A Holiday Celebration -- An Excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd

There are many old friends in this segment. A few have passed from this earth and others have taken another path. I miss them all. We had good times. However, today, I continue to enjoy this place with Blake.

A few days later, on Thanksgiving morning, bright sunshine bounced off our bedroom mirror and hit me in the face. I opened an eye and glanced at the clock, eight-thirty. Instead of hopping out of bed in my usual manner, I rolled over and snuggled up to a sleeping Blake. The red-winged blackbirds’ melodic twills said no hurry—they had the world under control. I wondered if anyone would miss us if we hid in our room all day. I was so warm—so happy here.

Blake shifted, rolled away and stretched. “What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“What are you still doing here?” Blake asked, wasn’t used to waking up with me.

“Enjoying this place─and you.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?” Blake goaded me.

“Fuck you,” I teased back.  “I’m going to do as little as possible today, for a change. Let everyone else cook . . . it is a potluck, after all.”

I finally sauntered into the kitchen in search of coffee around ten o’clock, only to find the pot empty.  “Mr. Coffee needs a refill.” I smiled at Asna, who was stuffing a turkey into a brown paper bag.

“That’s an interesting way to cook a turkey.” I scooped coffee into a paper filter.

“Well, I don’t have to baste it this way and it stays moist. I still have latkes to make. D’you want to grate some potatoes while you wait for the coffee?”

“No thanks, I’m in lazy mode.  I’ll wok some rice and veggies later.  Right now I want to sit, relax, and have my coffee.”

Asna didn’t seem to hear me as she rummaged through a kitchen drawer. “I wonder what happened to the potato peeler. Have you seen it?”

Ignoring her query, I carried a mug of Sumatra blend towards a seat in front of the fireplace.  Someone had built a fire and I settled into the couch and put my feet on the coffee table. Déjà trotted in behind Blake who had scored his coffee in the kitchen and joined me on the couch. We sat in silence, perfectly coupled, dog at our feet. The doorbell rang.

“Are you going to get that? Blake asked.

“No,” I said.

Blake looked at me quizzically, but didn’t get up to answer the door—it rang again. Neither of us budged, we took another sip of coffee. A third ring and Phil descended the stairs two at a time.

“It’s Joel, Bruce, and Nancy,” he exclaimed as he threw open the front door. Hugs and kisses all around, then Phil led his siblings into the kitchen. Blake and I didn’t budge.

The doorbell rang four more times, bringing with it more food and more people, all of whom gathered in the kitchen.  It wasn’t long before, Blake and I decided to pry ourselves off the sofa and check out the party.

As we turned the corner, I decided that the case of wine Blake and I contributed would be fine—there was more than enough food. Every inch of counter space was covered by someone’s gourmet specialty. And in the midst of it all, stood Bud, beaming with pride and directing the action.

Blake and I dutifully obeyed Bud’s commands for setting the table and unfolding extra chairs. Almost noon, the wine came out along with the first course of salads and hors d’oeurves. By this time the noise level of over fifty people filled the entire downstairs.

Bruce had invited his college friends. I was drawn to a perky bright-eyed student. Her exuberance bubbled out in every direction and her feet seemed to barely touch the ground as she skipped between conversations. Her dancing brown eyes matched her hair—delicately pulled back from her face with little-girl barrettes.

“Hi,” she said to me. “I’m Laura Ann and these are my friends, Paul and Dennis. Paul works at Books, Inc. in Coddingtown, and Dennis is in some of my classes.”

“Glad to meet you.” Before I could say more, Joel, a physically larger version of his brother, Phil, commandeered the action. He donned a green elf hat, and moved through the crowd, quivering in a high-pitched voice, “Follow the yellow Brick Road . . . Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

“That’s interesting,” Blake laughed as Joel sprinkled us with invisible fairy dust and handed each of us a fresh flower as he disappeared into another room and some other crowd.

More food courses materialized from the kitchen.  I met so many people, that I couldn’t begin to keep the names with the faces. Bud was a permanent fixture near the fireplace; with a ceramic wine goblet set on the mantle and a turkey leg in hand, he looked like a medieval king holding court.  I gave his highness a wide berth.

At the end of the day, as the last car left the driveway, Blake and I shot each other a “let’s get out of here” look and slipped down the side walkway and back to our room.

“I feel guilty about not helping with the clean up,” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Don’t worry about it . . . most of its done, anyway. It’s good for you to stop giving yourself away.”

“That’s an odd expression. I don’t understand.”

“You’re a people pleaser—always trying to help everyone. You wear yourself out.”

“Well, I certainly would like to please you,” I whispered.

“Well, that’s different . . . I’m special.”

A Holiday Celebration -- An Excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd

Cuckoo On A Wire 2014

Cuckoo Bird on a Wire

Precariously clings to a thread

of hope and longing

waiting for something to happen

that changes the way things are

or will be

Soon.

 

Cuckoo On A Wire 2014

Green Cuba/How Cuba Survived Peak Oil -- A Review

With all the Beyond Cuckoo hoopla over the last week about President Obama’s push to open relations with Cuba, I thought it was time to re-post my review of this important documentary film I did for Greener Living Today http://www.greenerlivingtoday.com/green-cuba-how-cuba-survived-peak-oil-review   As usual we are quick to judge an entire nation and it’s people by it’s government. This film, available for purchase and at local libraries, takes a look at the Cuban people’s spirit, ingenuity and sense of purpose.

 

Green Cuba | How Cuba Survived Peak Oil – Review

The Power of Community

How Cuba Survived Peak Oil

DVD 53 minutes

This movie is not about politics.  The producers don’t care what you think about the Cuban government.  They do care that world wide oil production has peaked and is now in decline. They care about people and community.  They demonstrate how we’ll need to adapt as fossil fuels become scarce and eventually non-existent.

When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1990, Cuba faced the worst economic and social crisis of its history. The United State’s embargo pushed the country’s economy even further into decline. Because of the fuel shortage many of the large commercial farms collapsed without commercial fertilizers and farm equipment.  Food became rationed and scarce.  The average Cuban lost 20 pounds, children were malnourished, and births were underweight.  Cubans refer to these years as “The Special Period” and they were, in more ways than one.

The magic in this film is the story it tells about the triumph of the Cuban people as they’re faced with what seems like a hopeless situation. Small rural and urban gardens spring up everywhere. Crops are grown in anything that will hold soil and water. Even rooftops turn green with produce. Organic is the only possible way to fertilize and with these sustainable methods the soil comes alive. Then as an added bonus diets change to include organically grown, healthy fare, and the country sees a decline in such diseases as diabetes and heart disease. Bicycles are the main means of transportation and people become fit. Communities become close knit. Everyone knows everyone out of the need to exchange goods.

The film doesn’t suggest that Cuba is a utopia. It does point out, however, that any place could and probably will face these same challenges.  What would you do? How would you and your family cope? It is definitely; forgive the pun, food for thought.

Produced by the Arthur Morgan Institute for Community Solutions.  Visit http://www.communitysolution.org/ for more information.

Green Cuba/How Cuba Survived Peak Oil -- A Review

Bird Blessed -- An excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd"

Bird Blessed

Today is Blake’s sixty-third birthday. Forty years ago we arrived in Sonoma County from Spokane Washington in our sixty-six Chevy camping van, pulling a U-Haul trailer with a German shepherd riding shotgun. We landed on a property belonging to the Trentadue Family. For some Déjà vu (also the name of our German shepherd at the time) today we did some wine tasting at the same location. The winery has changed a great deal, but the “Yellow House” crash pad, though now remodeled, looks pretty much the same. In 1976, the interior was draped in Eastern Indian print bedspreads with cotton Oriental rugs covering the beat up wooden floors. SRJC college students lived in the barn in livestock stalls. It was these students who poured wine for the first Sonoma County Harvest Fairs from laminate folding tables. It cost a few dollars to get in, and if you knew folks you could drink your fill all afternoon. Sex and drugs flowed as freely as the wine and a good time was had by all. Here’s an excerpt from my memoir “Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd” from Chapter 14 titled “Sonoma Mountain”. I guess what’s Beyond Cuckoo is that as much as things have changed; so much has stayed the same. Most of Sonoma County is as rural, protestors are once again in the news–however, the wine has gotten better

*    *    *

September 3, 1976, I turned twenty-four.  No snow tires this year for my birthday—my gift, was a move to Sonoma County, California. We followed Paul’s directions to the Healdsburg ranch. Late afternoon shadows rippled across the driveway as we turned right off of Healdsburg Avenue—gravel crunching beneath our tires.  A tan school bus with brown trim sat parked in the vineyards.  I saw Claudia through the open door.

“This must be the place,” I said. “Pull up there.” I pointed to a grassy level spot a few yards ahead.

Blake maneuvered the van and U-Haul into position. I got out, walked to the bus, and knocked at the open door. “Anybody home?” I asked, knowing Claudia was inside.  From past experience, I didn’t expect a warm greeting.

“Oh. Hi. Here so soon?” Claudia glanced in my direction, then back down at her knitting. The baby next to her stretched, gurgled, and opened her eyes. Claudia frowned. “Well, I guess she’s awake now,” she said with an angry look at me. “I hoped she’d sleep another hour. She’s been so cranky today.”

I shifted my stance on the steps. “Is Paul around?” I glanced over my shoulder to see if Blake was coming.

“He’s at the house.  It’s up the hill a ways.”

I backed out the open door and stumbled into Blake, who caught me before I hit the ground. I winced from a slightly twisted ankle and waited for the blood to drain from my face, before I choked out: “Let’s find Paul. Claudia’s busy with the baby.”

Blake let Déjà out of the van, and he ran ahead as we hiked up the hill. The potholed road, flanked by prune orchards, ended at a rustic farmhouse.  The sounds of music, chatter, and laughter poured from the open windows.

“Déjà, you stay outside. We’ll be right back,” Blake commanded. We climbed the front steps to the wooden porch.  As we approached the open door, we heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Paul,” Blake called out.

Paul stood and came toward us. “Hey, man, you made it. C’mon in. I’ll introduce you around.”

Paul rattled off our names, then showed us around the four bedroom house. The country kitchen, filled with at least fifteen people, caught my eye.  “Wow, how many people live here?” I could see only one bathroom.

“Only three couples and Carlos. Let’s go outside, I’ll fill you in about the setup.”

Paul led us to the backyard, where several men and women sat in a circle. They had small paperback books on their laps as they talked. No one gave us a second glance.

Paul explained that a local winery family owned this ranch and another house in Geyserville. Their son, Carlos, had a vision to create a commune based on Mao Zedong’s, Little Red Book. We had stumbled on the daily discussion group.

“Is that Carlos?” I asked, gesturing toward a tall, dark, long-haired man leading the discussion.

“That’s him.” Paul took my elbow and steered me away, whispering, “He doesn’t like to be interrupted. Let’s go this way.”

As we strolled the grounds, Paul repeated some of what he’d told us in Spokane: students from the local junior college lived on both properties in exchange for work. There was little structure. The core group lived in the farmhouse and a converted garage.  Several small travel trailers, along with a few green canvas tents housed the seasonal help.  The Yellow House in Geyserville was home to the rest of the community. “The barn next to that house had ten animal stalls converted to bedrooms,” Paul said. “At least fifty people come and go on a regular basis.”

“So, if we leave our van parked next to your school bus, can we use the bathroom and shower in the house?” Blake asked.

“Sure, but it’s first-come, first-served. There’s a waiting line in the mornings, but you can usually get in later in the day. It’s hit or miss. Claudia and I use the vineyard as a restroom. It’s too much of a hassle to climb the hill each time. Grape leaves make good toilet paper.”

I didn’t want to ask where everyone else relieved themselves.  My guess was— anywhere convenient. We followed Paul back down to the bottom of the hill and our van. Paul’s black and white border collie, Moose, met up with us, and she and Déjà took off in a romp. Claudia emerged from the bus, baby in arms, and handed her off to Paul.

“Here, take Eden.  I’m going up to the house for a shower. Where have you been all day?” she snarled at him.

“I went to see Kenny, then to school. Are you going to start hassling me again?”

Saying nothing, Claudia tossed a towel over her shoulder and stormed up the hill.  Blake and I slowly retreated to the safety of our van.

Paul’s voice shook. “Did you guys bring dinner with you?  I already ate and she won’t be back for awhile.”

“We’re fine. Don’t worry about us,” I said. Wondering if it wasn’t such a good idea staying here.

I looked at Blake. “Why don’t we turn the van around to face the other way? That way our side doors will open out with a view of the vineyard and we won’t keep anyone up at night with our lights.”

“Good idea,” Paul said as he carried his daughter inside.

“Whew! A little chilly out this evening, don’t you think?” I opened the passenger door and grabbed for my sweater.

“In more ways than one,” Blake added.

The next morning, I awoke before sunrise. It was too early for dog and man, but I had plans for a shower before the masses lined up. Donning a sweatshirt and sweatpants, I grabbed the toiletry bag and a towel.  The flashlight sent an eerie glow ahead until I reached my destination.  The unlocked door to the house squeaked as I pushed.  As I tiptoed toward the bathroom, I prayed to the hot water goddess. Once inside, I flipped the latch closed and the light on. Hot water! Success, and without awakening anyone. I took a long leisurely shower.

Half an hour later the sun peeked over the hillside.  I lingered on the front porch, surveying the beauty.  A crow sat on the railing.

“Hello, big guy,” I said.

The bird tilted his head and came closer. I held out my hand. The bird didn’t move. He seemed to expect something—food maybe?

“Wait here and I’ll find you some breakfast.”

I went back into the house and found a cluster of grapes on the kitchen table.  I made a mental note to add grapes to our shopping list, determined to replace anything we took.

Back outside, my new friend waited. I settled on the front steps, and the black bird fluttered to my side. He ate freely from my hand—then hopped onto my knee. I surmised that although wild, he had this routine down. We shared the sweetness of the morning, and the tart breakfast, until only stems remained in my hands. I tossed the debris in the flower bed and stretched. Mr. Crow followed suit, fanning his wings until I could see light between the tips of his feathers. I picked up my bag and he flew toward the tall trees in the distance. Clean, fed, and bird blessed, I made my way down the hill.

 

Bird Blessed -- An excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd"

People Say I"m Crazy, But I"m Not The Only One -- John Lennon

People Say I’m Crazy, But I’m Not the Only One – John Lennon

Thanksgiving Day 2014: We are all somewhat crazy or we wouldn’t be here today, doing what we’re doing. Here’s my top ten list of those things that I find Beyond Cuckoo.

 

 

Beyond Cuckoo:

• Government in general: need I say more?


• Banks


• War


• Hungry people in a world of abundance: partly because of government, banks and war.


• Underpaid teachers


• Writing Clubs


• Monsanto: In all its forms, but especially GMO foods


• Global Warming and all the things we could do, but don’t, to take care of our home planet.


• Addictions: You pick your poison


• Black Friday

Cuckoo Cures:

• Community service


• Charitable giving


• Peaceful motives


• Generosity


• Educational funding


• Writing


• Local and organic foods


• Alternative energy


• Mental health care, research, love and support


• Simple living and high thinking

Unlike David Letterman, I’ll let you sort the above in any manner that fits. Feel free to add, subtract and multiply. However I do urge you to look at the sane and insane elements of life and choose accordingly. It is the only way to make our way back from the brink of cuckoo and regain balance, peace and love—giving new meaning to Thanksgiving Day. Blessings to you all.

 

 

People Say I"m Crazy, But I"m Not The Only One -- John Lennon

Future Generations In The Deep Freeze

Future Generations in the Deep Freeze

As a woman that has used birth control during her entire child bearing years, I am one hundred percent in favor of a woman’s right to choose when and if to have children. In our mid-thirties, my husband Blake and I finally had that serious discussion about parenthood and were in mutual agreement to remain a childless couple.

With that said, I continue to feel that Facebook and Apple’s decision to pay for female employees to freeze their eggs is a mixed bag of tricks. I can’t help but wonder about the motivation behind high tech companies paying up to $20,000 in egg freezing expenses. A woman’s most fertile and easiest childbirth years coincide with most companies’ career-building years. I question the wisdom of intentionally postponing pregnancy until later in life for a career opportunities.  I would prefer to see corporate America put these dollars into family leave, child care and flexible work arrangements for both parents.

In addition this feels like a quick fix and a Band-Aid measure that side steps the real issue–how hard it is for a woman to have a career and raise a family concurrently. The playing field has never been level when it comes to gender. Women make less and I wonder if paying them off with higher salaries, to not get pregnant, because it could inconvenience a company is wise or fair. Will those women who want to have the safest and easiest pregnancies be stigmatized as uncommitted to their careers?

There is also the issue of marital status. If a woman is single and maybe doesn’t intend to get married, will that influence an employer’s willingness to fork out so much cash? Has this been tested in the courts? Then if a young woman does freeze her eggs, will promotional opportunities be withheld because she’s seen to be on the “Mommy” track? Would she move up the ladder to reach the top only so she can take maternity leave? I’m sorry, I haven’t made up my mind completely, but there seems to be something, “Beyond Cuckoo” about all of this high tech  corporate  parental planning.

 

Future Generations In The Deep Freeze

Ghost Guns

Ghost Guns

Recent news stories about vetoed “Ghost Gun” legislation and the security breach at the White House has gotten me more nervous than usual.

Ghost Gun is a term applied to Cody Wilson’s “Defense Distributed” organization’s first fully 3-D printed gun. This “maker” movement has enabled anyone to create a working, lethal firearm with a click in the privacy of his or her garage. He has now moved on to a new form of digital DIY gunsmithing. And this time the results aren’t made of plastic.

Wilson’s latest radically libertarian project is a PC-connected milling machine he calls the Ghost Gunner. Like any computer-numerically-controlled (or CNC) mill, the one-foot-cubed black box uses a drill bit mounted on a head that moves in three dimensions to automatically carve digitally-modeled shapes into polymer, wood or aluminum. But this CNC mill, which sells for $1200, is designed to create one object in particular: the component of an AR-15 rifle known as its lower receiver, the body of the gun—remaining parts can be ordered from online gun shops. It is now easy to create a semi-automatic weapon with no serial number or required background check. It’s illegal to re-sell your monster creation, but there’s no law against making one.

Wilson (as a self-proclaimed anarchist and anti-government rebel) makes every effort to undermine governmental regulatory control over most things, but especially firearms. If you connect the two news stories, you can’t help but wonder about the Obama family’s safety, and our own.

In addition Wilson’s releasing his creation on the heels of a debate in California over a state law that would ban the manufacture of all guns without serial numbers. The bill, widely known as the “Ghost Gun ban” and introduced by Los Angeles state senator Kevin de Leόn was designed to criminalize either 3-D printing or finishing an 80 percent lower without a government-assigned serial number in California. The legislation passed California’s senate and assembly, but was vetoed Tuesday by the state’s governor Jerry Brown, who wrote that he “can’t see how adding a serial number to a homemade gun would significantly advance public safety.”

I’m a huge supporter of Governor Brown, but I do wonder if in this case, his decision is Beyond Cuckoo.

Ghost Guns

Working For A living, Everday

Working For A Living, Everyday

My father’s role model was Archie Bunker. What was a stereotype to fans of “All in the Family” was real to him. We didn’t politically agree on much, but we were both glad that he had a union job.

Teddy’s thirty year stint as a New York City bus driver saved our family and allowed us to live in relative middle-class security, with food on the table, medical insurance and a few weeks of vacation each year. My mother worked as a clerical worker in the Financial District, and as a woman and non-union employee, her salary and benefits would not have sustained our family.

As a government worker, I’m also glad to have the security that union membership provides, which is why I wonder why labor unions are under attack. Let’s look at the benefits that many feel American workers should not be entitled to:

• Pensions: In 1949 the National Labor Relations Board ruled that companies had to bargain with their unions over pensions. Today pensions across the country are under attack. Only 15% of workers have access to such a plan. Keep in mind that government continues to hand out massive tax cuts to corporations as they cut pensions.


• The Right to Organize: In the 1950s, when I poked my head out of my mother’s womb, more than a third of workers belonged to unions, now less that twelve percent of Americans are unionized with right-winged politicians undermining collective bargaining with anti-labor laws.


• Income Equality: With weak and non-existent union representation the middle-class’s share of national income has shrunk.


• Access to Health Care: Again, because of union membership, the 1950s saw an increase of affordable workplace sponsored health insurance. Today corporations are cutting health care benefits and fighting tooth and nail to repeal the Affordable Care Act.


• Fair hours: In 1870 the average work week was sixty-one hours. Workers once again found relief in the 1950’s with the 40-hour a week schedule. Since the 1980’s Americans at “good” jobs are now working more for less—a growing number work under sweat shop conditions.

Some of the most profitable corporations pay the least wages. Teachers are underpaid and our schools suffer. Fast food workers wonder how to care for their families on minimum wage. Government is top-heavy; with management and leadership making extraordinary salaries as they negotiate against line-staff, who take the brunt of media attention for making too much and holding on to job and financial security. The gap between haves and have-nots grows to a new level that is beyond cuckoo and it will destroy America’s greatness.  Happy Labor Day!

 

 

Working For A living, Everday

Military Maddness

Military Madness

No matter how you feel about what’s happening on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri, you can’t ignore the U.S. surplus weaponry now carried by local law enforcement, against US citizens.  Apparently the Pentagon 1033 Program allows state and local police to stock up on excess US military equipment free of charge. The Pentagon’s Law Enforcement Support Office’s website brags that it can help save the American taxpayer’s investment by arming local community enforcers against civilian unrest.

This cost effective government strategy was initially born out of a need to fight “The War On Drugs”, which we all know has been highly successful. Then after September 11, 2001 we needed better weapons against terrorists. Now we can watch the same guns, helicopters, tanks, and night vision equipment that we fight with in the Middle East, deployed against our own US citizens—should they decide to protest—for whatever reason. The same citizenry, by the way, that pays the taxes, that are overspent, on never used military equipment, while every other social program is cut. I have to ask, “Would it be beyond cuckoo to use the excess military budget to raise the minimum wage?”—Maybe cut down on some of the frustration? Or we could fund our school programs, maybe teach job skills, so it becomes possible to earn a middle class living.  Maybe if folks could afford food, clothing and consumer goods the economy would grow and our neighborhoods would become safer. It might even cut done on the looting by those that see a riot as a chance to score some free shit. Who knows? You tell me.

Military Maddness

Full Of Bull

Full of Bull

Hemingway enthusiasts have long discussions on the Machismo elements in “The Sun Also Rises” and the many layers of social commentary released on its pages. Yet, all anyone seems to identify with these days (especially men) is the excitement and danger that surrounds the running of the bulls. So much so, that there is now a traveling show that challenges common sense and lures crowds to “Grab Life by the Horns!” and run with real bulls—mostly at county fairgrounds.

They advertise this event as an inexpensive family outing that is sure to get your adrenaline flowing. Apparently you are not encouraged to run in front of the bulls, who clock in at 35 miles per hour, but to run alongside. You wait until 18 +/- bulls are released at the end of a fenced bull run and you jump in at that special moment for the thrill of a lifetime. They do warn that chaos is the norm and if you get in the way, that the bulls WILL run over you. Sound like fun? Wait there’s more.

If you prefer to not harass animals and you prefer people, you can join in on the “Tomato Royale”. This is a classic family event geared towards good clean violence, where “you can hurl tomatoes at your family, friends, and fellow participants, without guilt, inhibition, or remorse.”  There are some guidelines:

• You must be at least fourteen.


• Squished tomatoes are less dangerous


• Try not to hurt anyone?


• You should stop throwing when the victim says enough!

Okay, so let’s say we’re dealing with loving, responsible people, who like to humiliate others in a safe environment. Maybe it improves their sex life at home? Who knows what turns people on? Of course, they will be careful, sober, and know when to stop. Oh and did I say that cold beer is a perk that comes with registration?  Repeat after me, “This IS Beyond Cuckoo!” Just ask the nearest Bull.

 

Full Of Bull

Auto Pilot

Auto Pilot

Okay, so am I the only one concerned about these new driverless cars that Google’s come up with? Rest assured that I am all for anything that helps the disabled to move through this world in comfort. However, should a sightless person be driving? Well, maybe. How much worse could they be? At least they couldn’t text and drive.

Seriously though, let’s look at the logistics. The subcompact car will look something like a computer mouse. It has no steering wheel, gas or brake pedals and, at first, will go no faster than forty miles per hour. The passenger pushes buttons to start and end the ride. The route is set with either manual or verbal commands to a Global Positioning System (GPS). Cameras and sensors conceivably will prevent accidents.

So, I can see this in controlled situations. You know, college campuses, hospitals, factories, airports,  maybe even golf courses and parks. An entire new generation of blind golfers could emerge and join the ranks of the too lazy to play real sports crowd. All they need is a way to get around the sand traps and water hazards. What could be more perfect?

But, street legal? Supporters of this idea say that these cars could eliminate drunk and distracted driving. This is a good argument? What if you spill your coffee, cocktail, soft drink or nail polish on the dashboard and the whole thing shorts out? Computers crash just like cars and simply stop—in real or internet traffic.

Finally I ask, “What IS Google’s real purpose here?” Google as the largest provider of geo-location information, and with the car’s computer  dialed in to their data systems, what are the chances that they will follow you? Google collects data through e-mail and search engines,  now they’ll be able to tell where you drive, how often you go there and whatever else you do in or with your car. Jealous spouses might like this idea, but to me it’s simply Beyond Cuckoo.

 

Auto Pilot

The Devil Made Me Do It

The Devil Made Me Do It

 

Hunting season is in full swing. Armed and dangerous people are on the loose in restaurants, shopping malls, and college campuses. I took a two hour class at work to teach me what to do when (not if) an armed and crazy person leaps the interview room counter and sprays bullets throughout the office. What the fuck is going on? Is this Beyond Cuckoo or what?

Then I see the Pope on TV making one more attempt to bring the world closer to peace. I haven’t been a Catholic for some time; yet I recognize truth in religion when I see it. I think Pope Francis is on to something. What if there really is a Satan, a devil, a dark side, an evil force, a fallen angel etc. that periodically invades our minds, souls and collective reasoning to create havoc in the world?

One of my favorite comedic movies is Ghostbusters—you can’t help but love these guys who say, “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.” And mean it. They vaporize them and take back New York City—no small feat. Yet, I’m afraid. I came of age in New York City, and those years are tame compared to how I feel today. Ghosts, goblins and devils seem to have the upper hand. Do you agree? If you do, what do you do about it? How are we to get through this darkness? How do we stay alive?

Here’s what I suggest::

   Hang with folks that don’t scare you..

  Adopt folks that need help. This includes all species of animals, plants, and people. Some of us can only take care of a cactus and others make orchids bloom. A dog may be too much, but a goldfish might work. Pick a level you can handle, but use it to get out of yourself. This only happens when we put someone or something else first.

   Protect yourself. Be aware of the surroundings. Don’t take it to the point of paranoia, but know that all is not right with the world.

   Give others a chance. Everyone can’t be friends, but we can treat each other with respectful honesty. Turn aggressive arguments into healthy debates. Play by the rules—not everything is open game.

    Don’t kill yourself or anyone else.

 

http://www.latimes.com/world/europe/la-fg-pope-francis-israel-palestinian-peace-20140608-story.html

 

The Devil Made Me Do It

And My Beat Goes On

And My Beat Goes On

Two things happened recently. I heard author and rock journalist, Sylvie Simmons talk about her latest book, I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen and several of my poems were included in the anthology, And The Beats Go On, published by Redwood Writers, a branch of the California Writers Club. The combination has brought me to a finish.

• I’ve finished with the questions that may never have answers.


• I’ve finished with the people that can’t understand.


• I’ve finished thinking that everyone else is better.

When I heard Sylvie play the songs of Leonard Cohen, simply and honestly on a ukulele, without amplification; I thought back to the living room, next to the dining room, where, Balanced On The Edge of the Crowd” opens. In that room, I played Leonard Cohen’s first album until I had it memorized. I also carried a copy of Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s, A Coney Island of the Mind–it too, memorized.

Today Leonard and Lawrence are with me still and:

• I have answers to the questions I was afraid to ask.


• I have people around that understand.


• I am as good as anybody.

Not bad for a day’s work. The part that is Beyond Cuckoo is how long it took to get here.

http://www.amazon.com/Im-Your-Man-Leonard-Cohen/dp/0061995002/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

http://www.amazon.com/Redwood-Writers-2014-Poetry-Anthology/dp/1496094611/

 

And My Beat Goes On

Elizabeth Warren: A Fighting Chance for the Middle Class

This morning, as I sipped my coffee, I caught a TV interview with Elizabeth Warren on CBS news. Her book, A Fighting Chance, launches today—a plea for economic fairness for Middle Class America. Much of the discussion was old news for those of us who work for a living. We pay the taxes, fuel the economy, and lose at a game that’s rigged to support the wealthy.

“Special deals for those who’ve already got money, and the ticket gets paid by hardworking families who are barely hanging on,” is how Ms. Warren described it.

As she spoke about her father’s heart attack, my own heart sank. She was twelve when suddenly her family struggled to pay their bills. I was thirty-six when my husband Blake almost died from a major arrhythmia. She describes her ordeal:

“He was sick for a long time, and he was out of work,” she said. “We lost the family station wagon. And we came right to the edge of losing our home. My mother saved our home with a minimum wage job. But in the 1960s, a minimum wage job would support a family of three above the poverty line. Not today. Not even close.

“I understood right then that people can work hard, they can play by the rules, and they can still take a hard smack.”

I describe my ordeal, as one in which each morning I awoke to the feeling that I was stuck in limbo. Blake’s health continued in an on-again/off-again pattern. Luckily I had health insurance or we would have lost everything. It could all have been gone within a few months. Our finances dwindled and we struggled with debt. I watched as government bailed out huge financial institutions and big business. I wondered who would bail us out. Well, we made it through, but many don’t.

Elizabeth Warren describes it this way in an excerpt from her Prologue:

Today the game is rigged— rigged to work for those who have money and power. Big corporations hire armies of lobbyists to get billion- dollar loopholes into the tax system and persuade their friends in Congress to support laws that keep the playing field tilted in their favor. Meanwhile,hardworking families are told that they’ll just have to live with smaller dreams for their children.

Over the past generation, America’s determination to give every kid access to affordable college or technical training has faded. The basic infrastructure that helps us build thriving businesses and jobs— the roads, bridges, and power grids— has crumbled. The scientific and medical research that has sparked miraculous cures and inventions from the Internet to nanotechnology is starved for funding, and the research pipeline is shrinking. The optimism that defines us as a people has been beaten and bruised.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

A Free Download of the Table of Contents and Prologue of “A Fighting Chance” is available: http://fightingchancebook.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/AFightingChance-Prologue.pdf

For me the bottom line is that unless the middle class supports senators like Elizabeth Warren, we will continue to live in an economic world that is BEYOND CUCKOO.

Elizabeth Warren: A Fighting Chance for the Middle Class

The Thulani Program - Helping the Most Vulnerable

My Name is: Shaggy 

The e-mail came from my husband, Blake, to me at work, “What do you think about this guy? Click through the link to see Shaggy.”

A double-click took me to The Thulani Program’s website and my first glimpse of our next foster dog. I picked up the phone.

“Hi, this is me . . . are you there?” I asked the voice mail message.

“Here I am,” Blake answered as he picked up his home office phone.

“I’m looking at Shaggy’s photo; he looks on the disheveled side.”

We had recently lost our first Thulani foster, Buddy, to cancer and I wasn’t sure I could handle taking on another dog with too many health problems. I’ve adjusted to the relatively short periods that we have with these gentle giants, but I wanted some quality time before the true hospice care began. Shaggy’s appearance definitely fit his name. The animal shelter’s “mug shot” pictured a sad-eyed, depressed pooch, with a broken heart. He had been recently separated from his companion, who was adopted out, and Shaggy awaited euthanasia. I wondered about his health condition and the challenges that we may face. All I could see was sadness. However, Blake, the eternal optimist, turned my thoughts around.

“Oh that’s just a bad photo. How do you think you’d look in jail? . . . Or first thing in the morning?” he teased.

“Smart alec!”  I bit back, then took another look at the computer screen. I knew this wasn’t a great photo and I had faith that Bob Jachens, at Thulani would honestly tell us, about Shaggy’s condition and disposition.

I kidded, wanting to get even for that early morning comment.

*    *    *    *

Well, it’s a new year and a new life for the Shagster. As I write this, he snores at my feet, recuperating from our early morning game of football and walk around the neighborhood.  He spends his days as ambassador to Blake’s clients that frequent his home office—always welcoming them with a nose-nuzzle and tag-wag. That is until I come through the door in the evening. From that point on, my ‘Shaggy Shadow’ follows me wherever I go. Blake says that Shaggy knows it’s his job to keep an eye on me and keep me from harm. I think we simply connect in some special way.

Shaggy’s been with us now six months. We haven’t seen any significant health problems—only a few signs of old age—extra bathroom trips, a sore hip if we do too much and an upset tummy if Mom gets overly enthusiastic with her treats.  Otherwise, we’ve been to the beach several times and once to the local dog park—where we made friends easily and even had a short roll in the hay. (Not that kind . . . sheesh.) His fur has filled back in; he has the sporadic energy of a puppy and is in no way ready to end his life. Shaggy (a.k.a. Shagster) is a classic example of a dog benefitting from The Thulani Project’s Mission of ‘Helping the Most Vulnerable’—finding good homes for old dogs ready to learn new tricks.

German Shepherds are special in so many ways.  Their intelligence, sense of loyalty, and calm demeanor all shine into their later years—in some ways even more brightly than when they frolicked as adolescents. Blake and I are planning our fortieth wedding anniversary in April. We also don’t frolic with as much intensity as we did in our younger years. However, we like to consider ourselves somewhat wiser with plenty of life left. That is why we love these senior dogs—they relate to all the love and fun we can give them.

Oh and by-the way, regarding our anniversary getaway weekend: We found this great place in Mendocino County with rental cottages that welcome dogs—high in the hills, under the stars, not far from the beach with fenced yards. Do you think Shaggy will like it?

Prematurely putting these old dogs down, is not only unnecessarily cruel–it’s BEYOND CUCKOO!

http://www.gsrnc.org/index.asp

http://thulanidogs.org/2014/04/06/thunder-t/

The Thulani Program - Helping the Most Vulnerable

Snorkelers Care

When time and money is in abundance, my husband Blake’s and my favorite vacation spots are in Hawaii. Too timid to dive, we snorkel—gently hovering over coral reefs and peeking into nooks and crannies. The treasures we find are worth more than the gold rumored to be buried with the many shipwrecks still to be discovered.

Regardless of which island we visit, we often rent our snorkeling gear from Snorkel Bob’s chain of outfitters. As you enter any one of the many locations, you can’t help but notice the information about the company’s foundation which focuses on reef recovery. The 501c3 non-profit recognizes the worldwide global impact of reef collapse. It has been instrumental in exposing the Hawaii aquarium trade and its uncontrolled netting, which decimates the fish populations and creates ecological imbalance. One of the biggest threat to the reefs is algae and guess what controls the algae?—the fish population. The aquarium trade fills 80% of all tanks in the U.S. with Hawaii reef fish, 99% of which die in a year.  In the wild they live for decades.

Today, as a landlubber, dreaming of the ocean, but with only terra firma under my feet, I did some research and unearthed a few facts:

It is estimated that up to 30 million fish, 4 million pounds of coral skeleton and 9-10 million other invertebrate are removed each year from ecosystems to supply the aquarium trade.

Precise quantification of the size and value of the ornamental trade is stymied by the critical lack of monitoring and regulation, which leads to illegal poaching practices, which supplies a sizeable black market for reef-dwelling organisms.

Since the state of Hawaii established a series of reserves on the Kona coastline to protect ornamental fish from collection, aquarium fish are now recovering in these areas.

Cyanide is used to poison fish rapidly. It is squirted by divers from bottles to stun the fish, so it is easy to scoop them into nets. Cyanide fishing is currently one of the biggest threats to coral reefs in areas that supply the aquarium trade.

To increase profitable populations invasive species have been added to coral reefs. A classic example is the introduction of the Pacific Lionfish to waters off south Florida. These invaders are voracious predators and their populations have moved as far north as Long Island and throughout the Caribbean Sea.

I could go on, but I think you get the picture. It is beyond cuckoo that this industry continues to destroy our ecosystems. If we are to preserve and respect this earth and all its resources, we cannot discount, even those things that seem innocent—like the aquarium tank that is just so entertaining as you anxiously await that next root canal.

Check out Snorkel Bob’s Facebook page at: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Snorkel-Bobs/113551378706566

 

Snorkelers Care

Praise The Lord And Pass The Snakes

I’m open-minded when it comes to religion. A mix and match blend of belief and practice is perfectly fine with me. As a child, brought up as a Catholic, I’m no stranger, to scary, gothic and dark ritual. Today, I follow the teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda. In Chapter 39 of “Autobiography of a Yogi” he recounts the time he spent with Therese Newman, the Catholic Stigmatist, who on Fridays would experience the Passion of Christ and openly bleed from identical wounds. Not my idea of a good time, but she was a saint and I’m not. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to bleed with the best–probably not this lifetime.

However, I think I finally found the limit of my religious tolerance with this practice of the Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus Name Church, which includes poisonous snake handling as part of the service. The recent death of Pastor Jamie Coots has me thinking that this is simply Beyond Cuckoo.

Coots belonged to a small circle of Pentecostal Holiness pastors who take this passage from the Bible’s Gospel of Mark literally:  “And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.”  For some reason, I don’t think Jesus meant that we should antagonize, frighten and exploit reptiles in his name—not to mention that it happens to be stupidly dangerous to the parishioners.

Then there’s the addiction theory–that some folks are simply thrill-seekers. They get a rush from facing death and feel powerful when they escape tragedy. Coots often spoke of the rush of feeling the hand of God.

Regardless, those that study the practice, say that it’s no different to the parishioners, than taking Communion is to Catholics. Hmmm, I knew there was a reason I switched religions.

Praise The Lord And Pass The Snakes

John Steinbeck"s Birthday 2014

According to GOOGLE, today would be John Steinbeck’s 112^th birthday. I like to think that the days of harassment, poverty and fear that Steinbeck describes in “The Grapes of Wrath” are history. Yet today I read about King City, in the beautiful Salinas Valley, where the acting police chief and several officers were charged with selling impounded cars of poor Hispanic residents.

Apparently, there have been on-going reports of complaints, mostly from the Hispanic community, that the police were taking their cars and money and there was nothing they could do. This week investigators finally had enough evidence to arrest six people for bribery and criminal threats.

Interviews with the Hispanic community unearthed the high level of mistrust of the local police. Cars were routinely and illegally towed and impounded. When the owners were unable to raise the storage fees, the cars were confiscated and either sold or given away.

The sad part of this story is that this type of treatment of immigrant communities, is not part of California’s sordid past, but continues throughout the state. We want safe, well-integrated and peaceful towns and the fact that authoritarian behavior is tolerated, is Beyond Cuckoo. I think John Steinbeck would agree. Do you?

John Steinbeck"s Birthday 2014

Bill Nye Meets Marsha Blackburn on Meet the Press

I don’t normally watch NBC’s Meet the Press. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the program, but my viewership goes back to my childhood. On Sunday mornings, the show simply got beat out by cartoons. As an adult, I don’t normally watch cartoons—until this morning.

I became familiar with Bill Nye, when my husband, Blake Webster, interviewed him for his book, “Environmentalists in Action:  Profile of Green Pioneers”. This morning, he debated Rep. Marsha Blackburn (R-Tenn.), who is vice-chairman of the House Energy and Commerce Committee.

Now, we all agree that lately the weather is Beyond Cuckoo and that there is a general consensus among the scientific community, that carbon emissions play a role in global climate change.  Well, Ms. Blackburn is Beyond Skeptical. To quote, “you don’t make good laws, sustainable laws, when you’re making them on hypotheses, or theories, or unproven sciences.

Mr. Nye offered up some common sense. He pointed out that what Ms. Blackburn called a “very slight” change in carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, is in fact significant at a 25% increase since 1994. With little air time, the numbers and names tossed about, to be honest, meant little to me. What hit home was Ms. Blackburn’s repetition of the phrase “Cost/Benefits analysis”, which sounded to me like, it’s simply too expensive to look into environmentally clean technology.

Bill Nye made me glad to be American as he pushed back with a more patriotic view. “As a guy who grew up in the US,” he said, “I want the US to lead the world in this….The more we mess around with this denial, the less we’re going to get done.”

You can find Blake Webster’s interview with Bill Nye on Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Green-Environmentalists-Profiles-Pioneers-Authorities/dp/1451568282/ref=sr_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392594420&sr=1-9&keywords=Blake+Webster

Bill Nye Meets Marsha Blackburn on Meet the Press

The Nut Job

The Nut Job!

Apparently there is a growing (pun intended) concern in California’s San Joaquin Valley surrounding walnut heists. One of the most recent involved the theft of 140,000 pounds of hulled and dried walnuts worth an estimated $400,000. Unfortunately this was not an isolated incident—agricultural crime is on the rise. Some believe the Russians are behind it—I kid you not. One suspect was detained in Bakersfield, where he told police that he had instructions from an anonymous caller, with a thick Russian accent, to drive the stolen walnut load to Los Angeles. Once there, he was further instructed to drop the trailers of walnuts in a vacant lot and walk away. On January 17, 2014 two men were arrested by the San Joaquin County Sheriff and booked into jail. The walnuts were recovered, but authorities will not disclose the location.

So, I’m watching news reports about how food products bearing the Olympic symbol have become a big hit with the Sochi 2014 Olympic Licensing Program. Consumers all over Russia are snatching up millions of Olympic Symbol embossed packages of candy bars and baked goods, such as cookies and brownies. Extremely popular are treats from the Moscow Nut Company.

Let’s just say that this case has yet to be cracked.

 

The Nut Job

Kumbaya!

It has been reported that W.C Fields, each morning, on the way to the movie studio, would dictate his P-Ps to his live-in secretary as he sipped from one of several flasks that would get him through his day. These Pet-Peeves were later mailed to politicians, movie studio moguls, corporations, financial institutions, doctors, law firms and anyone else who deserved his wrath and wisdom.

George Carlin wrote the New York Times Bestseller, BRAINDROPPINGS, with the same finesse as Fields, with some extra fervor and language not available to Fields—at least not for public consumption. It is in the spirit of these two men that I offer:

My Morning P-Ps:

~!~ So why is it that when gasoline prices drop eight cents per gallon it’s a top news story?  Will groups of commuters, join hands, dance around the gas pumps and sing:

Someone’s laughing, Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s laughing, Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s laughing, Lord, kumbaya

Oh Lord, kumbaya

And the next day, when the prices rise ten cents, will they reverse the dance and sing?:

Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya

Oh Lord, kumbaya

~!~ John Boehner is on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno talking about how far out he is and that he has no aspirations to run for the presidency. The main reason?—because he likes to smoke cigarettes and drink red wine. Huh? He goes on to describe what fun it was to grow up as one of twelve children.  He followed the series of cute pictures and anecdotes with an attack on Obamacare. Gee, do you think his views have something to do with women’s access to birth control?

~!~ Silicon Valley Investor and Billionaire, Tom Perkins, has decided that he is part of the socially abused richest one percent. He has likened the campaign against rich people to treatment of Jews during the Holocaust. He has since tried to explain this statement off, and each time he opens his mouth he uses the other foot. I heard yacht fuel has risen eight cents. Lord, kumbaya!

~!~ The new BMWs will now come equipped with advertising that plays from your dashboard. I’m assuming it will be programmed into the GPS. They say that you can turn it off, or opt out, unsubscribe. .  . But if you do you’ll never find the nearest Starbucks.

Kumbaya!

I Don"t Understand Football.

 

I Don’t Understand Football

I know how the game is played, the rules, the concept, how the game mirrors battlefields, war strategies, brute force, and yes even intelligence—not unlike chess. I’ve played both games with limited success—although as a girl, in football, while I received plenty of welcomed and un-welcomed touches, I was spared the tackles.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the entertainment value of sports, certainly the sexiness of its players, the money involved, and thrill of it all—yet I open my Yahoo page today to watch a video replay in which a linebacker is hit so hard, that his leg injury will put him out of the game for some time.  He is hauled back to the locker room in mental and physical pain, only to be further humiliated by the opposing team’s fans who threw food at him. Now tell me . . . isn’t this Beyond Cuckoo?

I Don"t Understand Football.

What is Beyond Cuckoo?

My favorite Hans Christian Anderson story is The Emperor’s New Clothes. I go through my days amazed, dumfounded, confused and in awe of the world—all at the same time. I’ve scratched my head so often, that there’s a tiny bald spot, near my right ear, visible only to the discerning eye. Those that notice will approach cautiously and whisper, “So you’re one of us?—you see it too?—that he doesn’t have anything on?”

I don’t respond right away. I’ve found it’s best to step back a while to access the circumstances. I observe those that vie for the naked person’s attention—sure that he or she can bring success to their lives with a handshake or smile. Sometimes money is involved. Meanwhile the naked person thrives on the attention and prances around sure that their costume is of the finest silk, spun to perfection. Often small groups of sycophants grow to be large crowds and organizations; until one day an innocent declares that the emperor or empress isn’t wearing anything at all. Well, I’m that child.

I’m a writer with a day job. When I’m not writing, I work for a government agency. The combination has me hanging out with a vast cross-section of society. The same day that I’m helping poverty level families, I can also find myself corresponding with the wealthy and well situated. Ironically, it is often the poor that are fully clothed and cognizant of reality. Survival brings attention to basics with less sidetracks. You either have food and rent or you don’t. Your mission is to have both. This quest, unfortunately, often places you in an awkward position with the emperors of the world and their camouflage clothes.

So this blog is a place for solace and help for the sheeple of the world. Think of it like a twelve step program for the confused, scared and tired. And some days, like Don Quixote, you will find me tilting at windmills.

I also want to encourage you to comment and suggest topics for discussion, debate and delight (the three “D”s)—I’ll do some research in your POV and get back to you. This will be a fun ride.

What is Beyond Cuckoo?

Elaine Webster"s Amazon Author Central Page

Visit my Amazon Author Central Page for updates.

https://www.amazon.com/author/elainewebster

Elaine Webster"s Amazon Author Central Page

Cuckoo Test

Cuckoo Test

Cuckoo Test

New Years Day 2014 -- Book Launch: Balanced On the Edge of the Crowd

Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd, by Elaine Webster, is available now in print and for Kindle at Amazon.com

Print Version:

http://www.amazon.com/Balanced-Edge-Crowd-Elaine-Webster/dp/1494486962

Kindle Version:

http://www.amazon.com/Balanced-Edge-Crowd-Elaine-Webster-ebook/dp/B00HL6XR9C

 

 

 

 

New Years Day 2014 -- Book Launch: Balanced On the Edge of the Crowd

Test Post from Elaine Webster

Test Post from Elaine Webster http://elainewebster.com