Thursday, October 30, 2014

The difference between men and women

Regarding that horrific explosion of the rocket that was to carry supplies to the International Space Station--

Me – What a tragedy.  Hard work and millions of dollars gone in one spectacular burst. 

Him –  Those poor astronauts, waiting for their food supplies. They're going to starve!


We discussed life in a space station.  Day-to-day stuff. Notably, how do they take care of basic necessities when everything is floating around.  For example, handling toilet business.

I could look this up on the Internet and learn exactly how it's handled. But it was more fun to speculate.

Our conversation was based on the theory that toilet waste is ejected from the space station. Turn a crank, push a button, press a lever somewhere and out it goes.

Me – As soon as it leaves the confined area it vaporizes. Proof!  Reduced to micro atoms that become one with the universe.

Him – No, no. Those pieces of poop are going to float around the galaxy forever. What people think are mini asteroids, are actually....

Men are so romantic.

Talk about leaving your poop print on the Milky Way.

And shouldn't that be – pieces of feces?



How about some space music:



Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Ponderings For a Hot August Night

A Casualty of Modern Times...

How many times do we hear the words stop and smell the roses?
Or, as a travel gnome advises, go and smell the roses.

The other day as we passed by a rose bush on our way to a restaurant, instead of getting a whiff  of a fondly remembered fragrance, we smelled NOTHING.
There wasn't even a "green plant" aroma.

Come to think of it, only one of our own rosebushes produces beautifully-scented roses.
The others, though thick with lovely flowers, are sterile in the odour department.

I don't believe unscented roses existed in nature until rose breeders started messing with plant genes. 

Apparently these new pest and disease resistant GMO roses don't require a gardener's careful and loving touch. They grow and produce flowers, but to become hassle-free they had to give up something vital. THEIR AROMA.

Well, I think that stinks. [pun intended] 
No wonder bees have become scarce.


 A Dog's Life

Roxy's [the dog] toys came back from the cleaners in a big-box.
She was moping around, so I told my husband give her some toys.
He dumped out the whole box.

We counted 50 items. Balls, squeakies, stuffed animals – raccoons, snakes, ducks, little dogs, monkeys, etc. etc.

She lifted her head, looked, and just as quickly dropped her head again and went back to moping.

I would've given her one or two to start with instead of overwhelming her with the whole army at once.

It's like kids who have too many toys. [An Xbox with 200 games. 25 Barbies, 80 changes of clothing...] They have to make a decision that might be too difficult to make. So they play with a cardboard box instead.

I also think it's like any one of us who has the Internet to play with.
Maybe because I remember what it was like at the beginning, when bulletin boards morphed into forums. Many of us joined closed forums, and we felt safe there with kindred souls from all over the world, there to discuss shared interests.

When my forum provided a doorway to the mysterious Internet, I ventured forth, quietly, on tiptoes, not knowing what to expect. I was ready to retreat if  necessary and slam the door.

Well,  there wasn't much there. Initially, many businesses were wary about  putting up webpages,  believing it was a fad. The ones I was hoping to find, publishers, agents, writers, seemed most resistant. It took them forever to join the party.

 But the lightbulbs flashed and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.
Almost overnight the World Wide Web exploded. Information and entertainment of any type was at your fingertips. It's great. Until it's not. Until it's too overwhelming and you can't decide what you want to look at or study or learn.

So you just spend hours playing chess against the computer.


The Dream

I know it was exciting, filled with action and bright colors.

Then–poof– the screen went black. Whatever it was, it was over. I could not retrieve even a tiny thread of what it had been.

And yet the last words I heard, spoken clearly, will haunt me a long time.

Snow cone men are out of control

 Scary thought, right?


And a hot August night always takes me back to 1972 and one of my favorite albums – Neil Diamond's Hot August Night.

The whole album--much better than clips--


-- Cat

Sunday, February 16, 2014


I must quit staying up all night to watch the Olympic games!

Go Canada!


Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Musical interlude

An awesome murmuration of starlings, set to the lovely music of Pachelbel's Canon