End to Active Shooters

 

Repost of a blog published ten years ago:

I was asked “Do you have any ideas on how to prevent the horrible shootings ?”

Yes . . .

Start with each child at the age of about three ... Sunday school, church, a good dose of discipline whenever there is a display of disrespect ... instill a sense of civility, of compliance with the Commandments, civil law, and the mores of society ... raise a generation of responsible, decent people ...

Remove the scourge of drug abuse … even if it means putting users in concentration camps …

We must get back to the IMPORTANT basics, The FIVE R’s :

    Reading, ’Riting, ’Rithmetic, Religion and Revolver

... it should not take more than about 75 years to see the improvement in society.

What I'm saying is that it is too late to prevent a succession of recurrences, some worse ... we (society) should have started sixty years ago ... legislation against guns is like passing laws against automobiles because of wrecks caused by drunk driving ...

Zoolingualism

I have commented in previous essays of communications with animals — speaking “tongue-in-cheek” of the time I "asked" a cat in 1966 “What's your name?” and learning that it's name was “Dolly.”

Well, Hello, Dolly! ( A delightful song by Louis Armstrong )

I would like to assume that my readers will not think that I actually had such an actual exchange — it was simply a literary device that related my decision to name the cat.

Similarly, in 2016 I asked the resident goose here at the Landing Apartments, to learn that her name is Samantha.

A neighbor recently informed me that the goose is a male, named Jack. I responded by informing him that I had asked the goose, and learned that HER name is Saman --- well, you get the idea. All in fun.

But in a more serious vein I have sometimes wondered if sometimes, some animals might be silently communicating . . . ?

Here, now, in May of 2023, I find it pleasant to sit in a chair on my “front porch” while enjoying my morning cuppa, and gaze at the world as it exists outside of my apartment.

I watch the birds, gaze upon the lake, enjoy the gentle breeze, and meditate . . .

I find it pleasant — relaxing — “positively ... therapeutic,” if I may quote Louis.

Somewhat akin to the sessions I experienced sitting in the porch swing at my “White Rock Ranch.”

Recently, relaxing on my porch I observed some nutria, grazing in the grass along the sidewalk beside the lake.

Several crawled along the sidewalk — except for one, that remained, hunkered down, motionless . . .

Is that really a nutria? Perhaps … maybe … it might be a turtle . . . ??

It extended its head. Stretching to to gaze about, revealing that it WAS in fact a turtle. Slowly it extended its legs and began crawling, up onto the grass of the lawn, and in my direction. Stopping occasionally to stretch its head high, to look ahead to choose its path, it moved about half way across the lawn toward me.

It paused, turning to the left, stretching its head to the utmost, seeming to study me …

There is no articulable justification to support the idea that it was even conscious of my existence . . . but that thought crept slowly into my consciousness.

And then I remembered . . .

About five years ago as I gazed from my kitchen window I saw a turtle crawling slowly across the road. Cars slowed, swerved, just barely missing the lumbering animal.

Impulsively I put down my cup and rushed out to rescue the turtle — arrogantly stopping traffic while I retrieved it from the middle of the road.

I carried it to the edge of the lake and placed it gently, in safety, where it could enter the water.

I was glad that none of my friends observed my action — I would find it difficult to justify. Just a quirk of my character, a respect I feel for life in any form . . .

I thought no more about it — until, here, 5 years later a turtle was crawling toward me, and gazing intently, seemed to recognize me, and remember . . .

Having moved close enough to see me clearly, satisfied that it had identified me, it mentally conveyed its gratitude, turned and moved back toward the lake.

I am glad that no one could follow my thoughts — it would be impossible to justify the thought that a turtle could . . .

That I would even think that such . . .

Ridiculous!

I'll not mention this to anyone. Ever.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The operating system time stamp on the article written above was at 2:34 PM. What follows below occurred about 3:35 PM.

In the kitchen, making a glass of tea, and I felt a compulsion to gaze out the window — toward the area below the dam. There I observed something that I could not immediately identify. Binoculars made it seem much closer, and I recognized the turtle.

Stuck below the dam, unable to climb the vertical walls to return to the lake. He wandered fitfully back and forth, futilely wishing for a miracle.

Well . . .

I pulled on my rubber boots, some vinyl gloves and descended to the drainage below the dam. As I approached the turtle, he withdrew into his shell — and I heard him say “You, again!”

I carried him across the dam and eased him into the lake. Wordlessly he slipped beneath the surface and disappeared.

Bubbles contained the thought: “Thanks!”

I'll never tell anyone!!!!

Stormy Skies

SKYWATCHER

 Tuesday, May 9, 2023

SKYWATCHER

I have ever watched the skies.

In Galveston's 1940's I observed the fascinating incursion of winter's "blue northers" that brought cold, windy awareness of the season.

The eponymous dark clouds were shading to blue-gray, and with their color carried along the sweet odor of the refineries of Texas City, from across the bay to the north.

The delicate pink of sunrise over the Gulf, viewed from the early morning Seawall, defies comparison — and caresses the senses throughout the slow ascent of the morning sun.

And in Austin in 1960 the tumultuous clouds of the summer thunderstorms were frankly gray, with no apology for their color or angry roiling. And I studied with bated breath the occasional green tinged skies that warned of possible tornadoes.

But I have waited until today, some sixty-three years later, to view ORANGE clouds.

At dawn, in the western sky, when the promising sunrise should have painted the skies a luscious pink, a novel display from some secret palette flooded the entire western sky's morning clouds with a distinct orange.

I stared with disbelieving obsession while the orange increased its brilliance — and then quickly faded to a pedestrian gray.

I remained but a minute, then turned away, with a memory that shall ever remain. 

 

 

Comet Tail Induced Insanity

 MAY 5, 2023 / 4:33 PM / CBS NEWS:

“You could catch a glimpse of the Eta Aquarids meteor shower if moonlight doesn't interfere on Saturday when it is expected to peak, according to the American Meteor Society. The Eta Aquarids meteor shower peaks each year during early May as Earth passes through the debris trail from Halley's Comet”

And without presenting a detailed list of recent aberrant behavior across all segments of our society, I will note the significance of the coincidence.

WE ARE LIVING THROUGH THE DEMONSTRATED PROOF OF THE THEORY THAT BEHAVIOR HERE ON EARTH IS AFFECTED BY PASSING THROUGH THE DEBRIS FIELD OF A COMET.

Another interesting bit of speculation suggests that the unusual weather patterns wreaking havoc this year might be another derivative effect; particles of comet dust deposited in the upper layers of the earth's atmosphere could impact weather patterns in ways unfamiliar to meteorologists.