Rice Art 大自然的美麗的藝術

Rice plants come in different colors and sizes.

 

                                                              

Young rice “sprouts” were planted in six inches of water and laid out according

to a computer grid. The variety of rice determined the shades of color.

Five days after planting

 

 

Before plants break the surface, 12 days

 

 

Almost 30% of plants are now above water

 

 

Almost 50% of plants above surface

 

 

All above surface

Wonder if you can do this using watermelons?

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        Aunt Flo

   Most of my life, I have been surrounded by females and their biological dilemmas. My mom, girlfriends, assorted fiancés, wife, daughter and four grand daughters. When I was a younger man, I knew not to broach the subject, but now, that I’m older than Batman, I don’t give an Eskimo shit!

   I want to discuss the female curse. Not the in-laws, but the menstrual cycle….the dreaded PERIOD! During my life, I have stood witness to it’s victims and their physiological consequences. Cramps, the Jekyll & Hyde syndrome (PMS), required sanitation accessories, emotional space from most of the human race and an overall lack of sexiness.

   First off, I understand the physiology of the female menstrual cycle. I was properly educated and often understood it better than those around me, but that didn’t mean crap because I was a male and during Aunt Flo’s visit, all males were considered stupid and useless except for running to the store and getting “plugs“. It was better that way any how.

   This incredible phenomenon only occurs in humans, Chimpanzee and whales. God must have been tripping that day. The cycles often begin around 12 or so and may last until the very early fifties. Then the female species morphs into Beelzebub, the menopause beast. (That’s for another blog). Anyhow…..men are useless during these cycles and in most cases it’s best to just stay in the garage until called.

   The taboos associated with this event are numerous and mostly directed towards men. But the two main ones are; first….don’t get any frisky ideas and second….stay away from the clothes hamper. There are heavy duty pads, tampons, thin pads with wings, thin pads without wings, Midol, booze and spray bottles of Shout which have been the only recourse during this century. But the history of ‘that time of the month’ sanitation goes all the way back to the early Egyptians who used the first type of wood and cloth tampon and later in 1921, Kotex marketed (by mail only) sawdust filled sanitary pads.

   During my youthful years, there were two things I dreaded most from my girlfriends. Hearing them say, “It’s my leak week,” or “I’m late!” God, I’m glad those days are over,( four decades ago).

   Now, let me say that a great many women just take it in stride as part of everyday life and I commend them respectfully. All I know is, if Mr. Wally started leaking blood for a week every month…..I would totally freak!

           Below is a better explanation of a female’s menstrual cycle;

 

 

 

   

BEING NAKED           We will all agree, that being naked can be fun. I spent most of my toddler years running around the backyard in my skin playsuit and nobody cared. Then, during my young adult years, I ran around looking for reasons to be naked.     We all react differently to nature’s freedom and I guess it’s “to each his own.” Being naked at a college frat party is different than being naked at the doctor’s office. Over-exposed on a nude beach in Jamaica just ain’t the same thing as being bare-ass in the changing room at Wal-Mart. Our hairy ancestors thought nothing of the condition and it took the Ice-age to finally get them to put on a bison overcoat (for creationist….see fig leaf). Clothing then evolved beyond necessity to become a statement. Status as a nobleman or ladyship or the well to do merchants. Clothes became our facade of success.     It was not until the “hippie” revolution that naked came into vogue once again. Stoned, post-pubescent kids, with nude painted bodies, dancing around in a smoke hazed nirvana protesting the war in Nam and the “man” in general. Skin good….uniform bad! Well, like all things in life, time marches on. Your courting rituals required abundant nudiosity, which eventually ended in marriage which then required scheduled disrobing about three times a week. After a few years, it was for routine maintenance only. More years pass and soon you find out that nudity is regulated by strict laws…..the first law, of course, being lewd and lascivious acts while the second is Isaac Newton’s law of gravity. Your body now transforms to a different state of matter, in that, no matter what you do, you can’t stop the avalanche of skin and flab.     Now, at my age, being in the all together as nature first presented me, solicits more pity than revulsion. If I forget to get dress when I take out the trash, early in the morning, I get comments like “poor old guy” from my neighbors or maybe “see Ralph, you want to look like him in a few years?” Wifey then runs out with my bathrobe and escorts me back to my recliner. At this twilight stage of my life, I do have one solitary advantage……I can once again roam around in the back yard in my skin playsuit and nobody cares…….six foot privacy fence helps.

 

DYING      The death of someone means different things to all of us, and at the same time it means the same. Shock, remorse, pain, loss, regret, sadness and yes, sometimes relief. To some it’s an unnerving sense of loss that’s beyond their control. There is the shock and speechless response to the news. For some, it is a pain that totally consumes them and yet, for other’s, it is but another chapter in an unending cycle which they accept with limited emotion. The agony of the heart, as you watch a loved one succumb to a painful cancer, but in that same heart, you are undeniably relieved by their peaceful passing. We will all spend our lives saying goodbye to grandparents, parents, spouses and for some, their own cherished children.    The sense of loss is difficult for some to understand. What did we lose on the day of their death? Their wit and humor? Maybe. Their counsel and friendship? Most likely. But what we most often lose is what we treasured the most….their love. All the other values are easily replaced, but not their love. Grandma’s hugs….Grand Dad’s stories….Mom’s quiet and tender voice….Dad’s proud spirit and bad manners….our child’s laughter….our spouses soul. All these we can store in our memories and replay over and over, but it’s the essence of their love that we will miss the most and cannot replace.    The sense of who we are, often comes to the surface when someone close to us dies. We find that at that moment we are helpless. We can’t reach out to save or protect them. We are almost childlike in our attempt to understand it all. We are desperately alone and terrified for the first time of what they have taken from us……..their love. Many will say that their love stays with you always….well, that’s is a good thing, if you really need to hear that. But, for many, that warm love filled glow of their smile, comforting words, expressions, gentle kisses and caresses have now left as well as their spirit. The memories are treasured, but no longer felt by many.    The conclusion to all this, is possibly the most important thing we can do while we live…..just love! Love our family with a commitment that’s total and unconditional. Let not a day go by that you don’t tell them all that they are loved. Hug your friends both old and new and as often as possible. Teach your children by your very actions what love truly is and how important it is now and will always be to their lives. Let your parents know your gratitude with expressions of thankful love. And….last of all…..let your husband or wife know each and every day of your devotion and love. Not in words, but in treasured moments when you quietly look into their eyes and let them see your love, the kind of love that words are incapable of expressing. This overall endeavor of your love will one day be the legacy you leave behind, that will comfort and enrich those that meant so very much to you.

       The Game Of Life

    It’s interesting, how your life evolves as you get older…..much like a football game. In the first quarter of my life, the majority of my thoughts were focused on fornicating any female that was not on a respirator. In my eyes, I had the physic of a Green Bay line backer with long wavy hair and the charisma of Joe Montana plus the intellect of a NASA astronaut. These were the college years. But, unfortunately, I was a first round draft choice for the military.

   The second quarter of my life was committed to family, job and my front lawn. The game was played five days a week with the weekends used as time out. Vacations were the off seasons and grass seed was spread each April. My hair stopped being wavy.

   During the halftime of my passing years, I stopped to reflect and take stock of what I had accomplished. Seems that what I had accomplished was to lose half my hair, gain thirty pounds, get my kids into college and have the nicest lawn in the neighborhood. At this point I kicked off into my midlife crisis. I jogged, combed my hair over the bald spots, wore bright colored pants, flirted with anybody that was not on a respirator, and paid someone to take care of my lawn. It was during this time I started amassing numerous game penalties and even fumbled the marriage ball once and was traded.

   Into the third quarter of my life I was an old pro. Not note worthy for the hall of fame, but all the same, I had learned from my mistakes and was now a seasoned player. I had accepted baldness as a badge of humility and my extra weight as a facade of my jolly demeanor. I would only flirt on the internet using my Brad Pitt avatar and by now, most of my lawn was dead.

   I am now into the final quarter of this game called life. I played hard and won most of the time, but still carry the defeats with me every day. Nowadays, I spend most of my time on the injured player’s list and sit out most of life’s game on my comfortable La-Z-Boy bench. I’ve made efforts to pass on my game strategy to the young rookies around me, but they’re too busy fornicating to listen.

   As the final ‘two minute’ warning sounds and they cart me away to the ‘home’, I can honestly say that every day of my life has been a Super Bowl. As I will most likely finish my final days roaming down the hallways of the ‘home’ with my walker running interference for me, I think I will visit some old time cheerleader on her respirator. I think I can still score before the games over.

 

          The untruth will set you free

 

    I have read several articles on the subject of truth lately, and I am impressed by how cerebral and deep the subject can be……hummmm. I was naive and thought it was the opposite of lying. I did not know it dealt with inner conflicts, ulterior judgments and existential discoveries. I’m a little more down-home and ”say what?” in my thinking process, I guess 

   When I was a kid the truth was avoided because it was often rewarded with a butt whoopin; “Did you break this?, What’s that smell?, Where did you leave your little brother?” The lie was my shield and the truth was the gallows. My teen years were spent perfecting the lie with girls I met and dated. In later years at work, I had to tell the truth because of paper trails and back stabbers. Lying was the prerogative of upper management.

    The abundance of “white lies” were structurally part of the early years of my marriage. “For your own good,” lies were used while raising my kids. “I love your salmon casserole,”  and “Sure, I’d love to skip the ballgame and go visit your mom and watch a golf match with your comatose dad on their 23 inch TV.” Lies kept the piece and assured a piece, if you know what I mean. I had to drag the chains and shackles of untruths, omitted facts, tall tails and blatant whoppers for years and I was, in effect, my very own prisoner, guarded by the fallacies of my own making.

    It was not until my gray years that I realized the comfort and emotional relief of telling the truth. Sharing the honest and sometimes embarrassing omissions with close friends, family and most of all Wifey, that my mind and emotional spirit were set “free” at last. I could finally rejoice in the ability to raise my hand up in a group of people and proudly admit to a fart, or stop at the grocery check out and tell the cashier she gave me $10 too much change back. I could finally tell my in-laws what I found fundamentally wrong with their children and, of course, their own common sense.

    The truth has surely set me free with my marriage. The greatest release to my spiritual being has been the ability to honestly and openly speak out and no longer use lies to cloud my short comings and failures to my wife. This has strengthen our love beyond barriers. In all things, the “truth” has been my salvation to a stronger and more rewarding marriage. In issues of her hair color and how her clothes look on her, I still lie………I’m truthful, not stupid.

**I did not delve into the stigma of political lying because, as it’s well known, a politician’s lie has a short “statue of limitations,” that last only until they are reelected.

　

 

　

          “Pull my fingerum“

                                  (“Pull my fingerum”)

 

                     

   We have advanced from a race of babbling barbarians, over 10,000 years ago, to being a modern culture of babbling cosmopolitans. We have, sadly, been mentally downsized in the fine art of being rhetorically cogent. We don’t know how to use words! Now, the word rhetorical is a catch-all word for those who use English like a cheap Bombay hooker. You can grunt and groan anything you verbally conjure up and refer to it as being rhetorical or even objectively subjective. I’m confusing myself, so let me get to the goiter of my point. When someone asks the question, “Is the glass half empty or is it half full?”— it’s obvious this Confucian wannabe never worked as a bartender. What a stupid reference to make about life! After I leave the smorgasbord….“am I half full or half empty?” And what the hell does “half ass” mean?? Is it something to do with cloning?

   “The ends justify the means.” I was well into my thirties before I ever figured this one out, and it was while trying to cover my ass on my tax returns. Then there’s, “Don’t mind him, he really does have a good heart”—and a sorry immature attitude that’s just looking for a cyclonic ass-whooping!  Sorry, flashbacks.

    Last of all, the great elocutionist Socrates said, “Know thy self.”  Three simple words. A rhetorical masterpiece. To my way of clear thinking, it’s obvious the old guy was talking about masturbating and from the many references to his male groupies, they were all famous for knowing each other’s self as well. I think a jealous toga boy fed him the hemlock smoothie. Aside from all this….my point is, just keep it simple. So, let the politicians and theologians do their rhetorical mumble jumble and let us just communicate in our ancestral gibberish, which is somewhere between rap and yodeling.

 

Charlie

DISCLAIMER: That little comment about my taxes was for the sake of swelling my humorous varicosity and was only a half truth……what the hell is a half truth? A half lie!!! God, my head hurts.

 

 

   I’ve seen and learned many wonderful and often terrifying things in my life. Some, I relished the experience, while others had me plunged into a mental abyss. I’ve seen two headed goats and Democrats that knew math. I’ve talked to people from many countries and even a few who were left by their “mother ship.” Yes, I have seen, done and learned a great deal in my life. At this advanced point in my life, I can truthfully say I finally understand women. Wifey has taught me a great deal and I have also been aided by my numerous exposures to the philosophies of Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer.

   I have learned, to my shame, that behind every successful man, there is an amazed woman. Men have their weaknesses, sure, and every woman on this planet knows those weaknesses and are expertise in cultivating these short comings for later leverage. There are a lot of smart guys in this world and you see a lot of smart guys with dumb women, but you hardly ever see a smart woman with a dumb guy. But beware!!!….women have an unfair advantage over men. If they can’t get what they want by being smart, they can get it by acting dumb. I know, that’s not funny, except to half of us. Being a woman is a terrible and difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men…..OK, enough said. We need each other, even if it’s debatable.

   We still have life choices we all make and must do so from time to time. Women have choices like they can be married, not married, have a job, not have a job, be married with children, unmarried with children. Men have the same choice we’ve always had…….work or prison. Another “lifestyle” choice women have is their appearance. To me, Wifey is more beautiful than any sunset, delicate flower or lava flow and I respect the things she does to maintain that incredible beauty for me to worship…..OK, enough said.

   First of all, men must understand and respect what appearance means to women. First of all, there is their age. If you really believe the age of a woman doesn’t mean anything, because the best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles, then there’s a place for you on Jerry Springer. Some women, not all, from 30 feet away, look beautiful. From 10 feet away, they look like something made up to be seen from 30 feet away. Nobody on this site, thank God………OK, enough said.

   Second, women dress alike all over the world….. they dress to be annoying to other women. Shopping was invented by women maybe 60,000 years ago, maybe at a cave mall. Today, they shop like they have a weird virus or something and the credit card is the only thing that will save them. When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. When men are depressed they invade other countries. We are both totally different in our needs. When a woman asks how she looks in her new clothes, always remember the movie “Psycho.” If her clothes look snug on her tell her they look “poorly made” and she needs to go out and buy some more. Never comment on her rear-end. Never use the words ‘large’ or ‘size’ with rear-end…..never! OK,……enough said.

   Being equal is another social minefield. Every woman in my world today, I feel, is my total equal. I really believe women just want to be treated in marriage as equals and not sequels. Now many believe that a woman who seeks to be equal with men lack ambition. I say contraire!! You don’t always have to be ambitious,….many men just make it easy and don’t even know it!

   Final word……Women are very special and give humanity the purity and beauty it needs as well as the courage to endure……My final thoughts I want to pass on to the younger guys is first—-respect women. Guys are like dogs; you can smack us with a stick and we keep coming back. Ladies are like cats; yell at them one time…they’re gone. The next point I want to make is women are fun! Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere is an old saying that I no longer subscribe to, (anymore)……The entire point is to just be happy with each other, no matter the sacrifice. To be happy with a man, a woman must understand him a lot, and only love him a little. To be happy with a woman, a man must love her a lot and try not to understand her at all…..took years to learn that. OK, enough said. 

  
To my dear, beautiful Wifey……I screwed up my medications this afternoon and can’t be held responsible for this blog…….OK, enough said.

 

   My Marilyn

 

   It‘s a little damp outside today. I just made another pot of coffee and filled my stained and battered “GRAND DAD” cup. Read my paper until my blood pressure got the best of me and then tossed sections A & B into the trash and took the crossword and obituaries and put them in the bathroom for later. I thought I would get on my computer and vegetate for a while. I set my brain in neutral and allowed it to tumble down memory hill a few decades as I surfed old movies on Netflix. Then I saw her! I stopped my flashbacks around 1961. I was 14 and totally numbed, enthralled, cursed and erected over the most beautiful woman in the world, Marilyn Monroe……..I was a mess!

   She was like a religious experience for me and therefore a “Goddess.” I had only recently launched into puberty and so far it was like the worst roller coaster ride I had ever been on. I did not understand why my body was doing the weird things it was doing and if someone I trusted had told me it was natures way of getting me ready to reproduce I would have fainted and not come to until I was 30. My voice had already defaulted to another octave and I was breaking out in hair! Girls had always been a pain in the ass, but the “agony” was now redirected to other parts of my body. Before my teens, I never knew girls had breast. Most likely I had just ignored them or just never noticed. I guess they had always had them….I just didn’t know. Now, at 14, I knew every breast in school……I was a mess!

   The impact of these biological changes lead me to my infatuation with my first crush….. Marilyn Monroe. I barely remembered any of her movies prior to 1961 but once I was alerted to her existence, I watched them all frame after frame as if they belonged hidden under my mattress at home. I felt guilty about my feelings and very frustrated at the same time because I had no idea why I felt the way I did. Her beautiful glowing silk hair, her huge “take me” eyes and last of all those incredible carnivorous lips that wanted to feed on me. All these things enchanted me to the consistency of a lava lamp. I knew, if I were ever to meet her, my head as well as my loins would explode from shame. I loved her……I was a mess!

   I did not know or would have cared that she was as dumb as a bucket of corn or that her virtues were written on every bathroom wall in Hollywood. She was my Marilyn. Yes, I loved her. She was in my dreams, which ignited other new phenomenon’s for me………I was a mess!

   When I saw “The Misfits,” ten or so times, I was Clark Gable and her hero. I protected and saved her from her lousy life…….That was 1961. 1962 Marilyn Monroe died at her home from an overdose of pills, fame and conspiracy. This grip my young heart and did not let go for days. I can tell you there will never be another Marilyn. The excitement of who and what she was to this young man was special. 1962 was a heart felt and painful year ……….I was a mess!

   Shortly after the blond died I saw the movie El Cid with the actress “Sophia Loren“……I was a mess!

 

        CHIGGERS

 

    Folks on here will talk about their pets from time to time, both past and present. The sadness of losing one or the antics and joys of having one. I don’t care how old you get, and I can attest to that, you always hold a special place in your heart for pets of your youth.

Chiggers was his name. The breeding of my dog was something of a genetic train wreck. He had a lot of beagle and maybe some goat too, but all and all he was mostly just brown. He never learned any tricks but he amazed us with magic…….in that more substance came out his butt than ever went into his mouth and the yard was his primary depository. Dad often stepped on strategically placed piles, and Chiggers would just look the other way and pant, (dog laugh).

Chiggers was not all that big, but he was fast and loved adventure. We lived on the edge of a forest and a few miles away was a massive cow pasture where we chased rabbits, pheasants, cows, Indians, tigers and each other. Chiggers was a chaser. I was ten and Chiggers and I were inseparable……even smelled the same most times. His other favorite pastime was chasing cars and trying to bite the tires. Chiggers was pure breed dumb.

I would come home from school each day and Chiggers would rush me from his snoozing place under the hedge. We would roll around in the yard with him licking and yelping and me laughing my butt off. He never did that when Dad came home; he just went and took a dump in the yard so Dad would chase him. He loved to piss Dad off.

I had an ancient aunt who would visit every few weeks. She had two female collies, but always left them at home. Chiggers would smell doggie perfume on my Dad’s aunt as soon as she got out of her car and immediately show her his doggie woody and then the leg humping would begin. Dad’s aunt would scream, Mom would quietly laugh and Dad would cuss and chase Chiggers. That was my dog’s other problem…..he was a love hound! He loved anything with fur, and that included hairy legs like my great aunt. At any given time, he must have had every dog slut within fifty miles knocked up.

In those years, the most popular brand of pet food was “left over’s“. It came in two varieties……not much and a lot. Meat loaf night Chiggers ate good, but fried chicken night he got gravy and boloney. Sometimes when my buddies would come over, I would show off my dog by tossing him a cold hotdog and letting everybody watch Chiggers swallow it whole. It was cool.

One day, when I came home from school, Chiggers did not run out from the shadows of the hedge. I whistled, but nothing. Most would think nothing of this but my dog knew to the moment when I would be home each day and even in the rain he would wait under the hedge for me rather than his dry doghouse in the backyard. In four years, I could not remember him ever missing a day.

Mom was sitting on the porch swing which was also unusual for that time of day. “Charlie, come over here and sit down.” My first thought was she had been snooping under my mattress again.

“You seen Chiggers, Mom?” I asked more curious than worried when I sat down.

“Honey, Chiggers was hit by a bread truck today.” she quietly said as she put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

My young heart seized up and my throat got so tight I couldn’t talk. It took a moment and the tears started. First me and then Mom.

Mom had called Dad at work and told him. He said he would pick up something to bury Chiggers in and bring it home. He also asked several times was Mom sure the dog was dead. She kept saying yes and the last yes sounded a little loud to me. That evening, Dad came in the front door carrying a long box from the A&P. “This should do the job.” he said like a cold hearted undertaker.

“It’s a banana box Dad!” I moaned.

“So? Only thing big enough I could find, and see….you can close the top.” he said. He put the box beside the door and asked what was for supper. Mom said meatloaf and I started crying again.

Mom had wrapped Chiggers in an old beach towel and put him in the basement. The next morning I took the banana box down to the basement and put my dog in it. I put a few of his raggedy toys, an old bone and one of Dad’s good slippers in with him and then closed it up and sealed it with electricians tape. At the far end of the backyard, I dug a hole under a pine tree and reverently lowered Chiggers. I remember standing there and looking down at the Chiquita coffin Dad had brought home and thinking about dog heaven. Dogs had to go to heaven…….cause, who else would the dead kids have to play with?