THE BLUE PEARL OF MOROCCO

South of Tangier in the Rif Mountains in NW Morocco lies the city of Chefchaouen. It is known for the striking blue-washed buildings of its old town and for its cats.

 

The local legend says that the blue was brought by the Jewish community when it first arrived in Morocco as it reminds them of the blue sky, of heaven and god.

CORVID KERFUFFLE

 

A couple of days ago, one of the neighborhood Crows came down to the Bath for a drink. Our resident Jay was not happy about this incursion into his airspace by his much larger cousin.

 

The Crow tried to hang out in the birch after his drink but the Jay was having none of it and was insistent: you need to leave, pal. Mr. Jay flitted from branch to branch around the Crow, hollering. Finally, the Crow flew off with the Jay following close at his 4 o'clock to ensure compliance. Kinda like a Beechcraft escorting a 747.

MEMORIAL DAY

 

HOMER SIMPSON YELLING AT ELK

 

Bizarre Michigan reference

https://comb.io/saTVvh

 

THE GREAT NEW ENGLAND DAY OF DARKNESS-MAY 19, 1780

 

Church people freaked out as it appeared that the End of Days was nigh. Read more on Wiki:

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_England%27s_Dark_Day 

STAMPY FIGHT!

It was about 8.30pm last night and still light out when I went to get a refill and see what was happenin' outside. I reach the big windows overlooking the Diner and I see 2 mature Stampies battling over a mostly empty Jif Peanut Butter jar I had put out. The jar was being tossed around as they jostled like soccer players and I'm sure one it was BigMama who won. The loser ran off under the pool deck and around the pool. Meanwhile, I am concerned where the Budster is and thankfully, the DHS was hunkered down in his favorite spot on the raised bed, keeping an eye on things. BigMama proceeded to get down to business:

C'mere!

You're not cooperating!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mmmmm, got my whole head in!

The next morning...

Pretty much clean as a whistle! Hell, she even took off the label! Perhaps she thought it was required for recycling.

FIVE SECOND STORIES

Seen while out and about: I'm entering East Lansing and I look in my mirror and see this behind me:

Yikes! It's a Donnie Darko Evil Rabbit! In fact, when searching for an image, the helmet is marketed as The Evil Rabbit Helmet.

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We were watching an old HBO series "Carnivále" from 2003 and many examples of "carneyspeak" were used. One was "gaff" which refers to a faked exhibit. Part of P.T. Barnum's genius was to present something you say is genuine but it is obvious even to a 5 year old that it is a fake. After an uproar forces management to admit their scandalous connivery, the act takes on a new life. The public, hearing that Barnum was called out on fake, clamor to pay and see "Barnum's Fake". Talk about turning lemons into lemonade!

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I had not heard of this Old Wive's Tale: if you want to remove a wart, cut a potato in half and cover the wart with it. Then, under a Full Moon, secretly bury the spud and do not tell anyone where it resides.

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From "Um Ourives Das Palavras" (A Goldsmith of Words) by Portuguese writer Amadeu de Prado:

“Given that we can live only a small part of what there is in us -- what happens with the rest?

I came across this in a curious film "Night Train to Lisbon" which details the adult years of de Prado. A doctor during the Salazar right wing dictatorship, he also was a writer and philosopher. This singular volume was self-published posthumously in 1975, a year after his death due to a brain aneurysm.

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In the film "Night Train to Lisbon", there was a scene where the secret police engage in classic behavior during a dictatorship: Prior to a visit of someone that you wish to obtain information from, investigate their life and find out what gives them joy. In the film, the person in question was a fine amateur pianist. If they refuse to cooperate, break their hands. They'll never play again and that joy in life will be forever lost. Even if they knew nothing, this brutal action will quickly be known around town and compounds the fear people have of the police.

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The uncertain outcome: med for psoriasis advertisement says: "may result in clear or almost clear skin." This has the smell of lawyers all over it and makes one wonder how well the stuff works beyond the usual boilerplate of "individual results will vary". So, what percentage of users get clear skin? 10%? 20%? Well, they won't want to broadcast this would they? 

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Cocky tornado being ironic: "I'm a twig snapper, bitch"!

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Alpena is a rather odd word, no less one to be used to name a town. In the US, believe it or not, besides the one in MI, there are Alpenas in AR, SD and WV. How the name came about in MI from the Alpena Tourist Board:

"The story of our current name “Alpena” actually begins shortly after Michigan became a state in 1837. Mr. Douglas Houghton was assigned the task of surveying the northern part of the state and establishing county and township lines. In 1840, after Houghton’s task was completed, Henry Schoolcraft, then a Native American agent in Sault St. Marie, selected an Indian name for each county. However, an analysis of these county names show that in many  instances “improvised” would have been a better word than “selected”.

Alpena County was first dubbed “An-a-ma-kee”, (Thunder), in honor of the Thunder Bay Chippewa chief who had signed a treaty negotiated by Schoolcraft in 1826. After studying the Indian legends around the words “An-a-ma-kee” and “An-i-mi-kee”, Schoolcraft concluded that the name was not completely appropriate. He manufactured the name “Alpena” from “Al”, a Native American syllable meaning “the”, and then created “pena” from either the Arabic word meaning “partridge”, or an old French word “peanaisse”, meaning “bird”.

Local historians have since discovered that the rendering should have been “Awpena” to mean “partridge”. As Alpena is now spelled, it means “not quite a partridge”."

As for the other Alpenas name origin:

West Virginia-Alpena as a name is a corruption of Alpine, a large share of the first settlers being natives of Switzerland.

Arkansas-Originally known as "Estes" and later "Alpena Pass", the town of Alpena sits near Long Creek at the eastern border of Carroll County.  It is said to have been named for the mountainous "alpine" terrain in that vicinity.

South Dakota-Alpena was platted in 1883, and most likely was named after Alpena, Michigan, the native home of the town's proprietor. 

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Sometimes, Buddy eats all the kibble in the feeding bowl but gravity doesn't push more out. C's new saying to him: "lemme paw y'all down some grub there Buddy."

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Going to the market represents my main source of human interaction. After spending the majority of my working years in retail, I instinctively pick up a vibe walking into a store. Here's my thoughts on the markets in the area:

Corporate: WalMart, Kroger, Meijer, Target. Gigantic stores filled with mainly dull-eyed workers working for somewhat better than average pay and benefits but the conditions suck. Not enough bodies to do the work and asshole management right up the chain of command. CEOs make obscene salaries.

Woke Corporate: Whole Foods, Trader Joes. For years, these two have promoted their progressive cred as being worker friendly. But now, one wonders how their workers feel about them now that they have revealed themselves to be just another bunch of garden-variety, union-busting assholes. You can add Starbucks to this list even though it isn't a market. Having said this, folks seem friendly enough.  

Semi-corporate but laid-back: Fresh Thyme, Foods for Living. People I've encountered are relaxed and friendly. 

Family: Westlund's Apple Market, Horrocks. Folks I've encountered at Apple's are relaxed and friendly. Very much a neighborhood store. Horrocks-being family-owned has worked for them. They consistently are inventive in making the market a destination stop between the vast array of food, drink, bakery, deli and garden supply for sale. It says a lot about an operation when you see the cadre of workers who have been there 10+ years. They are still successful despite the persistent issue of lack of people to hire that continues to plague the service industry.

Awful Family: Better Health. The worst retail operation I have ever seen. Worker's nickname for the store: Better Hell. A shit-show from top to bottom with poor pay, incompetent home office management with crazier than usual retail customers.

Progressive hybrids: Eastside Lansing Food Co-op, Campbell's Market Basket. Neighborhood markets offering fresh veggies and fruit, baked goods, limited grocery. EFLCO, being located in the Allen Place complex, offers a number of community services and partnerships with the business incubator also in the complex.

                                   

 

EPPO DOEVE

Eppo Doeve, 1907-1981, was a painter, graphic artist and illustrator. Born in the Dutch West Indies (now Indonesia), he moved to the Netherlands in 1927. Here are some ad posters from the post-war years.

These were commissioned by the Artis Zoo in Amsterdam. C and I visited there one v chilly New Year's day. We had a light breakfast in the zoo cafe and watched as the giraffes were having theirs.

 

A classic ad for Amsterdam's famous son-Heineken beer.

STRANGE MARKETING MESSAGE SELLING A NEW MEN'S COLOGNE

 

This is a new men's cologne: The Most Wanted by Azzaro. The ad I have seen features a whippet-thin GQ model/dude who had his back molars yanked proclaiming "I'm wanted, I'm dangerous" with images of him fingering crypto currency, driving along some resort coast in a vintage Mustang, surrounded by beautiful babes. He's that  cliched "bad boy" that supposedly is irresistible to some ladies, one of whom turns her hand into a gun and "shoots" him. After all, the packaging looks like the cartridge cylinder for a .38 caliber pistol. Azzaro's description of the scent reads like a sommelier's: top note-cardamom, middle note-toffee, base note-amberwood. 

You just have to wonder who this marketing appeals to? Everything George Santos wanted to be but never will.

THE MYSTERY OF THE STAR BETELGEUSE

This red super giant, located in Orion's shoulder, suddenly dimmed in December of 2019. Now, it has brightened significantly from being the 10th brightest star to 7th. What is going on?

PLANTING DONE

I finished up late last week.

Two raised beds with the tomatoes, lavender in the far pot

The fountain with calla lilies (barely visible) with peppers and coleus in the raised bed

Persian Shield with tradescantia

Upper pot oregano, rosemary and tradescantia; lower pot heliotrope and scaevola

East Garden: top left-cup plant, bottom left-tithonia; top right-coreopsis, gazania, echinacea, bottom right-echinacea, blue salvia, vinca, butterfly weed. Note the loss of Japanese willows due to 4 years of Summer drought as compared to a photo from 5 years ago.

Rule of thumb in these parts: plant on Memorial Day weekend. Well, I gambled and 37° is predicted for tonight. I clothespinned a bunch of towels around the tomatoes.

 

PS-temps were only 39°. Everything survived.

 

Bud was lounging on the deck when his pal Sky decided to push the envelope and came within 2 feet.

After Sky came closer and closer 3 times, DHS finally had enough and took action. "Move along Tree Rodent"

I had bought the wrong Cheez-its-Puffs instead of Snaps and they were dreadful. I put them out with some bread crusts midday and by the afternoon, the bread had been eaten. The Puffs? Well, Sky says it all: WTF is this stuff? It certainly does not look natural. Maybe there's some seeds in the grass.

Early evening, I walk back into the Great Room and I see this triangular rerun of the Good, the Bad and the Ugly about to play out: young Stampy, Bahdra and our Buddy, who is looking quite curious at the skunk. Not wanting to experience an uncooperative Buddy as we tried to wash the skunk stink off him (the latest: dish soap, hydrogen peroxide, baking soda), I opened the window and made noise. All three skedaddled in different directions, thank goodness. Mom and I had a chat with Bud about Stampy. Keep your distance from them, lad.

A FARMER'S LAST SPRING

 

It was early May and he lay in a nursing home hooked up to monitors. This was the first Spring planting he had missed in the 62 years he had farmed. He couldn’t sleep much. The catheter drove him nuts. With his body’s warranty giving out, he felt useless and didn’t liked being fussed over by the nursing staff, his wife and daughter. At least the boys will get the soybeans planted as the weather had finally dried up.

His people had been farmers going back to the old country, Slovakia, and beyond, into the ancient past. He had helped his father on his 120 acres and took it over when Dad “retired” meaning, he couldn’t physically do it anymore. Like father, like son he thought as he drowsed. Now, he owned or rented 1800 acres. You have to have that much land to try and break even.

There’s an old joke that farmers don’t go to Vegas because their way of life is one giant gamble. The house is always against you: the weather, the commodities markets, government regs, the enormous cost of machinery that you have to know how to maintain. There were good years and bad years and his wife would joke that a good year meant they were less in debt than others. Yet he made a living. And for many guys, the gamble was the catnip, to overcome all that was aligned against you and in that season, you won. You felt like you had won a million bucks.

You had to love it otherwise it was simply too hard of a living. And indeed, he did love it. Getting up while it was still dark, smelling the coffee his wife had made and sipping it standing on the porch, watching the stars fade and hearing the birds beginning to sing as breakfast was cooking. There were many sublime moments as this. Like walking in the evening, a cold beer in hand, through a field of freshly mowed hay, a big full moon rising in the East. The rhythm he felt with the earth, sowing in the Spring as it opened up, harvesting in the Fall. Maintenance and planning for the next year during the cold months. Repeat. He felt strong kinship to those over the centuries who had come before him doing this very thing. He was proud to be a farmer and there was such satisfaction at the end of the season.

Where did the time go? he thought. I’m done but I don’t want to die here. I want to leave in my bed, in my house, on my land. He felt ready to move on but that was in the Lord’s hands. He had had a good life. His crops had probably fed thousands over the years. He had 16 great-grand children. He worried about leaving his wife alone-she had been with him since the start. She was such a blessing as were his children. He had fantasies of walking out of the care facility and head for home. Go to his favorite hill overlooking the rolling fields, lie down, stare up at the stars and wait for the Lord. And then his people would return him to the sweet earth that made us all.

A cardinal’s call roused him and he looked out the window and saw that it was barely light. 5.30 am he reckoned. He wanted to go sit outside with a cup of coffee and just feel the day emerge as he had done so many mornings before. Selfish he thought, dragging the night nurse up and the only coffee to be had was from a vending machine and was terrible. He thought about planning his exit. He had some time, based on the whisperings he had heard. This wasn’t about suicide-a mortal sin-it was about this projected long slide hooked up to machines in a strange place. No. He was going to be firm. Eat what he wanted and be at home. Medicare would pay for a home nurse to come out to help his wife and daughter out. Enjoy the time I left, he thought.

Suddenly, he felt acutely exhausted and realized he didn’t have it in him to fight what was coming. Outside, a breeze sent blossoms from a cherry tree out in the facility’s yard into a swirling blizzard. Two crows flew up, perched in the top branches and began to caw. The watchmen had arrived. He knew the sign, having seen it time and time again over the years out in the fields. The house was going to win this final hand. He was surprised how this realization calmed him. Watching the cherry blossoms floating by, his gaze focused on a single petal and felt himself attach to it, surrendering to the currents taking him to the fields of Elysian.

UNFORTUNATE NEWS

 

I was in the kitchen and heard Buddy mewing outside. I looked out and he was trotting up the deck with something in his mouth. The first kill I have witnessed, a small sparrow. He ate a portion. I think he wanted to come in with it to show what a good hunter he had been.

We had hoped this would not happen but it has. He is a predator. We can only hope he doesn't rampage through our wild neighbors.

SPRING PLANTING

Yesterday, I finished the deck planting-tomatoes, peppers, herbs, annuals. We got a series of showers in the afternoon that got stuff wet with little accumulation.

What's left on the table go to the East Garden.

We noticed that ever since going outside, Buddy enjoyed hunkering down in the raised bed, satisfying his feline need to be in a elevated situation in order to keep an eye on things. So, I rearranged the plantings so he could keep his watchpost.

CRITTERS OUT AND ABOUT

 Rare sighting at MSU: an Eastern Grey Squirrel

C cleaned out the Department's frig at work and there were many treats available for a limited time at the Diner

Chocolate covered donut

Soft shell tortilla

Our mating pair of Blue Jays enjoying the bath

At the Diner with Lil' Woody on the feeder

Tiger in my backyard

This is the first time I've seen Buddy in the classic feline stalk pose. His prey: a pair of robins 10 feet away. Umm, dude, those are the state bird. Not good. We have yet to find evidence of any kills, inside or outside. We're pretty happy about this...for however long it lasts.

Buddy snoozing in Moll's old soft basket. He cracks us up with way he often has a leg sticking out somewhere. Here, like a 6'6" guy trying to fit in his childhood bed.

Skunks stop by at the Diner

A young Stampy cleaning up the refried beans from C's department leftovers. He has a bit of white at the very tip of his tail with a short "V" extending over his shoulders.

A second round of frig leftovers the following day brought another skunk to the Diner. We think this is Mum of the Stampy shown above-they both have a very thin white blaze extending from forehead to nose. I believe this is BigMama who has visited many times over the past couple of years. We wonder if her kit's white shoulder "V" will eventually extend across the entire body like it does with his Mum's.