- Take a good look at yourself in the mirror.
by cheri block
My daughter and I took her two-year-old to Happy Hollow on one of the coldest days of the year here in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Only the brave and stupid showed up to see the animals, ride the carousel, and thaw out in the snack shack.
As is customary, along with my travel coffee mug, my camera joined our shivering entourage.
A little grandson, refusing to smile when coaxed and only eating French fries dipped in mustard, reminded me that we are individuals from birth to death.
The meerkat stared right back at me. Confident, he was.
He summoned his whole family out of its den. And they did the same: stared intensely, confidently, curiously.
"I'm looking through you, what do I see? "(credit to Paul McCartney)
So, there we were, transfixed in a stare-down (not unlike those on trains in Europe).
On to the largest rodent in the world. The word “rodent” conjures up fond childhood memories of my two hooded rats, Pixie and Dixie. It also reminds me of a grisly site several years ago when Dinah and our cat Bobb split a wild rat for dinner. And somewhere in the cavernous recesses of my meerkat mind, I remember when a small frenetic mouse, lost and darting around my classroom, caused me to scream in front of my freshmen.
The capybara, so gentle and quiet, appeals to me. Then why shall we see the jaguar?
Are we strangely attracted to such power?
“It’s time for lunch. Our lips have turned blue,” I observe.
To the snack shack, we go, but not before disappearing into pure fantasy with my favorite mythological beast: the dragon.
- Ahhh….yes….seize life, with all its fire and possibility!
Fries (with mustard) consumed, veggie burgers inhaled, into the SUV we huddled.
Meerkat? Capybara? Jaguar? Dragon?
I’m looking through you, what do I see?
Which creature is most like you?
* lyrics by McCartney/Lennon, 1965.
I much prefer my fries with mayonaise mind you.
And how is queen Joan doing in the dragon’s den?
Yeah, mayo for me too. Otherwise, that seems like a nice meal. I like the Boca brand burgers myself.
I’ll have to think about this creature business. Perhaps an owl.
Thanks for asking, Paul.
Queen Joan has had her ups and downs.
Today was an up day.
Great pics and story.
I’m definitely not a capybara and probably not a jaguar. According to Chinese astrology I’m a dragon, so I’ll go with that. And because dragons are adventuresome, I’m going to try mustard on my fries next time!
Oh yes, Thomas. With your humor and wit, you are a dragon for sure.
the green green grass of home on the range where the ol dragon lives on in her heart.
You may be the only dragon with a Scottish Terrier. Now that’s a scene I’d like to see painted by Maynard Dixon.
Yes, I just might be. We ran stockers across the valley at one time and often went by Claude Thee Dragon’s lair. I think I’ll take the wee lad to see him, you can’t know too many dragons. You can see him here http://www.angelfire.com/id/arealdragon
A slug.
I didn’t photograph any slugs, Richard, to include in my little story.
Didn’t we agree that all men are sluggish?
I do not recall agreeing anything of the sort. I’ll swiftly and energetically sift the records and not rest until I have a remedy for this calumny. At least I’ll have the judge on my side.
Your photographs are very nice, btw. I didn’t realise I had to be in one of them. But there, you only photograph beautiful things.
Beautiful in your estimation, that is.
Hold a good thought!
a dollar for your thoughts…
That dragon looks like the classic drawings of The Joker in Batman comics.
As for animal identities, I — like Richard — can’t quite identify with any of the animals you photographed. I am a badger. I would love to be the jaguar, but I am not that beautiful or fast, and I’m a vegetarian, which would complicate things a bit.
Yes! The Joker. You are right!
Thx Badger dear
OK, fine, I’ll be a meerkat. Better to do the staring than be stared at.
That’s a perfect couplet, if you hadn’t noticed.
@ Sledpress:
No more rhymes now. I mean it!
What, nobody? Fine:
Anybody want a peanut?
I’m rigid with shock, jenny.
Me too, Richard, but we must snap out of it: Sledpress has to be forced back into the gender strait jacket. She refuses to fear mice.
Oh, I don’t mind being stared at…
neither do I. In fact… A jaguar, yes, a jaguar.
Thanks for the good thoughts, all.
Our granddaughter arrived safely today, 1/11/2011.
She and I need to go to Las Vegas with that birthday.
She just missed being born at 11:11 am…now that would have been something.
I’m going to bed. I have vicariously delivered another child.
Congratulations!
Thank you, Jenny.
Many congratulations; the best thing about the vicarious part is no midnight feedings.
congratulations grandmother!
when you are back, which animal are you? did i miss that?
Thank you dafna.
I am most like a meerkat, the one in the first picture.
Hi Cheri, congratulations on the baby! Great work
I’m a starer, for sure. I try to keep my paws by my side though.
I tried to tell the nurse what to do but she didn’t listen.
Typical of focused people.
Another meerkat, heh? That makes three of us here.
Just like the picture.
I just recalled a beautiful poem for the birth of a child! Will post for you here after work today. Really, lovely news!
Wislawa Szymborska
A Tale Begun
http://chg7.wordpress.com/2008/05/20/wislawa-szymborska/
True enough and thank you for taking your time to send me the link to that poem.
Here’s my response:
The birth of a child does,
for a moment or an hour, suspend
all pain, all loss, all fear.
Lifting the tented participants up to the stars,
faraway into a grand space
where the sparkle displaces the darkness.
Thank you for this, Cheri. I can now truly share your joy.
Congratulations Granny.
Granny? The Apple?
I’m Gramma Cheri
Yes! Congratulations! Another star for your life. Un abrazo.
I liked the capybara the best.
I like vinegar on my fries.
Yes. I like him the best too and am trying to be more like him these days.
So you dip?
“……So you dip?…….”
No, I pour vinegar over the fries, in the way of the English.
Congrats granny, how terrific!
Now, all we have to do is get her onto a horse!
Easy now, not too young or she may get barrel legged.
My little poem was supposed to be a Zen statement.
If one is truly focused on the moment, then all human fears dissipate.
Very simple; very hard to practice, but worth the daily effort.
Great, deep post, written with your usual gentle & crystal touch.
A bit surreal too. The meerkats are, they strangely look too much like us and at us.
The mouse making you scream in the classroom reminds of you being a woman. The fascination you feel for a predator, too.
(too much Saturnalia these days? Forgive forgive forgive … )
And I liked the colour effect of “our lips have turned blue” exactly when those of the jaguar had turned red. Troubling.
It is clear now that I am strangely fascinated by the jaguar as well. Which would make me a woman also. Or possibly would indicate the desire to be one (a jaguar). But I am not. Besides, if I were, I’d be very uneasy with the evil side I imagine in a predator.
Ok. Bringing to an end my daily dose of stupidities, I send you my best congratulations dear friend!
Why are women supposed to scream at mice?
The last time I saw a mouse it was in my laundry room running back and forth. I marched upstairs and picked up a lazy and oblivious cat under each arm, hauled them down the steps again and pointed them at the mouse. It took three tries to get them aimed right. It must have been the night after a party, usually they nail the rodent before I know I have one.
I would have liked to be a jaguar myself and share that feline grace and speed, but I know my totem.
We aren’t supposed to scream at mice; I just did when one ran under my desk.
I suspect Roma is just having his fun with us.
PS. re rodents who run up your pants:
http://sledpress.wordpress.com/2010/10/30/fresh-guys/
Very funny post, and well written as usual, Sled.
At any rate, women are not ‘supposed’ to scream at mice, it just seems to happen often for reasons I cannot fathom.
And, it is only the silly males, it goes without saying, who when it happens have their chest puffed with amour-propre while running to rescue the lady in distress
But can you catch mice?
One can, but only with guile, otherwise it is very hard.
Giovanni,
Not sure where to go in response to your wide ranging and very funny comment.
You a woman?
New blog name: Woman of Roma!
Now THAT angle might be of interest.
Of course I screamed at the tiny mouse running under my desk and maybe up my pant leg…
Well, “which would make me a woman also” according to the logic of discourse. I am definitely a man but respect all possible combinations in humans. Mmm.. bad girl now you are … guess why.
WoR
hahahahahaha. Mujer romana, sounds fine to me.
Thought you’d get a kick out of that Ana!
I couldn’t possibly guess Gia…
Reading at this very moment ( while baby is napping) about ithe importance of correspondence as an ” intimate source” in penetrating the public facade of the Inquisition.
The book The Cheese and the Worm by Carlo Ginzburg is excellent.
Please read Galileo Courtier. I have to lead a discussion on it on early March.
Carlo Ginzburg is said to be a good historian but I didn’t read anything by him. From a Jewish Italian family Carlo had great parents. Natalia, his mother, born Levi, was an excellent writer and playwright (I loved her ‘Lessico famigliare’.) My wife and I at young age often went to Sperlonga, a see-side resort close to Rome where we often saw her sitting close to our café table at the piazza, such an energetic granny surrounded by her grandchildren. Leone Ginsburg, Carlo’s father (and Natalia’s husband,)was a good Slavist (he translated Tolstoy etc.). His academic career was ended by Mussolini. He was then killed by the Fascists in 1944 and is an anti-fascism icon in Italy. They both came from the Piedmont northern milieu (although she was originally sicilian I think.) After the war she lived in Rome. A courageous woman.
I’m out of the state on a little holiday with the judge, so my responses are short. I just finished Carlo Ginzburg’s fascinating book ( made all the more fascinating by your intimate biographical details, Giovanni).
His research is impeccable; his portrayal of a 16thcentury heretic amazing!!!
You too are amazing Giovanni!
You’ll make all the men of our little bunch jealous Cheri. They will shun me, no kidding. But “it’s my fault” – as my wife reminds me 5 times a day (just in case I forget it.)
Sperlonga’s piazza incidentally is called ‘piazzetta’. If you go to Sperlonga and ask for ‘piazzetta’ everyone will know what you mean.
In this shameful moment for Italy it is ironic btw that Sperlonga was the seat of one of emperor Tiberius’ villas, famous for the debaucheries that occurred there.
The villa included a grotto, ‘spelunca’ in Latin, where the name Sperlonga comes from.
In the 1970s the place became fashionable only among intellectuals or young people like us since its beauties (beach surrounded by rocks and the grotto and the view over the village) were reachable only via a LONG flight of steps.
Mario Biagioli’s book? (pls confirm it is it)
You won, I’ll read it for you although my history-of-science knowledge equals zero Cheri. Hope I can be of any help.
Yes!
It’s not so much about science.
I’ve already begun to read it; it’s about how Galileo ingratiated himself and became a courtier in the Medici court, etc
Thanks so much but don’t put any pressure on yourself.
No pressure at all. Wonder of this guy wrote it in English or in Italian originally. It’d be quicker in my language. I’ll find out. Ciao
Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Sorry Sled
When rodents dart under my feet,
I scream.
Please keep the reading list coming. I have gotten my Kindle fired up and ready to download a world of books.
During my scouting years, my totem was Independant Couguar. Independant was a trait to amend. But I liked the sound of “Couguar Indépendant” so much that i amanged to keep it intact. So to this day I am a Couguar.
During my scouting years, my totem was Independant Couguar. Independant was a trait to amend. But I liked the sound of “Couguar Indépendant” so much that I managed to keep it intact. So to this day I am a Couguar.
I guess you mean a Puma. Fascinating also.
Here a puma is called a couguar in our vernacular.
Couldn’t resist — I have been following the story of this old but sprightly cougar who still knows how to play.
Never had problems with language variety. Au contraire. The linguistic challenge of frequenting my lovely little piece of blogosphere is at times Herculean.
Did I sound like mocking? It was just meant as a joke. Since yesterday I am nervous.
Relax man, relax.
You always relax me. WoR
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The dragon looks fake.
Congratulations, Cheri.
A baby in the family will encourage you anew to write children’s stories. Share them when you do. We’re all big babies at heart.
Thank you to you all for commenting on my blog!
At this time, I am unable to comment back or read other blogs.
Too much going on: new baby, Queen Joan’s surgery, school and life..
I know you understand.
We all fully understand, Cheri.
Don’t bother to comment back!
See what happens to discipline when teacher’s called away. Watch out, “CQ” and Philippe – she might come back any moment.
Can’t wait till she comes back, ’cause Philippe’s gonna get it!
I’m with Richard. We all understand.
I don’t.
Should we be surprised Vienna?
Far be it from me to recommend how y’all should feel. (Yep, I’m from Vienna, GA, not AT.)
I simply don’t know who Queen Joan is, and I had no idea Cheri was a surgeon. And regarding the alleged “new baby,” the worst thing one can do is to interrupt one’s daily routine in order to make a newborn feel the world revolves around him or her. A spoiled brat will be the ineluctable outcome. We’ve all met people like this. They’re the ones who, later in life, will complain to their cocktail waitress that they ordered a slice of lime with their dopey gin & tonic but got a slice of lemon instead, as if that made a whit of difference. (All readers who now reflexively side with these people and insist that there’s this humongous difference between the taste of lime vs. lemon on a drink of hard liquor (a) most likely wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the taste of a lemon and a grapefruit if they were blindfolded and (b) obviously have spent the bulk of their childhood at the receiving end of way too much attention than would have been salubrious for their emotional development, hence their picayunishness in trifling matters.)
Now, let’s examine the following statement:
At this time, I am unable to comment back or read other blogs.
As written, this sentence is somewhat inaccurate (and I don’t mean inaccurate grammatically, nor do I have a problem with its punctuation, unlike the big problem I’m having with the missing closing quote in the headline of this post).
So let us restore its accuracy by rephrasing the sentence:
At this time, I choose not to comment back or read other blogs, because I have more important things to do.
Funny thing is, now the sentence is 100% accurate and honest, yet it also comes across as somewhat rude, even though the reader intuitively knows that that’s precisely the information the author was meant to convey anyway. Yet sometimes we feel compelled to phrase things in a mildly dishonest way in order to minimize the risk of offending others. Worst of all, we do it automatically, which I am pointing out in order to preempt the defense of “I was in a hurry and so I didn’t pay attention to the nuances of my phraseology,” which aids to make the prosecutor’s case more than the defendant’s.
99.9% of the time, when we say “I can’t,” what we really mean is “I could, but I choose to do something else instead, because that something else is more important to me right now.”
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with that. Life is a matter of selecting our priorities, and at any moment in our lives we do precisely that which we deem more important than everything else we could be doing instead.
I concur in the majority view that we all understand, but I object to the wording used to bring that which we all understand to our attention.
I also understand. May Queen Joan get well again, at least as well as possible. Long live the new Princess, let’s hope she has many fairy godmothers to shield her from dragons.
Even better, let’s contract with a master-at-arms to teach the new Princess how to duel dragons when she is ready to learn!
Of course dragons are all great big creampuffs if you know where they like to be tickled.
I’m glad Cyberquill now understands.
@CQ – If you had bothered to read all of Cheri’s short comment about her not now reading and commenting on blogs, you would have known exactly why she’s not.
This thereby makes your schoolboyish, loquacious and unfunny comment redundant.
New baby, surgery, school, and life. Nothing added or taken away since my initial perusal. And if my comment is so obviously redundant, I don’t see the non-redundancy of pointing that out, nor am I able to determine what additional information of value may be imparted by “thereby” where “this” clearly suffices.
A gin and tonic with a slice of fresh lime (not lemon or grapefruit) sounds just perfect.
For you or for the baby? I’m just asking so I’ll know whether to serve it in a traditional highball glass or in a spill-proof plastic container with a secure top.
Bombay Sapphire.
Whoa, the teach steps out for a break and all heck breaks loose. What is it with boys anyway? I quess the ladies are just more quietly devious…. sips from a glass of (aged in the bottle for nearly 5 days) Purple Cowboy wine…
Hi Everyone,
Thanks Ladies for keeping the fire warm here at Notes while I’ve been away. And Gents, thank you for your kindness and concern. I’m lucky to have such wonderful readers and friends.
And we’re lucky to have you.
lucky 100!
hope mom is o.k., mine is still recovering (at home) from a burst appendix.
Wow. One hundred comments. Maybe I ought to leave my blog more often!
I am sorry to hear about your mother’s experience but glad to know she is recovering.
Such worries about our mothers!
the kindest words i received were from MoR, “a mother is a mother”, which sounds like a translation from a profound expression. it made perfect sense to me.
Dafna, I don’t know it if is from a profound expression, but consider I’m from the land of Mamma mia
In any case, yes, a mother is a mother. Probably more special than a father. Unique.