On Saturday, I headed out to McCleary, Washington to Hartman Jewelry repair. The Hartmans are fabulous people. She is as nice as he is cynical. What could be better? Their little shop is packed with fun things and I always spend a ton of money I didn't mean to.
I went to get my watch fixed. Yes, the birthday watch. Hope springs eternal, I suppose. Plus, it was Hartman's 10th anniversary and watch batteries were 25% off.
I did not need a new battery. The friction pin on the minute hand has burned out. Fascinatingly though, after the check up (no repair) the watch worked fine for the 35 minutes my husband wore it. As soon as I put it on, the minute hand started cu-chunking its way backwards.
The friction pin can be affected by electro-magnetic force, and therefore, a girl who has been hit by lightning.
More and more I am coming to grips with the reality that our run-ins with Mother Nature, just like radioactive spider bites, become part of our biological fabric.
I can forget that I was hit by lightning--or at least go for years and years without thinking much about it. It's not something that has all that much relevance to my day-to-day life. Except when I burn out a watch or crash a computer system by standing too close to a critical component. Then I reminded that it's not a memory. It's a force in my being.
Our outer world gets under our skin. It changes us in ways we can't consciously explain. And then it all oozes back into our lives in ways we can't consciously explain. We're all a little bit like Spiderman that way.
And that's the good news, I think.
Even Sarah Palin now agrees that climate change is eeking its way into our lives. The question is whether the change will be slow and incremental or catastrophic.
Mark Lynas argues in Six Degrees (a great new book from National Geographic) that the earth will heat up one degree at a time causing incremental change. It will become part of us and we'll face the next degree with our new and improved selves. John Medina makes a compelling case for how we adapted when we "came down from the trees" in his fun new book Brain Rules.
It gives me hope.
But here's the thing: I was hit by lightning on top of the Mount of the Holy Cross in August, 1978. Although lightning is a regular occurrence in the Rocky Mountains towards the end of summer, it was still unexpected and remarkably sudden.
The sky was gray. There was no rain, no thunder, no warning. Suddenly the world turned white and blue. I was flying through the air, balls of electricity flying from my finger tips. I landed face first in a small trickle of water--the headwaters for some mountain stream.
It happened at the speed of light. Nothing we knew or believed mattered. We were powerless to act.
A part of me still believes that when the weather changes it will be violent, sudden, unexpected and crippling. Of course it will change us forever, but what will we bring to the experience? Will our own inner Spiderman be suited up and ready to rock?
Everyone in my Girl Scout troop made it down from that mountain in one piece. My sister took care of me. "Stay down!" the leaders had shouted after the lightning sent us all flying. My sister crawled to me from somewhere and covered me up with an old Army poncho. It was thick and smelly and I could hear the hail thudding violently against it. She marveled at the blue balls of fire zipping from my pinkie. I marveled at her presence of mind.
And then someone called out, "There's a rainbow!" It was all over. And in an instant, I realized exactly why we humans put stock in mythical stories.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Towels and Other Glorious Human Inventions
Each May 25th, the world celebrates Towel Day. As well it should.
While the towel is incredibly useful--essential even--it is unheraleded and generally taken for granted. When is the last time you stopped to acknowledge:
We love our cars, show them off, care for them. But what about motor oil, windshield wiper blades or air filters? Do we ever give attention to these essentials?
We love food and wine. But what about heating elements, pot holders or spatulas? Do we stop to think about how much these objects contribute to our nourishment?
My snoring husband recently got a C-PAP machine. It's like a leaf blower: while sleeping, it blows enough air through the nose and throat to keep the airway from collapsing thereby preventing not only snoring, but the much more dangerous (and potentially deadly) sleep apnea. But for us, the C-PAP offers something much more fundamental, something we typically take entirely for granted: REM sleep.
That's right, before this bit of technology came to our bedroom, my husband lived without REM sleep for as long as five years. REM deprivation makes you tired, sluggish, a little slow on the uptake. Eventually it makes you psychotic. But that's a different story.
We so take this function for granted that two doctors missed the diagnosis altogether and offered anti-depressants instead.
I understand. If we tried to track on every detail of our world and tried to elevate every gadget, electronic or essential bodily function to the level of recognition Towel Day offers, our brains would be overwhelmed and threaten to shatter into a million shards.
And yet, failure to recognize the glorious details that keep us ticking makes them all vulnerable. Like species that slip, almost unnoticed, into extinction.
Think about it. What little things do you take for granted? Click Here to answer.
While the towel is incredibly useful--essential even--it is unheraleded and generally taken for granted. When is the last time you stopped to acknowledge:
- Your dependence on towels when your hair is dripping, the floor is slippery or the dog is tracking mud into the house?
- Your appreciation of towels when the upholstry in the back seat is too hot to sit on; you're lying on the beach; or covering up in the PE locker room?
- Your reliance on towels for self expression when cheering your favorite team; decorating the bathroom for the holiday; or coordinating colors and designs to complete your interior design?
We love our cars, show them off, care for them. But what about motor oil, windshield wiper blades or air filters? Do we ever give attention to these essentials?
We love food and wine. But what about heating elements, pot holders or spatulas? Do we stop to think about how much these objects contribute to our nourishment?
My snoring husband recently got a C-PAP machine. It's like a leaf blower: while sleeping, it blows enough air through the nose and throat to keep the airway from collapsing thereby preventing not only snoring, but the much more dangerous (and potentially deadly) sleep apnea. But for us, the C-PAP offers something much more fundamental, something we typically take entirely for granted: REM sleep.
That's right, before this bit of technology came to our bedroom, my husband lived without REM sleep for as long as five years. REM deprivation makes you tired, sluggish, a little slow on the uptake. Eventually it makes you psychotic. But that's a different story.
We so take this function for granted that two doctors missed the diagnosis altogether and offered anti-depressants instead.
I understand. If we tried to track on every detail of our world and tried to elevate every gadget, electronic or essential bodily function to the level of recognition Towel Day offers, our brains would be overwhelmed and threaten to shatter into a million shards.
And yet, failure to recognize the glorious details that keep us ticking makes them all vulnerable. Like species that slip, almost unnoticed, into extinction.
Think about it. What little things do you take for granted? Click Here to answer.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Welcome Back
When I last left off, I was thinking about my life as a super hero and wondering if we aren't all a little bit like Spiderman. But I'll get back to that later.
I got distracted by summer, which was notoriously cold. And short.
Here in the Pacific Northwest, the rain normally starts to ease up in February and comes to a complete halt on the day after the 4th of July holiday. There are occasional dry days in April, May and June, although none of these occur on a holiday or a weekend or for a special event such as a wedding.
Once all the fireworks have gone off, however, it's suddenly (and exquisitely) dry and warm until Thanksgiving, when it floods (without exception) and all the locals act surprised (without exception). I am only allowed to make this observation because I am a transplant.
So, between the 5th of July and Thanksgiving, there are intermittent hot spells when temperatures may soar as high as 93. Three days of such a heat wave and true Northwesterners will begin to pine for the rain. Never fear: after 5 days, the temperatures will plummet to the mid-70s and all is right with the world for a week or two.
We will go through this cycle 4, 5 times in a summer.
Everyone's garden grows. Everyone's zucchinis are eaten by deer. I make fun of the web-footed natives who are truly tortured by temperatures above 82. All is right with the world.
But this year, not one Pacific Northwesterner complained. No one had the opportunity. We topped 90 just a few times--maybe three--and those days were followed by a week of rain. Gardens began to grow in August. Gardeners were holding out hope for a late harvest. Deer are waiting patiently in the wings.
It's only September 1st and already the furnace is kicking on at night. Yesterday, I wore a sweat shirt. And I had to dig my closed-toed shoes out of the back of the closet. It was still August then. Rain fell from the sky in torrents and bounced back up from the roadway in waves.
I passed a car on the interstate that hydroplaned onto the median and did a dozen donuts before coming to a stop. It had Oregon plates. Perhaps they were from eastern Oregon. But more likely they were just taken by surprise.
School doesn't start until tomorrow. The day after tomorrow...well, at this rate, it's shaping up to be the day after tomorrow!
Quick, find your parka and your hat and your scarf. They're in the closet some place. Try checking behind your closed-toed shoes. I know you've found those aready.
Bundle up! Keep warm! And keep reading!
I got distracted by summer, which was notoriously cold. And short.
Here in the Pacific Northwest, the rain normally starts to ease up in February and comes to a complete halt on the day after the 4th of July holiday. There are occasional dry days in April, May and June, although none of these occur on a holiday or a weekend or for a special event such as a wedding.
Once all the fireworks have gone off, however, it's suddenly (and exquisitely) dry and warm until Thanksgiving, when it floods (without exception) and all the locals act surprised (without exception). I am only allowed to make this observation because I am a transplant.
So, between the 5th of July and Thanksgiving, there are intermittent hot spells when temperatures may soar as high as 93. Three days of such a heat wave and true Northwesterners will begin to pine for the rain. Never fear: after 5 days, the temperatures will plummet to the mid-70s and all is right with the world for a week or two.
We will go through this cycle 4, 5 times in a summer.
Everyone's garden grows. Everyone's zucchinis are eaten by deer. I make fun of the web-footed natives who are truly tortured by temperatures above 82. All is right with the world.
But this year, not one Pacific Northwesterner complained. No one had the opportunity. We topped 90 just a few times--maybe three--and those days were followed by a week of rain. Gardens began to grow in August. Gardeners were holding out hope for a late harvest. Deer are waiting patiently in the wings.
It's only September 1st and already the furnace is kicking on at night. Yesterday, I wore a sweat shirt. And I had to dig my closed-toed shoes out of the back of the closet. It was still August then. Rain fell from the sky in torrents and bounced back up from the roadway in waves.
I passed a car on the interstate that hydroplaned onto the median and did a dozen donuts before coming to a stop. It had Oregon plates. Perhaps they were from eastern Oregon. But more likely they were just taken by surprise.
School doesn't start until tomorrow. The day after tomorrow...well, at this rate, it's shaping up to be the day after tomorrow!
Quick, find your parka and your hat and your scarf. They're in the closet some place. Try checking behind your closed-toed shoes. I know you've found those aready.
Bundle up! Keep warm! And keep reading!
Monday, July 7, 2008
The Real Life Adventures of Girl vs. Nature
I recently turned 44, and to celebrate my fabulous husband gave me a watch.
Actually, he bought more than one, starting with the kind he thought I ought to wear and eventually ending with the one I actually would.
This was no ordinary watch. It was traditional, with a wide leather band reminiscent of a bomber jacket. It was substantial. It was totally butch. And it was Swiss.
Thankfully, it also came with a warranty, because less than two weeks into life on my wrist, it stopped keeping time (although the second hand is still dutifully making its rounds).
And while this turn of events saddens me deeply, it is in no way surprising: I have been frying watches since 1978, when I was hit by lightning while venturing up the Mount of the Holy Cross with a gaggle of Girl Scouts.
This was no ordinary accident; it was Girl vs. Nature.
I am still standing, but no watch has ever survived being strapped to me, and that's saying something because in the year leading up to the Mountain Top Incident, I survived another Girl vs. Nature smack down and my watch was the winner.
In 1977, I was attacked by a killer horse. Or maybe it was just Horse Gone Wild. It's hard to say. But either way, I started out riding the horse and ended up flat on my back, unconscious, with the horse thrashing wildly beside me in an effort to get right-side-up and back on her feet. Stunningly, my skull was not broken, but I had multiple concussions and a broken jaw. And, although my arm was both compound fractured and splintered into 11 pieces, my Timex was in tact.
My mother said this was to be expected; back then, Timex commercials featured real life disaster stories with people like me, who would hold up their surviving watches and declare: "It takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'." She thought I should be in an ad.
It was not meant to be, however. My trusty timepiece met a dramatic end just a few months later, sometime between the blue haze of the lightning bolt and the hail storm and the rainbow that followed.
My next Timex never worked. Nor did any of the watches that followed.
It would be ten years before I would learn that this is not an uncommon consequence of being hit by lightning. I've since heard that no one who's had a near-death experience can wear a watch.
After about 4 dozen watches and 20 years, I declared Nature the winner and threw in the towel. Until recently.
Then I decided I needed a watch. A very specific watch. It had to be a women's design, but substantial and bold. With a leather strap. And big enough to read with my aging eyes.
This was a rather surprising impulse. Irrational. Doomed to fail. And yet, inspired by something completely endearing--an email from the most brilliant of colleagues addressing me as "Wonder Woman."
I realize in retrospect that I do indeed want to be Wonder Woman, and I want a watch wide enough and tough enough to deflect all of life's bullets. But you can't, as they say, fool Mother Nature.
Soon, my wonderful birthday watch will be in its magnificent orange box headed home to Switzerland, where the master watchmakers will undoubtedly open it up and declare: "C'est increable! C'est impossible!" By then, my $29.99 on-clearance-at-the-discount-store replacement will be finished as well.
Maybe I am part Wonder Woman; I do seem to have my very own super power: Electro Magnetic Girl Fries Electronics and Brings Down Computer Systems in a Single Stroke! But apparently, I'll have to embrace traditional cuff braclets; I'll never be able to dress the part wearing a watch no matter how perfect it might look.
Maybe it's not the look. Maybe Girl vs. Nature is really about iterative transformation and the ways that we stay connected, like Spiderman, to the mysterious power of Nature that threaten to overwhelm us.
I am, after all, still standing. And late. Again.
Actually, he bought more than one, starting with the kind he thought I ought to wear and eventually ending with the one I actually would.
This was no ordinary watch. It was traditional, with a wide leather band reminiscent of a bomber jacket. It was substantial. It was totally butch. And it was Swiss.
Thankfully, it also came with a warranty, because less than two weeks into life on my wrist, it stopped keeping time (although the second hand is still dutifully making its rounds).
And while this turn of events saddens me deeply, it is in no way surprising: I have been frying watches since 1978, when I was hit by lightning while venturing up the Mount of the Holy Cross with a gaggle of Girl Scouts.
This was no ordinary accident; it was Girl vs. Nature.
I am still standing, but no watch has ever survived being strapped to me, and that's saying something because in the year leading up to the Mountain Top Incident, I survived another Girl vs. Nature smack down and my watch was the winner.
In 1977, I was attacked by a killer horse. Or maybe it was just Horse Gone Wild. It's hard to say. But either way, I started out riding the horse and ended up flat on my back, unconscious, with the horse thrashing wildly beside me in an effort to get right-side-up and back on her feet. Stunningly, my skull was not broken, but I had multiple concussions and a broken jaw. And, although my arm was both compound fractured and splintered into 11 pieces, my Timex was in tact.
My mother said this was to be expected; back then, Timex commercials featured real life disaster stories with people like me, who would hold up their surviving watches and declare: "It takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'." She thought I should be in an ad.
It was not meant to be, however. My trusty timepiece met a dramatic end just a few months later, sometime between the blue haze of the lightning bolt and the hail storm and the rainbow that followed.
My next Timex never worked. Nor did any of the watches that followed.
It would be ten years before I would learn that this is not an uncommon consequence of being hit by lightning. I've since heard that no one who's had a near-death experience can wear a watch.
After about 4 dozen watches and 20 years, I declared Nature the winner and threw in the towel. Until recently.
Then I decided I needed a watch. A very specific watch. It had to be a women's design, but substantial and bold. With a leather strap. And big enough to read with my aging eyes.
This was a rather surprising impulse. Irrational. Doomed to fail. And yet, inspired by something completely endearing--an email from the most brilliant of colleagues addressing me as "Wonder Woman."
I realize in retrospect that I do indeed want to be Wonder Woman, and I want a watch wide enough and tough enough to deflect all of life's bullets. But you can't, as they say, fool Mother Nature.
Soon, my wonderful birthday watch will be in its magnificent orange box headed home to Switzerland, where the master watchmakers will undoubtedly open it up and declare: "C'est increable! C'est impossible!" By then, my $29.99 on-clearance-at-the-discount-store replacement will be finished as well.
Maybe I am part Wonder Woman; I do seem to have my very own super power: Electro Magnetic Girl Fries Electronics and Brings Down Computer Systems in a Single Stroke! But apparently, I'll have to embrace traditional cuff braclets; I'll never be able to dress the part wearing a watch no matter how perfect it might look.
Maybe it's not the look. Maybe Girl vs. Nature is really about iterative transformation and the ways that we stay connected, like Spiderman, to the mysterious power of Nature that threaten to overwhelm us.
I am, after all, still standing. And late. Again.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Sun Worship and Other Paradoxes
Happy Solstice! I hope the summer sun is brightening your world!
I was blessed to be born on the longest day of the year and I do have a very special affinity for the sun!
And yet...I always wear sunglasses, and not just because the risk of ocular melanoma is rising exponentially with the loss of the ozone. My pale blue peeps are remarkably light sensitive and I am easily blinded by any form of daylight.
And I own stock in the makers of SPF. My fair skin (a kind euphemism for my particular shade of pallor) is prone to horrific burning, though I do make a better run of it than my sister, who has on more than one occasion found herself hospitalized for sun stroke, sun poisoning and high altitude burns. The up-side, from what I understand is that we melanin-challenged individuals are far less prone to frostbite than others.
And frankly, I hate to be hot. I live the Pablo Neruda line: "In the full light of day I walk in the shade."
As I have been watching the recent flooding in the mid-west and the onset of the fire season in the far west, it's occurred to me that we all suffer from this kind of weather-related paradox. In farm country, run-off is a blessing, an anticipated ritual, a marker of time, and a signal that the new season for growing crops has begun. Run off brings a torrent of plenty and the promise irrigation throughout the summer. And yet too much rushing water brings dread, anxiety and destruction.
The ancients believed they might gain an upper hand with Nature by praying and sacrificing to the gods. Bringing pleasure and satisfaction to the spirit world was meant to appease those forces that would otherwise bring flood, famine, lightning and forces of destruction. Sometimes it appeared to work...
Today, we build levees and dikes, dams and reservoirs. And at times, it appears to work.
I think it is inevitable that we humans will keep trying our hand at this. Just as the sun will bring the solstice again and again, we will make our efforts again and again. What's most interesting to me, though, is our relentless optimism, our apparent belief that we will some day find the way to prevail.
I was blessed to be born on the longest day of the year and I do have a very special affinity for the sun!
And yet...I always wear sunglasses, and not just because the risk of ocular melanoma is rising exponentially with the loss of the ozone. My pale blue peeps are remarkably light sensitive and I am easily blinded by any form of daylight.
And I own stock in the makers of SPF. My fair skin (a kind euphemism for my particular shade of pallor) is prone to horrific burning, though I do make a better run of it than my sister, who has on more than one occasion found herself hospitalized for sun stroke, sun poisoning and high altitude burns. The up-side, from what I understand is that we melanin-challenged individuals are far less prone to frostbite than others.
And frankly, I hate to be hot. I live the Pablo Neruda line: "In the full light of day I walk in the shade."
As I have been watching the recent flooding in the mid-west and the onset of the fire season in the far west, it's occurred to me that we all suffer from this kind of weather-related paradox. In farm country, run-off is a blessing, an anticipated ritual, a marker of time, and a signal that the new season for growing crops has begun. Run off brings a torrent of plenty and the promise irrigation throughout the summer. And yet too much rushing water brings dread, anxiety and destruction.
The ancients believed they might gain an upper hand with Nature by praying and sacrificing to the gods. Bringing pleasure and satisfaction to the spirit world was meant to appease those forces that would otherwise bring flood, famine, lightning and forces of destruction. Sometimes it appeared to work...
Today, we build levees and dikes, dams and reservoirs. And at times, it appears to work.
I think it is inevitable that we humans will keep trying our hand at this. Just as the sun will bring the solstice again and again, we will make our efforts again and again. What's most interesting to me, though, is our relentless optimism, our apparent belief that we will some day find the way to prevail.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
All Hail the King!
This morning at breakfast my middle child, a 19-year-old soon-to-be-sophomore biology major, surprised me by announcing: "I searched your blog and found that you have not mentioned me. You haven't even mentioned that you have a son."
Actually, I haven't mentioned that I have two sons.
The older one will graduate from college in May of 09. If you happen to be the one who scores the Foreign Service Exam, I hope you take notice of him! He's named Josh, has an incomprehensible love of comparative politics, mad gaming skills, a certain aversion to dirt, and --by graduation day--experience working for the Canadian consulate. Not that Canada is all that foreign, but we in the Pacific Northwest love our neighbors to the north. Plus, they speak English and French. Like Josh.
Hopefully, if the ice age comes along in the next year, Josh's Canadian friends and colleagues will lend him a dog sled and teach him the finer points of trapping. It's not as exotic as Micronesian friends and colleagues or Canary Islander friends and colleagues or even Australian friends and colleagues. But it's practical. Like Josh.
Now, my other son is not known for his aversion to dirt. Or being practical. In fact, he's rather lofty and is known far and wide as King.
This is not his given name, of course. But his given name is one of those adrogonous names gone all girly. He hates it (or perhaps he hates his parents for saddling him with it), and has always gone by his middle name. But in a modern world, your first initial leaks out, and by second or third grade everyone wanted to know what his mysterious first initial, K, stood for.
"Simple," he would say, "It's King." Then he would humbly explain that he was sparing their dignity by not using his haughty moniker, and by middle school absolutely everyone--friends, neighbors, teachers, the mailman--everyone believed that we had named our first child Josh and our second child King. "My name is King Cole," he would declare, and no one would laugh or giggle or ask any questions.
Just for the record, he is not named King Cole, nor is he named King Kong, which might be more appropriate given his flair for the dramatic.
The King is extaordinarily gifted. He has an IQ of about 8,000 and a Midas touch that won't quit. And he's quite certain that global warming isn't real, or at least not worrisome, which is the real reason I haven't worked him into the blog until now (in case you're reading, my wunderkind).
He's making me read The Beak of the Finch so that I might learn just how we living organisms will adapt to a crisis such as climate change. But I'll confess: I don't really understand it.
Still, I find myself nearly persuaded each time I hear The King argue that polar bears will survive; after all, they have already begun to adapt. I'm not sure if he learned this in his evolutionary cellular biology class or because he attends the only university in the country to have a polar bear as a mascot.
And yet, for all his blustery objection to global warming propaganda, here he is, reading--searching, even--InnerNeanderthal. What else could a mother ask for? What else could a blogger ask for? My goal here is to stretch the limits of imagination, and clearly, I've captured some tiny corner of his.
As an adult educator, I am well aware that human beings can neither discuss nor act on anything that is beyond the boundary of our imagination. And we cannot imagine global warming.
Or more strictly, we cannot imagine how six, or at the most eight, degrees of warming will change our world. And since we cannot imagine, we cannot talk about what's coming or what we could realistically do to stop it.
We can, however, imagine how difficult it would be be to whittle all our possessions down to a short list we could pack and carry in a hurry. And that is the point of the exercise.
The King may be right. Maybe global warming is a natural phenomenon that has not been accelerated by humankind. I find this a bit unlikely. But also a bit irrelevant.
We should all radically change our behaviors right this minute, just to be sure. And certainly, The King and his brother Josh have been most cooperative in our family efforts to live a one-car life and to slash our electrical use.
But even if we cease to produce any more greenhouse gases tomorrow, global warming would continue...the greenhouse gases already in the atmosphere need time to dissipate; they will continue to influence the weather until they're gone.
And so, it is most likely that we will see climatic catastrophes for decades to come.
It seems to me that it is time for all of us--skeptics and saints--to shine a little light on the corner of our imagination and talk about what we're going to do about the impending reality, regardless of its ultimate cause.
Perhaps, in the end, The King knows that his mother is right. Perhaps that's the real reason he's searching for his Inner Neanderthal!
Actually, I haven't mentioned that I have two sons.
The older one will graduate from college in May of 09. If you happen to be the one who scores the Foreign Service Exam, I hope you take notice of him! He's named Josh, has an incomprehensible love of comparative politics, mad gaming skills, a certain aversion to dirt, and --by graduation day--
Hopefully, if the ice age comes along in the next year, Josh's Canadian friends and colleagues will lend him a dog sled and teach him the finer points of trapping. It's not as exotic as Micronesian friends and colleagues or Canary Islander friends and colleagues or even Australian friends and colleagues. But it's practical. Like Josh.
Now, my other son is not known for his aversion to dirt. Or being practical. In fact, he's rather lofty and is known far and wide as King.
This is not his given name, of course. But his given name is one of those adrogonous names gone all girly. He hates it (or perhaps he hates his parents for saddling him with it), and has always gone by his middle name. But in a modern world, your first initial leaks out, and by second or third grade everyone wanted to know what his mysterious first initial, K, stood for.
"Simple," he would say, "It's King." Then he would humbly explain that he was sparing their dignity by not using his haughty moniker, and by middle school absolutely everyone--friends, neighbors, teachers, the mailman--everyone believed that we had named our first child Josh and our second child King. "My name is King Cole," he would declare, and no one would laugh or giggle or ask any questions.
Just for the record, he is not named King Cole, nor is he named King Kong, which might be more appropriate given his flair for the dramatic.
The King is extaordinarily gifted. He has an IQ of about 8,000 and a Midas touch that won't quit. And he's quite certain that global warming isn't real, or at least not worrisome, which is the real reason I haven't worked him into the blog until now (in case you're reading, my wunderkind).
He's making me read The Beak of the Finch so that I might learn just how we living organisms will adapt to a crisis such as climate change. But I'll confess: I don't really understand it.
Still, I find myself nearly persuaded each time I hear The King argue that polar bears will survive; after all, they have already begun to adapt. I'm not sure if he learned this in his evolutionary cellular biology class or because he attends the only university in the country to have a polar bear as a mascot.
And yet, for all his blustery objection to global warming propaganda, here he is, reading--searching, even--InnerNeanderthal. What else could a mother ask for? What else could a blogger ask for? My goal here is to stretch the limits of imagination, and clearly, I've captured some tiny corner of his.
As an adult educator, I am well aware that human beings can neither discuss nor act on anything that is beyond the boundary of our imagination. And we cannot imagine global warming.
Or more strictly, we cannot imagine how six, or at the most eight, degrees of warming will change our world. And since we cannot imagine, we cannot talk about what's coming or what we could realistically do to stop it.
We can, however, imagine how difficult it would be be to whittle all our possessions down to a short list we could pack and carry in a hurry. And that is the point of the exercise.
The King may be right. Maybe global warming is a natural phenomenon that has not been accelerated by humankind. I find this a bit unlikely. But also a bit irrelevant.
We should all radically change our behaviors right this minute, just to be sure. And certainly, The King and his brother Josh have been most cooperative in our family efforts to live a one-car life and to slash our electrical use.
But even if we cease to produce any more greenhouse gases tomorrow, global warming would continue...the greenhouse gases already in the atmosphere need time to dissipate; they will continue to influence the weather until they're gone.
And so, it is most likely that we will see climatic catastrophes for decades to come.
It seems to me that it is time for all of us--skeptics and saints--to shine a little light on the corner of our imagination and talk about what we're going to do about the impending reality, regardless of its ultimate cause.
Perhaps, in the end, The King knows that his mother is right. Perhaps that's the real reason he's searching for his Inner Neanderthal!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Top Ten List of Entreprenuerial Possibilities for the Ice Age
Ever since I discovered that homo sapiens and neanderthals are separate species I've been holding out hope that the future ice age will be a little more civilized than past ones. We have so much wisdom and so many conveniences to help us along this time around.
And yet, too many of our best tools still rely on electricity or a network of some kind. With hundreds of feet of ice on the ground, our electronic umbilical cords will be severed.
Once a critical mass of fresh water melts off the polar ice caps, slowing the Gulf Stream and triggering massive cooling, life is going to get a lot less complicated. We'll forget all our passwords and PINs and head south, focused on staying warm, finding food, and protecting our own.
Sure, we'll have Gortex and wool socks and protein bars. But what's still missing? What will we need that's not yet been invented or isn't properly powered for the ice age?
Here's my Top Ten List of Entreprenuerial Possibilities for the Ice Age:
10. Ice batteries. Putting batteries in the refrigerator is supposed to be good for them, so there must be a way to generate power in the cold! Since many of our most essential conveniences need some juice, ice batteries should be at the top of the R&D agenda!
9. No melt candles. Light bulbs are complicated and electricity will be in short supply. Candles are the obvious solution, if only they didn't insist on melting away! If we can make them dripless, we can make them no-melt!
8. Ice floe toilet. Floe, flush, whatever works. Need I say more?
7. Battery operated coffee grinder. I'm not a big coffee girl myself, but I know what happens when the dancing goats go without for too long. A wise ice traveller will make friends and build alliances along the way by carrying a closely guarded supply of beans, a grinder, and the means for whipping up a steamy mug wherever (s)he goes.
6. Ice cows. I don't really like to admit it, but it is possible that a sudden ice age might elminate a quite a number of species and limit our ability to hunt down food. What's more, most of us are quite domesticated--which is to say, we don't really know how to hunt. We need a herd of ice cows to travel with us, produce milk, and serve as an occasion gustatory sacrifice. I'm sure they can be engineered and domesticated in a freezer laboratory until we need them....
5. Solar powered blow dryers. Really, why don't we have these already? I'm not a huge fan of the curling iron, and the flat iron is ridiculous, but as long as there is vanity, these items ought to run off the sun as well!
4. Blow dryer co-generation capacity. Manufacturers have been co-generating products and energy for quite some time. Blow dryers put out inordinate amounts of heat, which we ought to harness for important endeavors, like grinding coffee or lighting the cave.
3. Toothbrush making kit. It's an unfortunate fact of life that toothbrushes wear out. We need to be prepared. We could schlep a thousand toothbrushes along (is that enough for an average lifetime?), but as the old saying goes: give a man a toothbrush and he is minty fresh for a day; teach a man to make a toothbrush and he is cavity free for a lifetime.
2. Water deriver. Every Inner Neanderthal will want and need one of these easy-to-tote contraptions. Just break off a piece of relatively clean ice and lock it in the chamber to melt it down and sanitize it for drinking. Just think of it as the next generation of bottled water!
1. Solar Powered iPod. I have been talking with people for years now about the most essential items to pack in the event of climatic catastrophe, and they have provided me with a long list of sensible items: fire, tampons, all the ammo I can carry. The iPod never comes up though; it's just not sensible. It's not essential. And yet, it appeals so deeply to our sensibilities, reflects our individual identity, captures history and art. Even if I could never upload another tune, I'd sure like to have a Nano on hand, ready and able to play Like a Virgin till all eternity.
And yet, too many of our best tools still rely on electricity or a network of some kind. With hundreds of feet of ice on the ground, our electronic umbilical cords will be severed.
Once a critical mass of fresh water melts off the polar ice caps, slowing the Gulf Stream and triggering massive cooling, life is going to get a lot less complicated. We'll forget all our passwords and PINs and head south, focused on staying warm, finding food, and protecting our own.
Sure, we'll have Gortex and wool socks and protein bars. But what's still missing? What will we need that's not yet been invented or isn't properly powered for the ice age?
Here's my Top Ten List of Entreprenuerial Possibilities for the Ice Age:
10. Ice batteries. Putting batteries in the refrigerator is supposed to be good for them, so there must be a way to generate power in the cold! Since many of our most essential conveniences need some juice, ice batteries should be at the top of the R&D agenda!
9. No melt candles. Light bulbs are complicated and electricity will be in short supply. Candles are the obvious solution, if only they didn't insist on melting away! If we can make them dripless, we can make them no-melt!
8. Ice floe toilet. Floe, flush, whatever works. Need I say more?
7. Battery operated coffee grinder. I'm not a big coffee girl myself, but I know what happens when the dancing goats go without for too long. A wise ice traveller will make friends and build alliances along the way by carrying a closely guarded supply of beans, a grinder, and the means for whipping up a steamy mug wherever (s)he goes.
6. Ice cows. I don't really like to admit it, but it is possible that a sudden ice age might elminate a quite a number of species and limit our ability to hunt down food. What's more, most of us are quite domesticated--which is to say, we don't really know how to hunt. We need a herd of ice cows to travel with us, produce milk, and serve as an occasion gustatory sacrifice. I'm sure they can be engineered and domesticated in a freezer laboratory until we need them....
5. Solar powered blow dryers. Really, why don't we have these already? I'm not a huge fan of the curling iron, and the flat iron is ridiculous, but as long as there is vanity, these items ought to run off the sun as well!
4. Blow dryer co-generation capacity. Manufacturers have been co-generating products and energy for quite some time. Blow dryers put out inordinate amounts of heat, which we ought to harness for important endeavors, like grinding coffee or lighting the cave.
3. Toothbrush making kit. It's an unfortunate fact of life that toothbrushes wear out. We need to be prepared. We could schlep a thousand toothbrushes along (is that enough for an average lifetime?), but as the old saying goes: give a man a toothbrush and he is minty fresh for a day; teach a man to make a toothbrush and he is cavity free for a lifetime.
2. Water deriver. Every Inner Neanderthal will want and need one of these easy-to-tote contraptions. Just break off a piece of relatively clean ice and lock it in the chamber to melt it down and sanitize it for drinking. Just think of it as the next generation of bottled water!
1. Solar Powered iPod. I have been talking with people for years now about the most essential items to pack in the event of climatic catastrophe, and they have provided me with a long list of sensible items: fire, tampons, all the ammo I can carry. The iPod never comes up though; it's just not sensible. It's not essential. And yet, it appeals so deeply to our sensibilities, reflects our individual identity, captures history and art. Even if I could never upload another tune, I'd sure like to have a Nano on hand, ready and able to play Like a Virgin till all eternity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
