laurelstarkey

[laurelstarkey]

February 2

Hardcore History’s Dan Carlin released another episode. His podcasts are not casual, this one is over 4 hours long. The subject: painfotainment.

His most profound statement occurs within the first fifteen minutes. The ability to experience pain was built into us as a warning system, to give us the tools to detect what is wrong so that we can fix it. Yet perversely, we’ve taken that blessing and turned it into a mechanism to control others. We enjoy watching others suffer. Not all of us, mind you, but a sizable portion of us.

I read in the Bible that suffering is a mechanism by which psychological growth and development occurs. But torture doesn’t develop anyone psychologically. It breaks down, It humiliates, it deliberately destroys. Yet we employ it.

We are the vessels which contain both sweet and brackish waters. That’s hard to reconcile.

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Brownie’s newest favorite place to sleep

[laurelstarkey]

February 1st.

It’s Black History Month. That’s a good thing. I’m still waiting for Norwegian history month but given the idiotic observations by our president regarding the origin of desirable immigrants, that hope has become too incendiary. Thanks, Trump.

I’m about to finish reading Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos.” The last couple of chapters reflect Sagan’s evangelical fervor to spend lots of technological dollars and man hours seeking out anyone alive beyond the confines of this galaxy. It seems that he is depressed with our chances of not destroying ourselves and finding another civilization out there would give him the hope that we could survive despite our clearly suicidal impulses. Sequestration killed that. It’s a probably good thing he’s not around to see the dismantling of NASA.

He is misguided, in my opinion. He saw himself a bit as the voice calling in the wilderness. It was, after all, the 80s and we were awash in snow both from Columbia and the nuclear winter kind. Who wouldn’t seek the warmth of hope? But it is our destiny to die. We need to examine what’s after that. No space alien will offer any useful advice there. That is the realm of the soul.

Look to the heavens doesn’t mean find someone on Omutu with a working radio telescope. That astronomer may be out there — but so what.

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Baby, it’s cold outside

As the polar vortex spins, Brownie has taken to sleeping on top of the radiator. She’s 20 years old so I guess it takes a lot to warm those old bones.

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Catnip Day Two

Brownie still likes it. Bentley again pushed her away and ate all it. Fresh-nip from Chewey looks like a keeper.

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Oops there goes reality...

Why is it that when desire and reality part we choose the path that our fantasies offer? When there’s no evidence that the outside world will provide us with the opportunity needed to do something, we continue to believe we will do it. It’s the stuff of novels, TV and Hollywood. The persistent urban legends.

Grit? Stupidity? My preacher once preached “Don’t be like Rudy.”

He was referring to the movie about the tiny, lightweight Notre Dame student who gave four years of his life to be on the football team and was rewarded on the last game of his senior year with some “mercy” minutes on the field. It was the hilight of his career. Imagine if he’d spent those four years developing a genuine talent that he possessed.

How do we tell? Am I Rudy who will be given a symbolic victory after much work? Or am I Trump, who against the better judgement and ridicule of the entire political establishment became President. If enough people join me in my delusion than it becomes reality.

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Catnip

Bentley is taking his duties as alpha pet seriously. I bought Brownie some organic catnip. I put some out for her. Bentley pushed her out of the way and ate it all.

I put some more out. Same thing. Finally I called him away.

Brownie is 20 years old and is rolling desperately in what remains of the catnip on the floor. She ate some. She rolled more. She stamped her paws to get better traction on the smooth Pergo floor. She propelled herself with her hind legs, on her back, through the remains of the dried herb. She is rubbing her jowels over and over again on the floor.

Now she’s discovered the sealed bag and is trying to open it for another fix. I put some for her up and out of Bentley ‘s reach. I think she is stoned. Now she just needs munchies.

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Cosmos

I am re-reading Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos” to compare it to Neil Degrasse Tyson’s “Astrophysics for People in a Hurry.” They are similar “pop” science books designed for the general audience.

The language of Sagan exceeds in elegance anything that has come since. As a plus, Bentley and I are listening to the original series’ soundtrack.

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In search of friends

The polar vortex has been put away along with the rest of the Christmas decorations because we’ve reached Epiphany. It’s the mid 40s. Still, the schools were on a two-hour delay this morning so it was late when Bentley and I took the boys to school.

Bentley’s nose is in overdrive sniffing. Once again, he doesn’t want to come in the house. He wants to see Luna. Luna wasn’t out today. Maybe tomorrow.

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Change of plans. Jonny’s room is a mess.

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Charity

D. from Bible Study has taken on two foster babies under the age of one — in addition to her four kids under the age of six. They are called to this choice: it’s their mission.

A sign-up sheet for meals has gone out so we can participate through helping. Nothing stokes my insecurities like having to bring someone a meal. People don’t like my cooking. My kids don’t like my cooking. They use their Christmas money to buy takeout.

I wish they were calling for help in creating power points. I’m good at that. Or finding the right word for the occasion.

Why does mission work seem to involve skills that are perennially underdeveloped in me?

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Monday

Bentley and I have just returned from taking the boys to school. We’re looking forward to solid adventures in laundry and dishes.

Bentley has terrible farts. They aggressively seek my open nostrils.

Brownie’s food should be delivered today. She’s been persistently reminding me that it hasn���t arrived yet. It’s hard to be a princess in this household.

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Online Shopping

I hate shopping. Brownie, the cat, likes eating. A compromise? I’ve ordered online a month’s worth of her preferred food. To cover the other end, I’ve ordered cat litter.

There is always dry food available. That’s not the preferred food. Her current choice comes in foil envelopes and is soaked in gravy. It’s cheaper online.

I see why malls are disappearing. I see why the work force is slowly being corralled into giant distribution warehouses just as they use to disappear behind chain linked factories. #MAGA?????

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It’s 11° out today. Cold and crisp. The cold that pulls smoke from within you like an oil burning engine.

My neighbor is out walking her pit bull in her slippers, house coat and head wrap. We’re tough here in the hood.

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Politics

Bentley never cared about sleeping on our bed until he noticed that Brownie slept there every night. Now it’s a priority for him in his quest to be alpha pet.

Life is full of insights we suddenly wake up to. Likewise terrors. Every terror and every insight represent the possibility of change. Stay Woke my friends.

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Today

Today is a cold, cold January day and I sit in my warm, warm house grateful for my place in the world.

Bentley, the toy poodle, is grateful he’s inside. Brownie, my 20-year-old cat, is unhappy with the quality of food. And the litter box. And her water dish. She yowels. A lot.

This is my life. I can decide what sort of life I have and I choose to have a good one.

Carry on.