Space, the final frontier, right?

Well, here are two different perspectives: one real science; one spoof….and, oddly, saying the same thing….

The sublime:

And then there’s the ridiculous:

Or is it the other way around?

For those of you who follow my blog, I’m back.

After a death in the family and a rough few weeks, I find that sitting back down to a “blank” computer screen may be good therapy.

Tempted as I am to recite the drama of the past month, I will refrain.  Suffice-it-to-say, the phrase “family dynamics” is an ever-changing palette; sometimes light; sometimes very dark indeed.

My initial reaction to death: a time to come together, in love, for the person passed.  The reality is often a wide chasm created by grief and fear.  Isolation is the result, mostly for those who need company the most and the gap widens.

In the end, there is no way to cross it without reaching out a hand.

According to Reuters, a Thai man is keeping scorpions as pets to atone for years spent cooking them as snacks to sell in the streets of that country.

Four thousand-six-hundred of them, to be exact…though I’m not quite clear on how one arrives at an exact figure for such a thing.

Now, I love to cook.  I’ve cooked a few chickens, steers and even rabbits; crabs, prawns and lobster live, no less, and in boiling water.  Personally, I’ve never had the urge to repent but, I confess, it’s early.  I just recently passed the half-century mark (recent, in terms of universal time, that is…).  There’s still time to do the Rosary.

I’ll bet the Thai “Pirate of Penance” is older.  I would say he sees his end in sight but, with forty-six hundred scorpions in his basement, that seems obvious.

One hears about writers who put pen to paper (or fingers to the laptop ) for years until they are published.

And then there are these stories, heartening only if you have not yet sat down at a key board:

The Outsiders was written by a fifteen-year-old, who published it at seventeen…it sold over one million copies.

The Far-Distant Oxus, hailed as a classic, was penned by two teenagers.

Maghanita Kempadoo was only twelve when she wrote Letter of Thanks, a parody of “The Twelve days of Christmas”.

How the World Began was written by four-year-old Dorothy Straight.  It was published when she was six.

Lesson:  I should have started earlier…

I got a late start on the boat this summer.  Usually, I head for Canada July 5 and stay along the Inside Passage until late September.  Most of the time I spend alone, reading, kayaking, exploring.  A few days each month are reserved for family and friends who fly up to join me.  I love being alone; I love the company–I love summers on the boat.

But this season I didn’t make Canada until this week, and I won’t make it as far north as usual.  Too much going on at the home front.  Now the islands are dotted with foliage turning to red and gold, the nights are cool and the mornings, crisp, and the anchorages are far less crowded, even in the busy San Juan Islands.

Normally, I bypass the San Juans all together.  I’ve grown too accustomed to the solitude offered further north.  I boat to leave civilization, not to raft up to a flotilla of happy sailors.

Alas, this year I have no choice, so I follow a path taken thirty-some years ago on my maiden voyage afloat.

First stop, Sucia Island at the northern-most region of the San Juan group.  It offers multiple coves and crannies for anchorage and a wind-swept, rocky perimeter to explore by kayak.

One side of the island offers Mt. Baker in view:

The other, gorgeous sunsets:

Next stop, Roche Harbor.  I have an affection for Roche, even though it has grown from it’s once charming, tranquil self into somewhat of a boating frenzy: myriad mooring buoys and a marina that nearly puts Newport Beach to shame.  But, the ancient Hotel de Haro still stands and the small chapel where I was once married marks the spot of that first crime.

Spencer Spit is another one of my favorites, and Jones Island, too.

Even though fall is in the air, the islands are awash with boaters determined to get one more weekend of sunshine into the ships log before the autumn drizzle begins.

And I resolve to venture north much earlier next year, back to the Desolation of those northern waters I love.

Eden

Labor Day has finally come and, with it, the turn to fall. Hard rain and blustery wind: perfect weather for….ice cream.

Yes, we made a fire in the den and hauled out the ice cream freezer, two somewhat incongruous actions but, non-the-less, satisfying.

One the menu: Spiced Fresh orange and Honey Sorbet; fat-free and exotic tasting.  It’s easy to make, keeps about 4 weeks in the freezer, and will remind you of the 90 degree heat at the height of summer, now but a distant (thank God) memory.

Recipe as follows:

Yield: Makes about 4 cups

3 cups water

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup clover honey

2 tablespoons finely grated orange peel

1 tablespoon chopped peeled fresh ginger

2 whole star anise or cardamom pods

2 whole cloves

1 small bay leaf, preferably fresh

2 cups chilled fresh orange juice

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Combine first 8 ingredients in heavy large saucepan. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Boil until syrup is thick and mixture is reduced to 2 cups, about 12 minutes. Discard bay leaf; cool syrup.

Strain syrup into medium bowl. Add orange juice and lemon juice. Transfer to ice cream maker and process according to manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer sorbet to container, cover, and freeze until firm, at least 6 hours.

I love epigrams.  

The English critic and poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, said,

“What is an epigram? A dwarfish whole, its body brevity, and wit its soul.”

A clever epigram about epigrams.

Some of my favorites:

“I can resist everything except temptation”-Oscar Wilde

And another from Wilde:

“The way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

Oscar clearly had intimate knowledge of the word temptation.  But I guess we all know that now.

Mark Twain may well be considered the king of epigrams.  He had a distinct way of combining wit and pith, as it were.

“The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who cannot read them”

“It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt”

“If you pick up a dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you.  This is the principle difference between a dog and a man.”

All tenets of a life well-lived, it seems Twain knew the secret to life….

“Don’t take life too seriously.  You’ll never get out of it alive anyway.”

I have a cat; a very old cat. She is relatively good shape, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to chase even the lowly house-fly, or venture out on foggy mornings.  She’s eaten dry cat food all of her sixteen years….until now.

Because she has only 3 teeth left, we switched her to fancy wet food a month ago: grilled seafood feast, chopped grill feast, tender beef and liver feast—-in gravy. She’s in heaven.  But her personality has been altered.  

No longer is she the mellow go-ahead-and-make a move-toward the-laundry-room-I-don’t-care feline.  She is manic-cat.  Every time anyone gets within 3o feet of her food dish she becomes a needy mess, begging for just one more spoonful of anything with “feast” in it’s title.

Canned kitty heroine?  Feline meth, anyone?

She’s a 2-can-a-day cat.  She’s gained 20 percent of her body weight (1 lb) in a month.  She purrs relentlessly–even on rainy, fly-less days.  Her eyes are glazed even when she’s staring down the dog.

Don’ get me wrong.  I’m happy she’s happy.  And the pet food stock in my portfolio is on the rise.  But I become increasingly convinced that there’s more to the feast than meets the eye….never mind the cans that I bought on special last week came with a free bong.

Just when I think I have it figured out….

“Everything you can imagine is real.”

–Pablo Picasso

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”

–Albert Einstein

I have no memory of my mother.  She was killed in a car accident 18 months after I was born.  Until this year, I had seen only still photographs of her, mostly formal portraits taken to further her modeling career.  They were beautiful but austere.  I had no idea what our interaction as mother and daughter had been; no clue as to the relationship she had with her father, my grandfather, who had divorced my grandmother when my mother was a teenager.

The footage I received was a miraculous gift and more clearly defined each of these questions.  Film is so much more telling than a still picture.  I like to think now that the fine relationships I have with both my daughters are perhaps what I might have had with my mother, had she lived.  And, it makes me realize what a wonderful thing it is to love and be loved, no matter when it happens—no matter how brief.

The following is something I edited from the footage I received (God bless iMovie).  I posted it to YouTube so that my relatives, those who knew my mother and those who did not, could get to know her better.