a very long tail.

“So,” I said “We’re not getting dinner here. What else is in walking distance?”

“That Mexican place,” Eleanor said. “And that other Chinese restaurant across the street that always takes about a hundred years and serves you only one thing at a time.”

“Dubious,” I decided. “Our friend here,” I patted the dog atop her shark-fin ridge, “Needs to eat too.” The dog seemed to nod as I said this.

Some folks don’t appear to know this but when confronted by a stray dog on New Year’s Day it’s really bad luck not to feed it. Bad luck accrues to anyone who is unkind or stingy to any animal any day of the year of course, but the new year definitely magnifies things, kind of double-dutch Karma if you can handle that.

“I guess we could make it to Jack in the box,” Eleanor suggested. “We could get a plain burger for her, maybe a bag of fries.”

“Suits,” I said. “I think there’s a Congressional mandate that JITB is open for on all federal holidays.”

“I feel sorry for those workers, though,” Eleanor said.

I did too but not quite as bad as I felt for my depleted belly.

Reaching the Jack in the Box drive-in, Eleanor started reading off the choices on the billboard as soon as we got into perusing range. “Chicken nuggets,” she sang out. The dog was walking along sort of pressed to my right knee. I felt this sidewise waggle.

“She’s shaking her head no,” I announced.

Eleanor laughed. “Well how about a Jumbo Jack?” she said. The dog seemed to be describing yes on my pant-leg. “I think we’re getting warmed,” I said. “She seems to approve.” I thought about it a moment then inquired, “How do we know she’s a she anyhow?”

“She looks like a girl,” Eleanor decreed. The dog nodded her head.

“You’re not supposed to walk up to the drive-in,” the barely legal Jack’s crew-member gargled through the speaker. “You gotta come in.”

“I’m not allowed to drive,” I told her. “Besides, I’ve got a dog.”

She seemed to take a while processing this.

“Hello?” I said.

“Order please?” she said.

As it turned out, we all got Jumbo jacks and two orders of fries to share. It was walking weather but not at all sitting weather so we decided to find a dumpster to stand beside and eat standing up. We carefully spread our friend’s portions including ample fries atop the bag on the cement. Dogs eat incredibly fast and this one was no exception. She was done much sooner than we.

“Well, good-bye, friendly dog,” I said, folding up my wrapper and sliding it into my side of the dumpster. We took turns patting that Labrador head.

“Go find your mama and daddy,” Eleanor coaxed as we turned toward home. Like suction cups on a sink mirror though, The Dog kept contact with my right leg and followed us.

You need to go home,” Eleanor repeated with some urgency in her voice. No response from our new friend and continuing companion.

We increased our pace but of course nobody can outrun a dog and she kept right along, jowl against my jeans.

“Where do you live?” Eleanor tried again, her voice gone plaintive.

“I could ask the same of you,” the dog said without rancour.

3.

“Are you shitting around with me?” Eleanor demanded, looking me-ward.

“Wouldn’t even consider it,” I protested. “It was you, wasn’t it, Girl?”

“Let’s get home,” the dog said. “I’m tired of this cold cement and I’m only about half full.” With an intro like that, who could do other than invite our friend home?

“Something I’ve always wanted to know,” I asked. “Do dogs have names for themselves? I mean do you just soak up whatever we humans hand you or is there some other name we never know about?”

“Names,” said the dog “are as much a matter of odour as they are sounds. We don’t use a special bark for one another say. We pretty much just know one another. The name thing is totally a human deal.”

“Well,” I said, “would it be too forward to ask what name you might have? I mean, were you given a name by anyone else–some human?”

“You could sniff my butt if you’re really interested in my identity,” the dog said, sounding matter-of-fact about it.

“Oh,” I said, “maybe later.”

“Yeah,” said the dog. “so far as the human moniker thing goes, I got one of those hung on me a while back. It’s Leah.”

“Leah?” Eleanor said then. “That’s a nice name.”

“A family I was with for a while had a female child named Rachel and there seemed to be something really humorous about me being named Leah while she was Rachel.” Leah said. “Some sorts of humour deal I’ll probably never get.”

“So,” Eleanor took over again, “You’ve had a home?”

“Yes, several,” Leah,” said. “In each case it didn’t really work out.”

“Work out?” Eleanor repeated, “Were they cruel to you, poor thing?”

“Not cruel necessarily,” Leah said. “Just inattentive, more than anything else.” She was silent for a few beats then “You know,” she said, I’ve been looking for you two for quite a while now.”

“You have?” I asked. “How come?”

“Several reasons,” Leah said. “You’ve got all the right visuals, you’ve got on what look like secondhand clothes, neither of you smell all of cosmetics and the like. You’re walking while everyone else is driving. Mostly though, we’re talking. I guess I’ve never really gotten over that hurdle before.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can see that’d be a problem.”

“Rather,” Leah said. “The first person I tried it with dove head-first into a bottle then kept me up all night jabbering about not much of anything at all. Next morning he gave me a steak bone and showed me out the door. Next one, a woman thought she was having a psychotic melt-down and called for an ambulance. I ended up in a van destined for the local animal shelter. I was a bit of a while escaping from that. The two of you just stand here talking with a dog like nothing’s particularly unusual.”

“Well,” Eleanor said, “I guess we’ve always talked to our dogs.”

“Yeah?” Leah inquired, “but do you spend any time listening to what they have to say back?”

“Mmm,” I said, “I guess we would if they said anything. I assume we’ve been proving that point for the last five minutes or so.”

In a seeming change of subject Leah said “To be really sure, I need to have a look around your home. I perceive we’re close.”

“To be sure of what?” I demanded, “and how would you know where we live. Have you been shadowing us?”

“You walk a lot,” Leah explained. “Your scents are all over the place.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Eleanor said “are you planning to stay a while or what?”

“We’ll see,” Leah said. “First though we’ll talk some more.”

Coming to the edere of our rather generous yard, only 60 feet along the front sidewalk, owerging rearward to nearly twice that; “Hey a ball!” Leah bark-shouted. Leaving my side, she was back in a moment with a ball meant for horses but managed handily by Sally our Blue Heeler. Leah dropped it against my shoe. “Toss this for it me a few times will you?” she asked.

I obliged, lofting the thing by its carry handle across the yard. Panting and growling playfully Leah intercepted the ball on the fly, bringing it back to fall at my feet. After a half dozen cycles Leah let go of the bully-ball. “Thanks,” she said, “Couldn’t resist that. Guess it’s in the genes, sort of like F-ing up the ecosphere is in yours?”

“Say what?” Eleanor and I said together.

“Do you know how many trees we’ve planted, how many low on the food chain meals we’ve eaten, how many times we’ve turned the thermostat down, refused to use an air conditioner? We compost, recycle, as you pointed out we wear hand me over clothes!” Eleanor ran out of steam, stood spluttering.

“Yeah,” I said, “What she said.”

“I know, I know,” Leah raised a paw, letting it fall on my knee. Your hearts are in the right place. That’s why I’m talking to you, not your neighbour over there,” she nosed left, “with the ride-on lawnmower or your other neighbour,” she nosed right, “with cement over most of his yard.”

From inside Sally was setting off her customary flurry of barking. She’d have been out here with us hadn’t we planned to go to a sit-down restaurant dinner. “Sounds like somebody I should meet,” Leah said.

“Sally,” I said. “Well come on in and get acquainted.”

Leah bowed slightly. “Charmed I’m sure,” she said. We had the expected log-jam in the open doorway, Sally and Leah sniffing each other, engaging in mock combat.

“Girls!” Eleanor barked in her turn. “In or out!” The two dogs melted away into the living room, sprawling companionably on the rug.

“Sally,” I said. “Can you talk too?”

Sally made a low rumbling noise. “She says she generally doesn’t have anything to say,” Leah explained. “Besides it’s so much cuter to do the charades thing to let you know what she wants.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ve heard that line before.” I bent way down, patting Sally’s head, feeling a little self-conscious in doing so. Was I being patronizing, or did Leah expect a pat too?

3.

“Now” I asked, “what’s this about us ruining the environment. By the way, do you want anything more to eat?”

After Sally and our guest had shared some kibble (buffalo and sweet potato with blueberry) out of separate dishes and water out of a common bowl, Leah belched, excused herself. Sally belched, not nearly so loud, looked to us for affirmation, said nothing. “It’s the carbon you know,” Leah declared.

“You mean greenhouse effect?” Eleanor inquired, “all that?”

“All that,” Leah agreed. “So much of that stuff in the air that you could build many buildings out of it each year. Eleven hundred billion tons per year.”

“So,” Eleanor said, “We go to hybrid cars. We put solar cells on the roof. We minimize our carbon footprint any way we can.”

“Not enough though,” our guest growled.

“Well what else is there,” I snapped, back getting a bit pissed at this superior pooch.

“New ways of thinking,” the dog said. “Live in greenhouses in which you reclaim water, releasing latent heat, pulling CO2 out of the air you breathe. All sorts of complicated chemistry to make the air clean again. Mostly though, band together with likeminded people!”

“You’re an alien aren’t you?” Eleanor accused.

“No more than you are,” Leah reposted.

“But why are you telling us all this stuff?” Eleanor plead. “We already know what’s wrong. We’re saving up to do what we can for the environment. We’re getting a Prius next year. What else can we do?”

“There’s a number on my collar,” Leah declared. She got up came over to where I was standing. “Here, feel.” I touched the modest band of leather and it’s appended tag, feeling rather intrusive though I’d been given permission. There were engravings in the leather, vertical strokes and what might be arrows downward pointing.

“A phone number?” Eleanor wondered bending next to me to examine the markings. “It’s all in roman numerals.”

“Right,” Leah said. “You recognized the eights didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” She said. Then to me, “see, VIII VIII, VIII–”

Once started it was easy to follow, “V,V,V,,” I took over. “I, I, IV.”

“See?” Leah put in. “Most people would just blow it off as some sort of artwork.”

“So we’re to call this number?” my wife asked, rising again.

“If you want to find other imaginative folks,” Leah told her, “People with the imagination to talk to a dog.”

Leah dropped then into dog conversational mode. She and Sally demanded outside, went sniffing about the yard, playing tug of war with Sally’s rope. After sharing silence with one another for quite a while I called the number.

A neutral gender voice asked me if we owned our home, yes. Did either of us have a technical degree? Yes. How did we find out about this number? Yeah, I told the truth.

Now we’re involved with a not quite secret but shadowy project, globe-spanning, with support from off-planet but locally administered. We’ve bought into a sort of Habitat For Humanity on steroids, building houses which help clean the air, recycling food, water, materials. In the high mountains of Ecuador a catapult is being constructed to fling rock into space where processing facilities will refine silicon for printing solar cells. We’ve found all sorts of uses for pure carbon and economic incentives for mining it out of the atmosphere. We pretty much ignore the governments, especially our own. Most of our representatives are more focussed on staying in office than working global change and how could it be otherwise?

As Arthur C. Clarke said, projects of this magnitude need to be funded by the century not by the fiscal year.

Once things got started, and that was long before we joined, a critical mass was reached then the process snowballed.

When The Donald and his ducklings, notice us now and then and quack about just why we think we’re so smart, we tell them, “Next time a dog talks to you, listen why don’t you?”

Closing In for 2013

28 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by Rohvannyn in Holidays

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Glynda Shaw, Holidays, New Year

Originally posted on  January 3, 2013 at 12:20 PM

For those with chickens you probably know that egg production goes way down in the winter months at least for those of us who have more or less aux naturalle coops. I’d known that light played a role in the disposition of hens to be active and possibly produce but I didn’t know quite how significant that role might be.

I’d rigged a power line from the house to the coop, a distance of about 75 feet, with intentions of providing a heater if temperatures dropped too low but the weather has been reasonably mild most of this season. Our six hens were behaving very sluggish and egg production was down to about .666667 per day with one valliant hen following through with the goods. Last Saturday I bought a high intensity reading lamp with one of those newfangled bulbs which draw only 20 watts of power. I hung the lamp from a coop rafter with a piece of wire and we plugged the power line into one of those nifty light switch sockets that let’s you turn things on and off without bending and unplugging. We’ve been turning on the chicken light in the morning sometime before 8:00 and letting it burn till about 8:00 PM. Immediate results; Chickens are active, seem happier. Egg production is up to more like 1.75 a day (Those fractional eggs are a bit messy but we’re hoping for an even number any day now!) I’ll keep you posted on the recovery rate of egg production and mental health of hens.

Glynda

New Year’s Message

28 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by Rohvannyn in Uncategorized

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Holidays, New Year

Originally posted on December 31, 2012 at 11:55 PM

Dr. Bill Aimes, my U.W. Communications History prof, told us that if we wanted to be assured of of being remembered by succeeding generations we should take time every day and write down what was going on in the world and what impressions we had of it and what other people were saying about it. He said that diaries are typically tedious sources of historical information, adding that the diaries of Women from the 19th Century were especially bad because accounts of overland journeys for example were typically filled with ruminations on bowels and bladder. (As it happens I’m having some intestinal complaints at the moment but won’t take further space discussing them.)

I’ve never disciplined myself to do a current events journal on a daily bais what I guess we’d call a news blog today but I do take time every January 1st to set down what I’ve accomplished in the past year, what I hope to do in the following year and what events in the news over the past year have seemed particularly significant to me. Of course to more recent event from last year will more likely tend to be remembered than those from last January. I started this practice when I was a Junior in high school, back when nobody owned personal computers and nobody suspected that personal computers would be primarily used as communication devices when they were available. I think the first time I did my annual summary I simply had a few items of interest of which I wanted to keep track and decided to handle it as a short report. The idea seemed good so the following year I wrote something longer and more structured. I kept up the practice through college and most of the years after and I’ve been pretty faithful for the last couple of decades.

I guess if I had to justify the human race to an interstellar council like in Heinlein’s “Have Space Suit Will Travel” I’d just as soon not base my defense on 2012. Between many public and mass murders, a shooting of a high school girl advocating for women’s rights in Afghanistan, a gang rape of a woman in India on a public bus! And the general background bellicosity with which we’re all too familiar, it appears that some portion of us at least are bidding for attention of a very negative sort. Our presidential election was another glum choice between unpalatable alternatives. Again our Congress is holding the country to ransom because they’d rather be premadonnas than do the work they are elected (and paid) to do.

Even at the worst of times, there are rays of light. A couple of decades ago a young girl being shot because of daring to seek education for herself and others might have passed entirely unnoticed. In the wake of the gang rape, women (and some young men) in India are militating against the common abuse of women. There appear to be some signs, however sluggish that the economy may be rallying. We may as a country be trying to come together around the idea that we aren’t providing adequate protection for our children. As to how we should address this of course, we’re as divided as ever but at least we have a common ultimate objective. We have probes on Mars. We have commercial orbital resupply capability for the International Space Station and near-at-hand human transport capability from the same source. We have good directions in which to turn if only we will take them. On my three acres I’m trying to show sustainability potential and a sort of eco-techno ambassadorship.

The year just past was a questionable one but not a lot worse or a lot better than some others in recent memory. If it has a lesson to teach I think it is along the line of remembering. I mean let’s remember what’s going on right now and next time we get a chance to stand up and make a choice let’s remember and act accordingly. Keep track of your State and Federal Representatives and if they appear to be part of the deadlock rather than part of the across-the-aisle reachers, remember that and vote those folks out of House and Senate, State Legislature and City Council. Let’s get some new blood flowing, some new idea perculating. Let’s see what we can do about reintroducing statesmanship instead of inventorying Deadwood. To many people the number thirteen is unlucky but I’m not aware that there need be anything wrong with two thousand thirteen!

Blessings to all for the New Year.

Glynda

 

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