On 'My' and Other Thoughts

In prehistoric times dragonflies had a wing-span of over two feet, which has evolved today to two inches.  Adults live a brief, carnivorous life, favoring mosquitos (go dragonflies!)

At the end of their little lives they pass unnoticed, biodegrade, and return from whence they came.

The Dead Dragonfly Float-6/29/12

This thought renewed itself while paddling the river:  Everyone I know is going to die. I am going to die.

Of course it's universal. Everyone knows this. Everyone you know is going to die. Including you.

We know this, but we don't comprehend it. Comprehension is in the mind, and the surface mind wants to believe otherwise. It doesn't know truth.  It finds it inconvenient. It wants us to live pretending we won't ever non-live.

My is such a possessive word.  Possession is a mind-made thing.  People die daily.  Minute-ly.  Second-ly.  Now.  Right now someone died. 

But until they are referred to with the little word 'my' before their label, their death is not significant to people who don't refer to them starting with 'my.'  

A friend of my sisters' died this week.  Today was his funeral.  

She said on the phone, "My friend Jim died this week."  

Jim was many people's friend; one person's husband; one sons father.  To them, he was 'my friend.' 'my husband.' 'my father.' 

In the lovely book The Little Prince, the tiny traveler didn't appreciate his rose until he and the fox tamed one another.  Only then did he appreciate the uniqueness in all the world, of his rose. It was in honoring our communion with one another that true friendship prospers.

The Hindi word for 'friend' is rooted in the phrase:  "Who is your friend? The one who tells you the truth." 

A dear friend of mine died in February. My friend.  I brought soup to his house last winter. The next time I saw him he returned the container. I asked how was it.  He said it was bland.

"No matter how much spices we added it didn't improve it." 

I laughed, tickled at his honesty. 

It was just his friend-ness shining through. He had to tell the truth. He was my friend.

I love and miss him.

Real friends, ones who tell the truth, are rare.  
 

Moths Are Quite Lovely

This lovely moth slipped inside last night and danced on the ceiling, attracted to the kitchen light (to him it must be the moon)  
This morning he was in the sink. I scooped him into a glass to set him free.  May he enjoy the half full moon outside tonight, listening to fireworks. (Fireworks must puzzle insects, animals and nightlife)

Moth Inside a Drinking Glass

Moth Set Free In A Windowbox Planting

Dueling Fireworks

Hi!

The river is always wonderful, but it isn't as wonderful as being blessed with a visit from dear friends (a soul-sister and brother-in-choice) and we spent a wonderful evening chatting on my second story tree-deck. 

Then they left and neighbors across the street set off a bunch of firecrackers; then neighbors down the street and on the next block set off their fireworks and it sounded for a while like dueling fireworks or surround sound fireworks.  

It's been a noisy fireworks year, now that they're legal and all.  Apparently the 4th of July isn't going to be limited to the 4th of July fireworks-wise.  It will become like The Twelve Days of Christmas....

Enter:   The 12 Days of Independence Day 

On the first day of Independence Day, my true love gave to me, 

a case of Hammerhead Titanium

On the second day of Independence Day, my true love gave to me, 

Two Whistling Moons

and a case of Hammerhead Titanium

On the third day of Independence Day, my true love gave to me, 

Three M-80's

Two Whistling Moons

and a case of Hammerhead Titanium

....all the way up to: 

On the twelfth day of Independence Day, my true love gave to me, 

Twelve Crystal Flashes

Eleven Dynamite Strikes

Ten Pyramid Assortments

Nine Lady Fingers

Eight Neon Tracers

Seven Black Cat Mag Stars

Six Bottle Rockets

F-i-v-e C-h-e-r-r-y B-o-m-b-s

Four Roman Candles

Three M-80's

Two Whistling Moons

And a case of Hammerhead Titanium.

Happy Eighth Day of Independence Day Everyone!


CAnne

500 Years From Now On A River

500 Years From Now On A River

  Or: The history we are making for future generations to cope with.
Or: How to spend a Friday night in June making up the future.  
Or: What I found on the river 6/29/12  (and yes, I do extract the trash I find)



 In the year 2512 The Egoan Era followed the Cenozoic Era.  The Egoan Era was marked by profound arrogance and a widespread assumption on the part of humans that they were superior to everything, which brought a sense of entitlement that was undeserved. 

Here are a few pictures of remnants of that unfortunate age. 

The Egoans used plastic 'bobbers' to fish with (before fish were depleted to near extinction)

Styrofoam, made from petroleum and synthetic chemicals. They made disposable things that accumulated in the environment without biodegrading. 

The Egoans ate a lot of fast food. Cheetos are believed to have been a snack product (pseudo-food eaten by Egoans) The bag lasted centuries longer than the contents.

Blue Ribbons were awarded at various competitions, blue being the best quality, which was ironic, since Pabst was the worst fermented beverage known to mankind.

The Egoans paid for individually contained liquids; including water, soda (a refined sugar sweetened substance) and pseudo-fruit juices. All packaged in plastic. Despite efforts of the generations that followed, items like this are still persistent in the environment. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July22 Took an empty Bud Light beer can out of the water.  Put it in the kayak to throw away later. When I got to the take-out site a man was there with binoculars and a clipboard. "Counting birds?" I asked.  He was. Says he surveys water birds every two weeks. 

"Need a hand getting out?" he asked. 

"Nope. Thanks." I say.  Then a look passed over his face. I looked down to see what he was seeing. "Oh," I explained, "that's not my beer can. I found it in the river."  He looked a bit doubtful. 

I tossed the can in a trash bin that the city keeps down by the portage. (Thanks Westbrook! for providing one) 

Then I saw the trash (pictured below) about ten feet from the trashcan. The city shouldn't also have to put up a sign 'THIS IS WHERE TRASH BELONGS' for people to get it. I'd say 'people, dispose of trash in the proper bins or take it with you,' but the people who need that message never heed that message.  But here goes: 'If you can't dispose of your trash properly don't create it in the first place.' 

There. Now I feel better.

 

Access To The River

Of course, you have to get the kayak to the water; so a truck, roof rack, or hatchback is required.

Presumpscot River/Westbrook Portage Site (where I usually put in)  Ain't it purdy?

Once on river, if you go to the left (don't go to the left. Those orange

flags mark the dam over which you don't want to fall; and serious undercurrents)

The house next to the portage site. Note the high water levels. This house

is not inhabitable, due to the close proximity to the river.  Pretty though, ain't it? 

Talk about water views.

The Water Mirror   6/29/12

Haunted Trees & Such

1-Eyed Tree Gremlin Sticking Out Its Branch Tongue

6/28/12 

 

 Edvard Munch painted (at least four versions of) The Scream in 1893.

He titled the paintings The Scream Of Nature. 

Each shows the pained expression on a human face. 

Along the river I came across this, which may personify the 

scream of (the beloved) trees.

Tree Version of E. Munch's The Scream

6/28/12 

 

7/22/12 Yikes! This 'face' was creepy! Hope no little 4-footed friends wandered into that gaping mouth!

Hi Lily Hi Lily Hi Lo

Water Lilies by Monet
and below, by me

Fern Gully 6/28/12  ~Magical

 Triple Ripple 6/28/12

June 28 2012

Stunning evening

The river winds along fields

My Compass

Let it rain...Let it rain (E Clapton)

Five minutes out on the river, and I feel raindrops.  Seven minutes, they're a bit more plentiful.  Is this a sun shower or the real thing?

A minute later, deciding it was the real thing, I head back. I don't mind rain. But the clouds which looked like fair weather ones at the start, have darkened to something more.

Better not chance it.  Despite the forecast.  Which more often than not is more accurate as aftcast.

Reading On The River

On May 20th I passed a white haired woman kayaking too.

"Does it get any better than this?" I ask her.

A while later, my feet up, book in hand, floating downstream, she passes again.

"What are you reading?" she asks, while looking at the cover.  She nods affirmatively, "The Tao Te Ching"

It's my favorite thing.

Kayaking.

Reading the Tao Te Ching.

Makes my heart sing,

Grateful for everything.

Addictions

Humans have addictive natures. It manifests sometimes as too much of a good thing; and its seeming opposite, too much of a bad thing. Since both is inherent in the other, what seems good has elements of bad and vice versa.

An addiction is whenever our pursuit of something is out of balance.

Is there such as thing as too much kayaking?

......Nah.


~CAnne

Life on a river

That 'certain slant of sunlight' Emily D wrote of

 Sacred. Silent. Sensational.

Reflections of my life....

I got peace like a river...in my soul 

My wish for you: That you have a chance to kayak and spend time on a gentle waterway. A basic recreational kayak is a few hundred dollars new...less, used. That's a lot of money, but once the kayak, paddles and life vest are purchased it is only a matter of getting it to water.  I have a Honda Civic hatchback that my kayak fits in the back of. The Presumpscot River is a five minute drive.  Then regardless of what kind of daily stress you've had, it all melts away in the current.

~CAnne

How I spend Friday nights

Licentious River Behavior

Diablo Cody (screenwriter who wrote 'Juno') said her writing career took off after she changed the content of her blog from the mundane to chronicling the year she spent as a stripper.  Then tons of people read her. A hollywood agent contacted her after reading her blog, which lead to her Juno opportunity.
 I don't have steamy, sex-saturated content to blog about. Except what I observe.  It's early summer. Everything seems to be pairing up right now... (Except me. But that's okay. It gives me time to watch other stuff)  So I was lazily kayaking on the river, pondering this when these two damselflies happened by, right in the middle of their mating ritual. They found my leg as good a place as any to have sex. It's an odd ritual. It looks like the male attaches to the back of her head, but that is just a positional thing. Before doing it they spend quite a bit of time connected to each other. I know this because I looked it up when I got home. This is my exciting Friday night activity. Observing insects having sex then looking it up on the internet.  After they consummate their union (Diablo would have put it quite differently) the male flies off and the female rests; then hunts for a stagnant water body to lay her eggs. The larva that emerges will spend from 1-3 years in the water, feeding on other insect larvae such as mosquitoes. Once it emerges from the larval stage into an adult, it has just weeks to live before it mates and continues the cycle. So my two maters are short-lived.  It was an honor to have hosted a part of their union. Life is short lived but oh what a ride.


Soon after these two humans canoe'd by.

I had a brief moment of feeling alone...and was about to burst out in that awful '70's song by Eric Carmen "All by myself....don't wanna be....all by myself.....anymore" when serendipitously yet another damselfly landed on my leg.
Their eyes are set further apart than dragonflies, and they keep their wings folded down when resting, whereas dragonflies wings stay spread out. Smaller and less powerful, damselflies are the delicate cousins of the vibrant dragonfly.
I feel sorry for the males.  Must be hard, being a male DAMSELfly.  They must get teased by their dragonfly cousins alot.

It and I hung out together for awhile. It occurs to me that maybe it's a she who just mated and was resting before finding stagnant water to lay her eggs. Or maybe it's a he scouting out a new partner. Whatever. Things come and go. Wax and wane. Ebb and flow.


~CAnne

ahoy

 Ahoy maties. (blog author on the river June 22 2012)

July 9 2012

8-16-12

~CAnne