KatMulkey

These flowers from Erica and Buz were sitting on the dining table when I got back into town from the Pow Wow yesterday. For dessert we ate the BEST CAKE EVER! A carrot cake by Chef Erica! 

Then, this morning for Mother's Day, Erica made breakfast for all of us, Buz and Ben cleaned up, and then Buz presented me with another gift--a fabulous photography backpack, a really well-designed one. I couldn't be more contented than I am right now! Nor more grateful.

Yesterday my friend Ro and I went to the Stanford Pow Wow, my first one in decades. It so made me want to dance!   Read about the history and practices of powwow.

All excited for my first Natural Science tour, after six weeks of training, I got my group of first graders and sat them down by the Harbor Seal (this stuffed specimen is in a glass case with a Salt Marsh Harvest Mouse, a bird called Clapper Rail, and some marshy plants). I had been warned about what the kids would ask, because this age group reacts always with  "Is it
alive?" and "Is it real?" So I was ready to answer "It was alive, now it is dead." and "Yes it's real but it's not alive." 

BUT the kids in my group asked, at the Harbor Seal and about 50 other times during our tour (there are a couple of mountain lions and a lot of other stuffed and freeze-dried critters in the Oakland Museum of CA) "How did it die?" Which of course we have no way of knowing, but the truth is that for some animals they were collected soon after death, and some no doubt, decades ago, were collected alive...

So all these kids asking "How did it die?"

...rather than continue to say "I don't know," I began to improvise in embarrassingly rich detail*, only to realize that my fiction became more interesting than the animals and plants in front of their little faces. Needless to say, I stopped doing that as soon as I saw what was happening.
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* Me: "Well the mountain lion in this diorama was hit by a car, and when they realized that the poor thing was dead, someone called the museum right away. The museum guys came in a vehicle kind of like an ambulance, and they got out a stretcher and put the mountain lion on the stretcher to take it away, and they stuffed it so it looks alive, just like it looks right now"

Kid: "Well then how did that deer die? The one who seems to be lying down dead by the mountain lion?"

Me: "um, just before the car hit the mountain lion on that lonely road, the lion had killed this fawn by breaking his neck, and was going to eat the fawn. The mountain lion was so distracted with his prey that he didn't see that car coming on the road, and that's how he got killed accidentally. When the museum people came for the lion, they also picked up the deer to bring to the museum."

The kite stays tied to the earth (through the string) while it soars, dips, and snaps. I guess I climb the hill alone to fly my kite it because I want to be the kite.

Me, I'm a Stimpy: giving, flexible, understanding, sometimes stupid, sometimes wise, often smiling madly for no reason.
How about you?

I like to see a state bird in my neighborhood once in awhile.  And look! He has left me a message on that rock.

At a party last Saturday, someone who was five months pregnant showed me the images of her unborn baby. As soon as I saw that it would be a baby girl, I burst out crying! Just for a few seconds, but it seemed strange to a few people.

Someone else at the party assumed that my emotional reaction stemmed from the memory of the difficult birthing experience with my only baby, also a girl.  No, that wasn’t it.

Why did I cry? I don’t know. Maybe it was because as soon as I realized the gender of this new baby, she became a lot more real  to me, and became a vulnerable, precious, underappreciated (maybe, since it was an unplanned pregnancy) human being. I hoped for her and hurt for her. I would have bawled for a little boy, too.

Perhaps, also, I cried about the randomness of things. Biology doesn’t have a Grand Plan. People do, but things don’t work exactly like folks want. It’s not about what we want.  Life is, as Homer Simpson said, “just a bunch of stuff that happens.”

Its was Christmas, 1962. I was hiding in a closet trying to read my new abridged Pollyanna, away from the noise of many younger siblings, away from little grabbing hands. At that time, books were few and precious at my house. Although I hoped and believed that they had potential for magic, no book had yet reached out to me. There in that closet, I felt that Pollyanna didn’t have the power, either.  

In 1966 I was sent away to New Mexico to live with my grandparents because I had been Bad. Exiled from family and friends, I had to start a new life. I was ten years old.

Luckily for me Mrs. Mize, my kind new matronly fifth-grade teacher, gave me some kind attention. Plus, Mrs. Mize loved books, which she enthusiastically read aloud to my class for at least twenty minutes every day. I honestly don’t remember any other of the titles she chose for my class that year, because I fell obsessively in love with Mrs. Mize’s choice for November: Loretta Mason Potts, by Mary Chase.

There was "real" magic in the plot of Loretta Mason Potts, as well as the story’s magic of words that taught me how books can transform and inspire. Loretta herself is just a girl who is thought to be very Bad. Actually, she has simply become rather spoiled--in a secret little world she has discovered--where people are delighted with her just as she is. The Countess is completely amused by everything that Loretta utters. The Count readily draws his sword, to defend Loretta’s honor. The Countess’ basement becomes a snowy wonderland, even in summer.

Forty years later, I Googled "Mary Chase" and "Loretta Mason Potts", because I was curious if the author is the same Mary Chase who wrote Harvey, the story of the six-foot-tall white rabbit gentleman. Instead, I found other fans of Loretta Mason Potts, adults who were touched by the same special book that touched me. Loretta was our first book crush.

Seeing this encounter was almost spiritual. The Great Blue Heron stood very still until he noticed something at his feet, then he scooped up a salamander for his dinner. 
The salamander was not an amphibian who would give up without a fight, however, and I watched for several minutes as both animals thrashed around.
The result was both of them walking away from the encounter. The bird got the tail of the salamander, which conveniently (for both animals) detached from the salamander while in the heron's mouth. The salamander got away with his life. He will grow back a new tail. 

[Update: I heard today (3-24-08) from folks at Oakland Museum of California that the intended prey is likely an alligator lizard. ]
 

Recently Trader Joe's announced that because of food safety concerns, they would no longer purchase food ingredients from China. Now I feel safer shopping at TJ's than I do almost anywhere else.
Last November while holiday shopping I started paying attention to the manufacturing country of everything I purchased, determined to avoid products from China. My decision had two origins:  first, the careless, criminal poisoning of our toys and foods that were already known about Chinese goods; second, the long-lasting, ongoing human rights problems and worker safety issues in China. How can I knowingly support that?

BUT when you read labels, you realize the extent of penetration of China-made consumer goods into the United States.  Computers, flashlights, non-latex gloves are made in China.  Safety goggles, hairbrushes, and garden hose nozzles are made in China. Try finding those products made elsewhere.

You say “but the products from China are less expensive that US made, or those from Mexico.”  Sure, less expensive, and cheaper, as in shoddy materials and manufacturing. Here’s a useful rule of thumb “buy cheaper=buy twice.”  I will actually save money by avoiding cheaper goods from China (or shoddy goods from anywhere, for that matter) because I will be careful to purchase only things that I need, that will last. Another effect of buying cheaper is environmental. When it breaks, it goes into our landfill.

I found a lovely, strong, brass garden hose nozzle, not made in China. Although I paid twice as much for it as the cheaper plastic one from China, I still came out ahead.