Zoom, zoom, zoom….

Energy is good.  I like energy… and being filled with it.

Energy, in the American English sense of the word is defined as  “the strength and vitality required for sustained physical or mental activity.”

According to the Law of Conservation of Energy……. the total energy of a system remains constant……  though energy may transform into another form.

Oh…. so much more can be said about the topic of Energy in Physics.  Volumes and volumes.

But… the most interesting part of it all is this……a scientific proven fact:

The total energy contained in an object is identified with its mass….. and energy cannot be created or destroyed.

I repeat… energy cannot be created or destroyed.   It is all there… already.  It always has been.  And it always will be.

It changes forms constantly.  But it is there.

With that in mind….. I was around two little boys for a good part of this day.  Now THAT is an entirely different definition of energy.  I don’t think… even Einstein… would be able to explain it.

But imagine 1000 little hamsters on Expresso, running on their little wheels, at warp speed Sulu.  On steroids.  Exponentially.

…. and that is not even close.


“Boy,  n.:  a noise with dirt on it.”  – Unknown

“The energy of the mind is the essence of life.” – Aristotle

The Squid Salute

Today was one of those days that really made me appreciate the very special people in my life.

The ones that have touched my heart, with love and kindness, and caring.  I’m not kidding you.  I felt it every time I turned around.

They are the ones that I can look to…. no matter when or where… and know there is a net, or a pillow, or a warm and welcome place at the end of the day.  A cup of hot soup on a cold rainy day.

Constant reminders all day long.  It started at a dog kennel, and it finished at a wedding reception.

And everything in between.

All of this may seem unrelated, but I can assure, it is most certainly intertwined.

The pinnacle to all of this?  The icing on the cake.  Well  tonight ….. while eating wonderful array of seafood Paella for dinner….

I  happened to glance down at my plate.  Whoa my. …    ……. There.  There it was.

A baby squid.  I believe it traveled all the way  from Seattle.  It sat there, with a little grin on it face, and it seemed to be giving me a little reassuring salute.  Little Oscar the Octopus.  Extending his little tentacle outward…… ….  with a big “Thumbs Up”….

So it reminded me in yet another way…. Just how much I am loved.

Oh.  I felt hugged.  By at least eight arms.  And that is octa-good.


“I feel the capacity to care is the thing which gives life its deepest significance.” – Pablo Casals

Can you hum a few bars….

…. and tonight….

some fun for both my musical friends…. and my jock friends….

The Symphony Orchestra was playing a concert in the park. They were in the middle of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. The basses, in the back of the orchestra, decided they had a few minutes to spare before being asked to play anything, so they ran across the street to the pub for some ale. It was a windy day, so they found some string to wrap around their music stands to secure their music while they were gone. Once at the tavern, they could hear the music and keep up with the progress of the piece.

After a few rounds, they decided that they had to hurry because the last movement of the ninth symphony was under way. They stumbled back onto the bandstand and were fumbling with the string, trying to get it loose, but not having much success. The conductor saw what was happening and instantly sized up the situation: it was the bottom of the ninth, the score was tied and the basses were loaded.


Class. Nothing but class.

Ahhhh.  The little dog that just keeps giving.

And it IS the little things, really…. that make ALL the difference.  Like last night, just before bed time, I let the dogs out to go their “spot” before we all turned in.

(To remind the readers out there.  We have three dogs.  Maxine, is the oldest.  Probably about 13 years old now.  She is part West Highland Terrier and part Shih Tzu.  Frances, is the middle fur child.  She is around 10 years in age.  France is mostly Black Lab with the mix in of Schnauzer and Schipperke.  Finally, the newest addition is Ollie.  Part Jack Russell Terrier, and part Pekingese.  Young Ollie is about 2 … maybe 3.)

Okay.  Back to last night.  So the dogs returned to the house.  First Max.  She limps in as always.  Then Frances.  She limps in as always.  Then Ollie.  She sproings like Tigger on a pogo stick on four shots of Expresso.

So in she bounces… looking like the bearded lady at the circus… after competing in a mud-pie-eating-contest.  Up to her elbows in mud too.  AND… as soon as she gets through the door… she decides to give it all a good shaking-off.

Mud on the floor.  Mud on the walls.  Mud on the painting on the wall.  Mud on my glasses on my face.  Mud.  Ollie.  Thou name is mud.  Ahhhhh. Yes.  The little things.

You must know.  There is never a dull moment with Ollie.  Full of piss and vinegar that dog is.  This must have come from the days when she was in Puppy Prison.  Her former owners didn’t want her any more. Landed behind bars.  So Mary sprang her from the slammer.  Posted bail….. and now we have a bonafide convict living in our home.

Like I mentioned earlier.  Ollie is in part…..Jack Russell Terrier.  That explains the piss and vinegar with a sproing.

The rest?  Tonight, I am reading an article from a veterinarian’s website.  The article is about dog intelligence.  Dogs that we “humans” consider book-smart are the ones that tend to learn commands easily—and once these commands are learned, do as they’re told by “humans”. By these criteria, the Border Collie is at the top of the class.

Sidebar:  This classification seems slightly off to me.  I mean, I think dogs should be rated with out any human-willfulness involved.  But… that does not happen. So the “scientific” smart dog ratings… are:

German Shepherd Dog
Golden Retriever
Doberman Pinscher
Shetland Sheepdog
Belgian Malinois
Labrador Retriever

…. and the Breeds that are often accused of being a few cards short of a full deck are….

Afghan hound
Chow chow

Re-read the bottom line of this list.  The thickest of the thick.  Pekingese.  Ahhhh… it is the little things.   Miss Ollie is half Pekingese.

But hear me loud and clear on this one.  I would not trade little Ollie for any other dog on that list or other wise.   I wrote all of the earlier things in good fun.  All of them are very true.. yet in good fun.

However, our little Ollie is a joy of joys.  She is unique and wonderful, and that wee-bit of a dog makes me happy.

So.  Throw those categories right out the window, I say.  Once again, there is good evidence that lists, and pigeon holes, and class-assumptions…. should be discarded in life.   Assumed labels and tags…. and lump sums… are just that.  Lumpy.

Each one of us…. is our very own special self.  Each of us….  in our own right.

And that should be celebrated.  Over and over and over again.  Yes.  With each… and every… unique one of us.


“As we grow as unique persons, we learn to respect the uniqueness of others.” – R. H. Schuller

Is the barber okay?


Today, of all days, is Albert Anastasia’s birthday.  Yes, on this date in 1902.  Born under the sign of Libra.  Probably fickle.    But nonetheless, he was one of the most ruthless and feared Cosa Nostra mobsters in American history.

This bad dude was a founder of the American Mafia.  Seriously.   Anastasia ran Murder, Inc. during the prewar era and was boss of the modern Gambino crime family during most of the 1950s.  I, am not kidding about that one either.

Anastasia died in what was probably the most sensational assassination in mob history.  Crime doesn’t pay, I guess.

After an illustrious and colorful career as a mobster… like the biggest, baddest, most powerful gangsta of his time….  he met a rather untimely, and violent demise.

On the morning of October 25, 1957, Anastasia entered the barber shop of the Park Sheraton Hotel.  It is in  Midtown Manhattan.

Like any good gangster, he had a bodyguard.  So…..Anastasia’s bodyguard parked the car in an underground garage and then took a walk outside…. probably to have a smoke.  He left Anastasia unprotected.

As Anastasia relaxed in the barber chair, two men, with scarves covering their faces, rushed in to the shop.  They shoved the barber out of the way, and fired at Anastasia.

After the first volley of bullets, Anastasia allegedly lunged at his killers.  “ARRGGGGHHHHH.”  (He probably said.)  Or maybe  “@#$%#$%%*@@!!! ARRRGGGGHHHHH.”

Anyway, the stunned Anastasia had actually attacked the gunmen’s reflections in the wall mirror of the barber shop. The gunmen continued firing and Albert Anastasia finally fell to the floor, dead.  As a doornail.    His assailants still looked fetching in their scarves, I might add.

His murder generated a tremendous amount of public interest and sparked a high profile police investigation. No one was ever charged in this case.

Over time, speculation on who killed Anastasia has centered on Profaci crime family mobster Joe Gallo, the Patriarca crime family of Providence, Rhode Island, and certain drug dealers with the Gambino family.  Who put the hit on?  The likes of you and I will probably never know.  It is better that way.  I think.

The strangest thing…. the Libra Horoscope for that particular day read:  Expect big surprises today.  You may get a visit from unexpected guests.  Things may not appear as they really are.   This is probably not the best time to make any big decisions.  Probably not the best day for a haircut.  (New York Post)

Food Ink

Food can explain a lot in life.   Or maybe not…..

On getting old…..

Cheddar cheese that has been ripened for six months is considered “mild.” Seven months to a year of ripening makes “sharp” cheddar, and two years worth of aging yields an “extra sharp” product.

It is good… or bad… to be versatile…

During WWII, Tootsie Rolls were added to soldiers’ rations thanks to their durability in all weather conditions.

More slander against white pasty foods….  discrimination is never good….

Despite the well-known urban legend, if a bird ingests uncooked rice it will not explode.

Say it isn’t so Godiva….  you can’t always trust your senses…..

So-called white chocolate isn’t chocolate in the technical sense — it is comprised of cocoa butter, sugar, and milk, but no actual chocolate.

You boycotted these for nothing….  french fries and The Dixie Chicks…..

The “french” in french fries actually describes the way the spuds are sliced, not their country of origin.

Some times things seem much bigger than they really are….

There is one strand of corn silk for each kernel on an ear of corn.

You may have blamed the deer… alas ….  we all make mistakes….

A horn worm can eat an entire tomato plant by itself in one day!

And off topic…
Holy Hot Dogs….

Only one breed of dog is mentioned by name in the Bible: the Greyhound. (Proverbs 30:29-31).

Dog Races in the Bible, I guess.


The way up and the way down are one and the same. – Heraclitus

Candlemakers and Dentists

Oh.  You know me.  I have this big interest in knowing where “sayings” came from.

Like any of them.   Wet behind the ears.  He kicked the can.  She found the kitten’s mittens.  The last one… I just made up.  But nonetheless.

One that I’ve always liked to say is…   “Oh.  Just you mind your own beeswax.”

Now, I have read that “Mind your own beeswax” was a phrase used by women in the colonial period.  Hard-working women, no doubt.  There was no electric back in the day… hence all the candles.  And… unless you were stinking rich, you had to make your very own candles.

Women would  stand around together…. next to the fire stirring the wax from the bee’s endeavors.  Now…. it wasn’t like a big bunch of the women from the community.  Nope.  They all lived on farms… far away from one another.

It would be more like a bunch of sisters from the same farm.  So……they would stand around stirring the wax.  But…. they had to be careful not to let the wax or fire burn their huge billowing cotton dresses or long, long, locks of hair.

So when one of them would comment on the job another one was doing…. they’d look up from their wax pot…. and say emphatically….. OH!  Heaven’s to Mergatroid.   Just you mind your own beeswax.”  (Okay, again, I made the Mergatroid thing up…. but I have researched all the other stuff.)

But now it appears, this theory has been blown out of the water.

By none other than…. Cavemen.

So.  Jump back about 7,000 years or so.  It appears Cavemen had a bit of problems with holes in their teeth. Not from donuts or chocolate milk.  Not likely.  They were real Neanderthals when it came to their chompers.  Chewing on leather and rocks and sticks and things… to make tools.  And … as we know today… cavities can be excruciating.

There is new evidence which suggests that prehistoric man used a surprisingly sophisticated technique to deal with the pain: Dental fillings. A team of scientists in Italy has identified a 6,500-year-old cracked tooth repaired with beeswax, suggesting that our early ancestors knew a thing or two about dental work.

So… when they would walk out of Dr. Thubs office after being packed with the waxy filling… the kind, albeit hairy….. dentist would call out…  “Now… just you mind your own beeswax.”

And there you have it.  Phraseology.

But.  Which ever way it goes… whichever version turns out to be true… it confirms what I’ve know all along.

No matter who we are… we all should be keeping our own attention…. on our own fatty acids.


I think that everybody has a right to their own thoughts, their own feelings and their own private moments, if they want them. – K. Heighl

Not your ordinary candidate.

Today is Victoria Claflin’s birthday.  Born on a Sunday, in 1838.  Her birthplace was the rural town of Homer… which is in Licking County, Ohio.

Have you ever heard of her?  Well, Victoria was a real spit-fire, I will tell you that much right now.

Here is what I think about Victoria.  At the very deepest inner-core of her being…… was a woman highly concerned with freedom, human rights.  Her life seemed dedicated to  overcoming the barriers which stood in the way of those things.

She was the first woman to run for President in the United States of America.  Yep.  She ran in 1872, under the Equal Rights Party.  Her running mate was none other than Frederick Douglass.  It is not known for sure how many votes she actually garnered.  But she was faced with much resistance.

One thing… I can assure you…… none of this was covered in my American History classes, in grade school, even high school, and no… not college either.  Hmmmph.

Okay, as I said, Victoria was something.   What a life she had… from early childhood all the way until her dying day.  My life has certainly never been this interesting… and I doubt it ever will.  I am milktoast.  She was spicy enchiladas.

Some notable citations concerning her life….

She was an American leader of the woman’s suffrage movement.

She was married three times.  To Canning Woodhull (divorce), Colonel James Harvey Blood(divorce), and finally to John Biddulph Martin (his death).

Victoria Woodhull was an advocate of free love, by which she meant the freedom to marry, divorce, and bear children without government interference.

She was the first woman to start a weekly newspaper

Woodhull was an activist for women’s rights and labor reforms.

Together with her sister, she was the first woman to operate a brokerage firm on Wall Street

By age 11, she had only three years of formal education, but her teachers found her to be extremely intelligent. She was also a clairvoyant and medium at a very early age.

Her dad was a huckster.  He insured the family’s rotting gristmill quite heavily.  It mysteriously caught fire there in that little town of Homer.     When he tried to get compensated by insurance, his arson and fraud shenanigans were discovered; and he was run off by a group of town vigilantes.

Oh… her life story goes on and on in a thousand different little spins.

Colorful character.  Strong woman.  She was very much ahead of her time.

Late in life, she moved to England.  She died on June 9, 1927 at Norton Park in Bredon’s Norton, Worcestershire, England near Tewkesbury, England, United Kingdom.


Now this account falls short of even the Reader’s Digest Version.  What a dance ticket she had.

What interests me the most is her personal constitution.  What makes people like this tick the way they tick?

It amazes me.  People like this amaze me.


It all makes me wonder.


Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.  – Ray Bradbury

When gravity gets you down.

A lot of people wrote in about yesterday’s post.  The general comments fell in the lines of “it just didn’t make sense” or “I don’t get it.”  That sort of thing.  A few people asked if I was feeling okay….

Am I losing my marbles?  Have I fallen off my rocker?  Wading toward the deep end?  One sandwich short of a full and complete picnic lunch?  Well, I hope not.

But yesterday, I was simply having a difficult time putting my finger on “it”….. if you will.  I couldn’t quite make up my mind, or find clarity, on anything.  From the very mundane, to the lofty.

Seems I’ve felt this way  for a few days now.  Something is not sitting right in my little carton of eggs… or my basket of apples.  I am on the edge of the rim of the verge of something.   Maybe the Autumn Equinox is making the air molecules slow down and be thick.  I don’t know. It merely feels like Cream of Mushroom Soup everywhere around me.

To be honest, sometimes it appears that I am just going through the motions.  I don’t really feel like doing the actual motions with all my motion-doing-abilities.  So… I simply go through them.  Clunkety-Thunk.

And that is the all and the all of it. I don’t like it when this happens.  But there it is. Like a spinning top, but in slow motion.

The world is a large place.  The universe even bigger than that.     Multidimensional and multifaceted.

And when you look out on to the horizon, the world seems very flat.  Yet, you know in your heart… it is not.  A big bunch of mushroom soup, I tell you.


“Reality is merely an illusion, although a very persistent one” – Albert Einstein

Stop Making Sense.

There is a troupe of majestic animal trainers.  They spend Thursdays and Mondays around campfires, and roast marshmallows until all hours of the night.

The little group plays harmonicas.  Wilma Dowelbo is their leader.  Yes. Wilma the Leader of the Majestic Animal Trainers.  She now plays the trumpet. But not by choice.

A government agency investigated the bodacious troupe.  Her harmonicas were viewed through a microscope… and confiscated.  The Agency… Agency 511….  were nothing more than dense authorities with unlikely, startling interpretations of most everything.  They wore gray suits.

As they carted her favorite harmonica collection out of sight… Wilma called after them…”Sirs.  You have foolish toes.  And certainly there is nothing more than bats in your belfry.”

Just then, in the long-away distance, a wise old man tackled the zookeeper.

And at that exact moment…. a very large butterfly landed in the wilting soybeans.  It wore three very tiny pairs of Chuck Taylor’s.  One pair black.  One white.  One red.

The funny thing is… they were all double-knotted.  All of them.


And there you have it.

All of the events are factual and truly occurred…

But not until the day after tomorrow.


“We’re being taken for a ride again.” – The Talking Heads, Stop Making Sense