ILLUSTRATION BY PAWEL KUCZYNSKI

 Coming on the heels of my 11/29 post about the Stoics and Nero.

SNOW AND TREE TRIMMING

12/5-It snowed the night before and we received about 3", enough for schools to close as with the wind, the wind chills were fierce at times. Out and about, folks were shocked by this abrupt onset of Winter as if Winter said: "yeah, I gave you a taste a few days ago and then I went in full bore. Enjoy!".

 

Mr. Redbird was a morning customer at the Diner.

A lone turkey stopped by but he decided to go back over to Benny's, who has seed scattered on a table.

There were snow squalls on and off all day but the sun came out a bit now and then.

One of our buddies hunkered down on Father Birch:

It was brisky out but folks were hungry and visited the Diner.

12/6-C and I went and chopped down our tree. He's smaller than last year's model but he is still beautiful and scents the library. We're so lucky with Buddy-he's so polite, never a climber or ornament walloper and he enjoys the scent as well. We think it reminds him of his favorite observation posts under the evergreens we have planted around the foundation.

Our traditional tree trimming celebration: snack: homemade vegan Chex mix, drink: I enjoy a couple of drams of "mother's milk" Drambuie, C likes her non-alcoholic cabernet. While we're hanging the ornaments, C has The Nutcracker ballet from 1977 featuring Mikhail Baryshnikov (who will turn 77 in January!) on the tube. (C danced some ballet in her tender youth)

We ventured to other versions, particularly featuring Coffee (Arabian dance). It's quite interesting to see these interpretations in respect to choreography, costumes and set design. Here's a buffet:

 

12/8-mostly sunny day getting up to upper 40's, melting most of the snow. 

12/10-little wind, 43°-I went and raked the leaves in the Back 40.

12/11-the turkey bros visited the Diner. Curiously, no one overnight ate the orange rind.
 

In true Michigan form-another arctic front is swinging down by Thursday with the temperature forecast of 18°high 8° low with 2-4" of lake effect snow. Thankfully, it will be short-lived as temps will be back into the 40's for the weekend.

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I came across an article on FB about oak leaves-readers will remember my seasonal chores dealing with my neighbors abundant leaves. Why do oaks hang on to their leaves? Well, there's a name for this-who knew?

When trees hang onto their leaves, it’s called marcescence. Marcescence is the phenomenon where certain trees and plants, such as oaks, retain their dead leaves through the winter instead of shedding them in autumn. This occurs because the abscission layer, which normally allows leaves to detach, doesn't fully develop. The exact reasons for marcescence are not entirely known, but several theories suggest it could protect buds from winter desiccation, provide nutrients to the soil when leaves eventually fall in spring, or deter herbivores with less palatable twigs.

When you walk through the woods at this time of year, you will see some oaks with leaves and some without. This is because some oak species are more prone to marcescence than others. Some juvenile species of oaks, commonly including bur oak, tend to keep their leaves. As trees mature, they tend to lose their leaves or only keep them on lower branches. I have also seen where they sporadically keep leaves top to bottom. Local climate and even genetic differences between trees of the same species can cause some to hold onto or lose their leaves differently. 

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This week, AT&T announced that they would be ending landline service in the US by 2029-certainly an end of an era.

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 A Winter Charm of Lasting Life-A Scottish Folk Song

White the sheep that gave the wool,
Green the pastures where they fed,
Blue and scarlet side by side,
Bless the warp and bless the thread.

May the charm of lasting life
Be upon your flocks in full,
From the hill where they rest,
May they rise both whole and well.

Bless the man who wears this cloth,
May he wounded never be.
From the bitter cold and frost,
May this cloth protection be.

Now is walked the web we spun,
Winter storms may rage in vain,
Bless the work by which we won
Comfort from the wind and rain.

White the sheep that gave the wool,
Green the pastures where they fed,
Blue and scarlet side by side,
Bless the warp and bless the thread.

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Fun vids:

A NYT vid about the land art mega sculpture project "City" by Michael Heizer begun 50 years ago.

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2022/08/19/arts/design/michael-heizer-city.html

Lansing once had a Heizer piece "This Equals That", a series of rust colored shapes installed on the west side of the Capitol Complex in 1980. It was quite controversial-it cost nearly a half million dollars at the time and many felt it looked like junk. It was dismantled in 2002 due to poor condition. 

One warm summer evening probably in 1980-81, my pal Jim Moksha Barnes and I, after imbibing, drove over and visited it around midnight or so. I had brought a frisbee which we tossed while amidst the towering sculptures. Soon, we had State Police (who are in charge of Capitol security) coming over and demanding that we come with them. After some terse questioning, we were released. 

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A nicely done Ai short: The Cotton

Haluski readers know of my travails with Mamachuck. I am not alone in having to defend my garden against these voracious beasts:

A holiday short featuring Dick Van Dyke and Valerie Harper!

What if animals were round? Rollin' Safari:

 

Siberian Flying Squirrel with Attenborough:

A collection of river meanders:

POETRY AND LIGHTS-POEMS BY CHERYL CAESAR

Since 2020 our local independent newspaper, City Pulse, has featured a holiday tradition called Poetry and Lights. It began as a response to the dark days of Covid and local poets were invited to create pieces with the theme of light. My wife Cheryl Caesar has contributed every year.

C reading at The Poetry Room, 2018, REOTown Lansing, MI

 

2020-Each Morning So Far

Each morning I get in the car and find
The center convex-prism rear-view mirror
Turned up to day position for my spouse:
That is, set to night vision for my height.
I see a flattened world in tones of grey,
But clear enough, I think. It’s good enough.

And yet each day I pull the mirror down.
Sunlight pours in, forever a surprise.
Each day, I think, the world hands me the choice
Of Plato’s cave. Give thanks! each day, so far,
I’ve turned away from shadows to the light.

 

2021-Ritual of the Hearth

My calves against the warm 
hearthstone give thanks 
for the pressure, as my back 
is grateful to the fire.

My mate on the sofa, mouth moving, 
body at rest. Our old cat curled
like a warm china teapot, purring 
a murmured prayer. I rejoice. The ritual
emerges. A moment, transcendent,
a signpost on our lives’ 
journey, shared and blessed. 
Life sprouted, they say,

from liquid, where molecules meld, 
and so we made water and wine 
our sacraments. But solids too, if we let 
the wafer melt in our tongues’ 
juice, always patient, never biting.

If we are attentive, we can find
the sacrament in air. Now I hear
a mitochondrial hymn of praise 
to oxygen, a trillion strong. 

If we are attentive 
and quick, we can find it in fire:
how it dances like a spirit over the log
body. How it flickers up
in a star, a hearth, a spark from calico fur.

2022-Advent

It’s the last day of school before Christmas                            
vacation. Scholastic books have come in. Atop
my stack, a round-limbed gingerbread cookie

made by the teacher just for me. This weekend
I will stay with a neighbor, as the raging
ruler of our house will be away.

There’s this feeling I get when I know
something’s coming to me, wrote my eight-year-old
self in the book with the tiny gold key.

Time opens before me. Soon after I will learn
the word anticipation, and later, advent.
But already I feel it, the quiet turn toward celebration,

as two calm days stretch like a desert night sky,
with books guiding me like a star, and a round
smiling cake saying, This is what you are:

 
no misshapen freak, but perfect as the child
in the manger. The household Herod will break
into the diary, mock my words, scold,

demand a rewrite. But I carry the still, and share
with you on this holiday: a card, a carol,
 a wish, a prayer: that you may

have peace like the blue depths of the sky,
the faithful light of your own lodestar,
and a smiling face repeat to you each night:

You are perfect and beloved, just as you are.
May the gentle kine enwreath you as you sleep,
warming you with their hay-sweet breath.

2023-Stored Energy

Every time you stooped to pet the cat
and she reared up on two legs,
fitting her head into your hand
like a ball in a cup;

And every time you went to shut the fridge
and the door so graciously said, Allow me,
and finished closing itself;
And each time
that magnetic charging cable leaped
into the port, like an eager cadet;

Not to mention all the green lights
you hit, and the mornings
(rarer now) when the life force
propelled you from your bed
before the voice of duty called;

Surely these have all been adding up.
Surely there’s a cache of energy
somewhere. Didn’t Einstein say
it’s never lost? Let’s go

through pockets, and turn over
sofa cushions, like kids
who hear the ice cream bells.

Let’s scoop it up like Ali Baba’s
armfuls of gold, sprinkle it like dust
from Tinkerbell’s wand, on every head
we meet. Let’s all glitter like sequins
on a tap dancer, shimmer like tinsel
on a tree. Let’s spangle. And then:

reach down to your innermost
branches. Flip that forgotten
switch. And shine, shine, shine.  

2024-Saving Stars

Winter came sudden this year,

dark and cold. It feels somehow

final, like the world’s last 

night. But it might just be 

my own. It might be that I

am unable to tell the difference.

At Thanksgiving dinner we looked out

at the yard, covered in oak leaves, said

to be toxic. A raccoon wandered in circles, 

slow and clumsy. Old? Sick? Dying?

We put out food and warm water. The animal

seemed half blind, past noticing. There was nothing

left to offer but our wishes for an easy death.

Do you feel it too?

We are moving forward in the dark

with our tiny candles cupped in cold hands

against the wind. We are burning 

twists of hay, like homesteaders, 

in the endless labor of staying alive.

We are trying not to dwell

on the entropy: planetary

or only personal. Eventually, 

all our stars are going out. 

There is nothing we can do about that.

But on this winter afternoon,

I am setting out my own stars, bright

spots like the yellow maple leaves

on the tannic oak lawn. 

Will you join me there? I’ll begin.

 

FIVE SECOND STORIES

Eugene Grasset-1896

11/29-Lake effect snow on and off all day and into the evening, sometimes with fat flakes. A stiff breeze. Mr. Purple Finch sat at the feeder, back to the wind, turning now and then to peck a seed.

4pm, a deep and dark November.
 

12/1-precipitation for November continues to lag behind normal. For the fifth year in a row, 2024 was below normal at -.55". The past three months have been a total of 5" below normal. Some of this lake effect snow will help.
 

12/2-Sun and turkey bros at the Diner!

Freddie holding his own amidst the giants

Later, they stopped by with a couple more of their posse

A lone yellow leaf among the brown oaks

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One of the things we admire and appreciate about our feline family member is his intelligence and politeness. With the onset of cold weather, he enjoys going onto the dining table in front of the big windows to keep an eye on things in the Back 40 and Diner complex. Now, cats don't expend energy needlessly and often, following a visit to the table, he would like to join me on the couch. But geez, jump down off the table, walk around, jump up on couch-what a pain! Bud's solution: "let's go horizontal"-table to couch arm to couch. Just one problem: Dad's TV remote which often is on the arm. 

Buddy, who is a polite cat, goes into his Bastet pose:

staring at the remote. This is his way of communicating with us and after a couple of instances (in quick succession to reinforce), I figured out what he wanted. 

I removed the remote and in an efficient, singular movement, he jumped from the table, bounced off the couch arm, flew across my lap, landing next to my left thigh pivoting 180° to finally lounge across my quilt-covered thigh. He did this in a flash and settled in for some premium scritches from his Dad.

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Curiosities:

Migaloo, the albino humpback whale first sighted in 1991 off the coast of Queensland, Australia. Last reported sighting was in 2020.

 

Watermelon snow-from Wiki:

Watermelon snow, also called snow algae, pink snow, red snow, or blood snow, is a phenomenon caused by Chlamydomonas nivalis,a species of green algae containing a secondary red carotenoid pigment (astazanthin) in addition to chlorophyll. Unlike most species of fresh-water algae, this species appears to be cryophilic   (cold-loving) and thrives in freezing water.

This type of snow is common during the summer in alpine and coastal polar regions worldwide. Here, at altitudes of 10,000 to 12,000 feet (3,000–3,600 m), the temperature is cold throughout the year, and so the snow has lingered from winter storms.

Rainy season in Brazil's Lençóis Maranhenses National Park where the rolling sand dunes are filled with water:

Mt. Etna, Italy volcano blows smoke rings:

Fun vids:

Qiantang river, China tidal bore at sundown

What we're up to on Mars with our Curiosity rover:

Holiday shorts:

"The Short Story of a Fox and a Mouse"

 The workaholic Gordon Goose  "Christmas Tree":

 

Rollin' Wild Christmas:

 

 

 

FIVE SECOND STORIES

11/23-Chilly, grey, damp November-DHS making a quick patrol.

Beginning the season of lights: 

Seen while out and about:

I have seen none in my neighborhood-I saw a pair on the Lansing Eastside.

 

11/24: Mid-40's with little wind. I mowed over more oak leaves. The sun came out now and again but it was pale, barely casting shadows.

 

Things were slow at the Diner, Juncos on the ground and a lone male Purple Finch at the feeder.

Buddy has been hanging out a lot at Benny's Diner and shed. I think there's small mammals that move around between the shed and house as I often see him in his upright, intensely watchful pose. Our tiger caught sight of me.

Later, I was on the couch and I heard him come in through the portal. I looked to see if he had a kill in his mouth and sadly he did. Evidently, he was a frustrated predator and decided to go for an easy mark amongst the avian ground hunters-he came in with a Junco. I quickly grabbed a dust pan and hand broom and gathered up the poor thing before Buddy had settled in for a feast. I scolded him for bringing in a kill. The hope is that if we can catch him and show disapproval both with our voice as well as taking away his meal, this might be a deterrent. I put the Junco out behind the brush pile. Back inside, I found a single feather.

11/26-38° with a stiff wind, feels like 28°, but at least it's sunny. The golden tree by Farm Bureau's solar array now nearly leafless but with enough for him to ask the photographer "hey, get my good side".

 

This reminded me of a post last year featuring an image from a Pink Floyd album from 1997:

11/28 Thanksgiving-it was a calm day but only in the 30's. I spent a couple of hours mowing the oak leaves in the front. Later, Buddy enjoyed hanging out with me before supper in front of the fire looking elegant with his crossed paws:

Supper: puff pastry mushroom tarts with dijon mustard and caramelized shallots, dressing, mushroom gravy and baked carrots.

The next morning 26°-it had snowed overnight. Side roads were nasty-looks like rain had begun then froze as it switched over to snow.

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In one of the latest Futurama's, there was an episode concerning time travel that dovetailed into a parody of "Back to the Future" and the problems of going to the past and having the hots for your mama. C was reminded of a novelty song from the late 40's-"I'm My Own Grandpa" which I had not heard of. Written by Dwight Latham and Moe Jaffe based on a Mark Twain tale in his 1883 book "Wit and Humor of the Age." Here is Willie Nelson's cover-and the lyrics are so mind twisting that you could quote them to a robot resulting in it screaming "THIS DOES NOT COMPUTE!!!"

Now, many many years ago
When I was twenty three
I was married to a widow
Who was pretty as could be

 

This widow had a grown-up daughter
Had hair of red
My father fell in love with her
And soon the two were wed

 

This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life
My daughter was my mother
'Cause she was my father's wife

 

To complicate the matters
Even though it brought me joy
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy

 

My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad
And so became my uncle
Though it made me very sad

 

For if he was my uncle
That also made him the brother
Of the widow's grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my step-mother

 

I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa
It sounds funny I know
But it really is so

I'm my own grandpa

 

My father's wife then had a son
That kept them on the run
And he became my grandchild

For he was my daughter's son

 

My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue
Because, she is my wife

She's my grandmother too

 

I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa
It sounds funny I know

But it really is so
I'm my own grandpa

 

Now, if my wife is my grandmother 

Then, I am her grandchild

And every time I think of it
It nearly drives me wild

 

For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw

As husband of my grandmother
I am my own grandpa

 

I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa

It sounds funny I know
But it really is so
I'm my own grandpa

I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa
It sounds funny I know
But it really is so
I'm my own grandpa

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A wry fable about uninformed decisions from the French animated series "Minuscule" about a beehive's search for a peaceful setting to do their work. A classic rule of three plus where the pattern and joke are extended.

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My YT feed has been jammed with the following gambling ad from BETMGM featuring Jamie Foxx. It's called the "second chance"-you bet on a player to score the first TD but instead he scores the second, you get your money back.

You could go wild with the permutations of second chance-

-if it's his mama's birthday

-it's a full moon day

-the seventh play of the 2nd quarter is made by a blonde-double your money if he is left-handed

No wonder the Feds forced the industry to include the 1-800-Gambler number if the public has a problem. Sheesh.

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Yi Peng Festival in Thailand:

Nice Ai image:

Those darn robots: Alexa does a good job making a wolf sound:

 
Just in time for Thanksgiving!: "Studies show that watching a beaver eat cabbage lowers stress by 17%"! or... imagine sitting across from a human version at a big holiday gathering:

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Adventures in FUBARland-history has been full of toxic, narcissist rulers. In this vid, hosted by the Daily Stoic, features Nero and his behaviors which sound very familiar.

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European cities placed on North American map with similar latitudes:

Yep-Paris, France is at the same latitude of Thunder Bay, Canada on the North side of Lake Superior! With this in mind, check out the following vid detailing the science of ocean currents and what may happen when they change.

Scientists have figured that currents collapsed like this during the last ice age. It took 1000 years to recover.

Meanwhile, the leaders of the world dither, dither, dither. And the US will be going backward. It's all about the money.

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 Why is the Red Sea called the Red Sea?

1. Algae blooms that turn red. However, the algae is not widespread.

2. Large underwater rocks close to shore whose minerals give the rock a red cast. Again, not widespread.

3. Most probable: many ancient mariners used color to name the cardinal directions-red=south, black=north, white=west, green=east.

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From 2004, Bob Dylan reflects on how his songwriting abilities have changed:

I don't remember hearing about this. It occurred to me that this is common with creatives-they have these magical periods when new work flows-and then it changes. I thought about other artists who were hot for a period then cooled-some into obscurity. The Beatles, Billy Joel, Gillian Welch come to mind.

 

The rise and fall of psychedelia:

Passing noted: Peter Sinfield (27 December 1943 – 14 November 2024) 

Founding member and lyricist for the prog-rock band King Crimson. When I was living with the guys at the Omega Hotel, we very much were into the prog-rock genre and his band along with Yes and Genesis were turntable staples. Their debut album "In The Court of the Crimson King" was one of the first and influential in this genre. It was unlike anything I had ever heard: dark and ominous with the surging mellotrons with lyrics to match yet on other tracks, dreamy and soft. 

One of my favs from the first album from 1969-"Moonchild". The entire song was a suite clocking in at 12:13 including "The Dream" and "The Illusion".

 

 

Call her moonchild
Dancing in the shallows of a river
Lonely moonchild
Dreaming in the shadow
Of the willow

 

Talking to the trees of the cobweb strange
Sleeping on the steps of a fountain
Waving silver wands to the night-birds song
Waiting for the sun on the mountain

 

She's a moonchild
Gathering the flowers in a garden
Lovely moonchild
Drifting in the echoes of the hours

 

Sailing on the wind in a milk white gown
Dropping circle stones on a sun dial
Playing hide and seek with the ghosts of dawn
Waiting for a smile from a sun child