Going Home

Thought for the day: You can't go home again, because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.  [John Steinbeck]

[image courtesy of morguefile]

Do you think that's true?

Is a yearning to go home nothing but useless nostalgia for a place that no longer exists?

And what IS home, anyway? Is it the place we came from... or is it the place we live now? Or perhaps we're like turtles, and no matter where we go, we take home with us?

[courtesy of morguefile}

I kinda agree with the concept that home is where the heart is... but what if our heart aches for a different place... where we once lived, or maybe someplace we'd like to live?

Well, then I reckon we have to suck it up, cupcake, and make the best of it.

But not always.

[image courtesy of Two Oceans Aquarium]

Meet Yoshi, a loggerhead turtle. Evidently, no one told HER you can't go home again.

In 1997, some Japanese fishermen found her... injured... off the coast of South Africa, and they took her to the fine folks at Two Oceans Aquarium, where she was treated, rehabilitated and trained to regain her strength. As she grew, she quickly became a crowd favorite at the aquarium.

                                   Here's a video of her at the aquarium in 2014:
     

                                             Um, yeah, she grew quite a bit over the years.

                                  In December of 2017, she was released back into the wild:

That gizmo on her back is a satellite tracking device. You know, so the folks at the aquarium... and around the world... could track her travels. And WOW! What a journey that ol' gal's been on.

[image courtesy of Two Oceans Aquarium]

The green marker indicates the place where she was released into the wild. From there, she headed up the west coast of Africa near Namibia and Angola. Then she turned around, went back to the area she'd been released and then headed across the Indian Ocean.

For the past 26 months, she's been swimming, swimming, swimming. Her destination? Evidently, to a loggerhead breeding and nesting area off the coast of Australia. This determined loggerhead turtle has doggedly swam more than 23,000 miles... without a break. Now that's determination. Could it be that the breeding ground is the place she was hatched... her home? Seems like an amazing possibility, doesn't it? After being in captivity for twenty years, something guided her to those breeding grounds.

[image courtesy of morguefile]

I like to think that she has, indeed, returned home.

At any rate, her journey is the longest, both in distance and longevity, that a tracking device has recorded.

She's quite the star. And hopefully, she'll be laying eggs of her own next breeding season.

Home is where one starts from. [T.S. Eliot]

No matter where you are, no matter where you may go, embrace that place, and I believe you will always feel... at home.

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Time Plods On Tiny Turtle Feet

Thought for the day:  You wanta fly, you gotta give up the shit that weighs you down. [Toni Morrison]

[seniorark]

Ms. Morrison makes a good point, but there's also another way. Sometimes, all it takes is a friend to get us up off the ground and safely to where we need to be.

You can thank the Atlanta newspaper for this re-post. A brief article on Monday reminded me of something that's happening right now in New York, something that fascinates me so much that I wrote a post about it five years ago. That's plenty of time for y'all to have completely forgotten about it by now, and I think it's a story worth retelling. It originally ran in July of 2011 as We Can Fly With a Little Help From Our Friends. With a wee bit of editing, here it is again.

*********************************

Thought for the day:  Man must  not allow the clock and the calendar to blind him to the fact that each moment of his life is a miracle and a mystery.   H.G. Welles

All's relative at a family reunion.

No, I'm not gonna go all Einstein-y on you, but the old dude was right. Time and speed are relative. Children have little grasp of time, and scant concern about it beyond the eon separating one Christmas from the next, or the interminable amount of time it takes to drive to Aunt Sally's or to their favorite vacation spot at the beach. On the other hand, as we get older, our days no longer seem to contain the full allotment of twenty-four hours, and the days, weeks, months, and years pass so quickly, there doesn't even seem to be much point in bothering to take our Christmas decorations down anymore. Like the joke says, life is like a roll of toilet paper: the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.

Speed's the same way. To a child pedaling his toy car down the driveway as fast as he can, he's flying like the wind. But if you put that same pedal car on the autobahn? Different story. And compared to a snail, a turtle moves pretty darned fast. But compared to a 747? Road kill.

Or at least,  it could be.

If  you've ever been disheartened by news stories about modern progress pushing yet another animal out of its natural habitat and to the brink of extinction, here's a story of a different breed. Right now, a piece of the modern world is hitting the pause button. Or you could say ...  it's slowing to a crawl.

You've heard of the annual running of the bulls? Well, every year diamondback terrapins leave the salt marshes of the Atlantic and Gulf coasts to take part in a slow motion stampede of their own. In this annual running of the turtles, these critters lumber to their nesting grounds, and every year, a herd of 'em crawls right through New York's JFK Airport during their trek to the Jamaica Bay Refuge Center to lay their eggs. In 2011, their journey intersected with JFK's Runway 4, and an estimated 150 turtles shut down the runway and delayed flights for approximately an hour. As one unnamed Jet Blue pilot allegedly said, "Running over turtles is not healthy for them, nor is it good for the tires." Right. I can't see as how being run over by a 747 would be particularly healthy for any of God's creatures. Life transforming, perhaps, but definitely not healthy. This year, some 400 turtles have been making their laborious way across the runways and taxiways.

As soon as the first turtles are spotted on the tarmac every year, the airport staff springs into action, and does what they do every year. They rush out to help. Some terrapins are hand-carried across the runway to safety, while others are scooped up and given a lift to their nesting grounds in the bed of a pick-up truck.




It just goes to show you. Even if we cover it up with concrete, steel, and asphalt, nature is still all around us. And it was here first. It's good to know the folks at JFK Airport understand that.

Another thing this turtle tale reminds us? Even though we may feel like a lone turtle plodding a solitary path on the scary runway of life at times, we're never truly alone. No matter what obstacles and hardships we may face, no matter what tragedy befalls us, there are support groups, both online and off, to lift us back up again. No matter what our destination, there are always other people willing to help us in our journey. All we have to do is let them. In the amateur radio community, the more experienced hams who provide guidance and assistance to other hams are called Elmers. In schools and workplaces, we have tutors and mentors. Same for most hobbies, and same for writing. Especially in the blogosphere. Not only is there a host of aspiring writers blogging about their travails and triumphs, but there are also agents, editors, publishers, and already-published authors offering a treasure trove of tips, advise, and support, and bless their hearts, the majority of them are more than willing to throw us in the back of their truck and help us across that scary tarmac. In a matter of speaking.


Know what? This old broad may still plod like a turtle, but with so many helpful friends in and out of the blogosphere, I feel like SUPER TURTLE!

You know, we can all be super turtles. With a little help from our friends.

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Sandy Claws

Thought for the day:  In all things of nature there is something marvelous.  [Aristotle]

Earth laughs in flowers.  [Ralph Waldo Emerson]

With Mothers' Day right around the corner, how about a quick salute to Mother Nature? She fills our senses with beauty, lifts our hearts, and has the power to fascinate and delight us with her endless mysteries and marvels. Aristotle was absolutely right.

Unfortunately, we aren't always as mindful of her marvels as we should be, or as protective of her wonders as we could be, so it's worth mentioning when humans show appreciation for another species by stepping back and allowing them the right-of-way for a change.

In an earlier post from July of 2011, I wrote about how airplane traffic at JFK Airport in New York comes to a halt every year to accommodate the annual running of the turtles. (So to speak.) Called We Can Fly With a Little Help From Our Friends, it's an uplifting look at how people go out of their way to help those pokey critters make it to their rendezvous with l'amour. They even go so far as to load 'em in pick-up truck beds and give 'em a lift. Well, today, we're gonna talk about another animal migration.

This one takes place on the other side of the world from New York, on an island called... Christmas Island.

Okay, so that picture isn't really a picture of Christmas Island. But that little guy in his Santa hat tickled my funny bone. Then again, if you think about it, Christmas Island isn't really Christmas Island, either. That's just the name some explorers gave it when they discovered it on Christmas Day. Kinda like those other explorers did when they discovered Easter Island. (Yep, that's another old post you might enjoy, called Everybody Loves Some Body.)

Here's a map to give you a better idea of where this little island, AKA Kiritimati,  is located. There may, in fact, be some little white dogs living there, but it's probably safe to say few, if any, of them wear Santa hats.

In fact, there are lots of interesting critters on the island. Also presumably without hats. Or galoshes.

Lots of birds, especially. Birds who don't seem to care what kind of name we give them. Like this red-footed booby. He doesn't seem to be at all insulted by that name. Maybe it's because the island is overrun with boobies, so he isn't the only one stuck with that name.

 But I digress. I don't want to talk about boobies, or any other kind of bird; I wanta talk about crabs. This crab... the Christmas Island red crab. Cute little guy, isn't he? And he is little... the shell's only about four and a half inches on a full-grown adult. And believe it or not, these guys don't live in the water; they're land crabs.

But that doesn't mean the ocean doesn't call to them.

Every year, at the beginning of the rainy season, usually in November, but as early as October, these crabs vacate their burrows in the woods, and head for the water. I'm talking a lot of crabs. Like millions of them. The males reach the beach first, where they dutifully dig new burrows. When the ladies arrive, they um, do what comes naturally. A lot of doing what comes naturally. Then the males skedaddle back to the woods, and leave the ladies behind to incubate in their burrows for a couple weeks. When it's time, the females lay their eggs in the water, and then head back to their burrows in the woods. The larvae spend three to four weeks in the water (trying to avoid being fish food, I imagine) before going inland. Words cannot do justice to the sight of millions of red crabs heading for the beach. (Kinda like a Spring Break for the animal kingdom.)

So how about a picture? Better yet, a video...

Isn't that something? As far as I know, islanders don't give crabs a lift to the beach in the back of their pick-up trucks, but park rangers do take steps to help protect the little critters as they make their annual trek. They close some roads altogether, and on others, set up aluminum barriers called crab fences, which funnels crabs off the road and into small underground passes called crab grids. Okay, so maybe some of this protective behavior may be based on the fact that those crabs have shells tough enough to puncture tires, but still...

The only thing more amazing than the sight of millions of adult crabs heading for the beach is the sight of even more of those little itty bitty ones leaving the beach and heading for the woods:

Oops, almost forgot. One more video, simply because it's funny... (and short!)

Before I go, let me ask you one question: what's the difference between a mermaid and a sand crab? Give up? Simple... one's a daughter of the sea, and the other's a son of a beach. (groan) A great big Happy Mother's Days to all you moms out there.

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

P.S. The Goodreads drawing for autographed copies of my book will be taking place on Sunday. (Sorry... for U.S. and Canada only this time.) If you haven't already entered, go for it!

[Photos courtesy of morguefile.com and Wikipedia.]

Happy Little Lizard Tail

Thought for the day:  I always keep a supply of stimulant handy in case I see a snake— which I also keep handy.  [W.C. Fields]

I've written numerous posts about dogs, cats, rabbits, and birds, but never about reptiles. Hmmm, I wonder why that is? Okay, so maybe they aren't exactly cuddly critters, but it never hurts to know a little something about them, because ya never can tell when some stray little tidbit of knowledge might come in handy.

I'm gonna share a few of those tidbits before telling you a funny tale.

Did you ever have any of these little guys as a kid? I'm pretty sure red eared sliders are still fairly popular pets, but they have been known to carry salmonella. As far as I know, our sliders never carried salmonella. In fact, they lived very happy little lives in a little plastic habitat, complete with a little plastic palm tree. Until they died of boredom.

I had one of these fellas for a while as a kid, too. Found him. Yep, I went out in the front yard, and there he was. Granted, a postage stamp yard in front of a row home in suburban Baltimore wasn't exactly his natural habitat, but there he was. Just as cute as he could be. I figured he must have been someone's escaped pet, but I couldn't find his rightful owner anywhere. Okay, so technically, I didn't look. So sue me. Wouldn't you have kept him, too? Two things he taught me: horned lizards eat a lot of flies, and I am an extraordinarily crappy fly catcher.

I'm not a huge fan of snakes, but I do admire their beauty. (From a distance.) My brother raises ball pythons, and his albinos are especially beautiful. Know why snakes stick out their tongues? They aren't being rude. That's how they smell. Same for lizards.

When our daughter was growing up, she wanted a pet iguana. Nope, no way, nohow. I didn't have a problem helping our kids care for their menagerie of cuddly pets, but I had absolutely no interest in having a scaly critter that big in our house. Sure, I had chameleons as a kid, but they were little. And cute. Iguanas get to be as much as twenty inches long, by golly, and they have to have those fancy heated rocks, heat lamps, and all that jazz. No thanks.

Instead, in my infinite wisdom, I bought her one of these little guys. Awwwww. He was a little on the expensive side, but he really was cute. Only about the size of a quarter when we brought him home, and he had the prettiest light green eyes you ever saw, and an adorable scalloped shell. Know what he is? An African spurred tortoise. Uh, yeah, matter of fact, that is the kind of tortoise usually seen in an outdoor enclosure at a zoo. See, they're the third largest tortoise in the world, and can get to be up to three feet long, and 200 pounds. Oh, and they also live more than a hundred years. She named him Yoda, and had him for quite a few years. Took him with her when she moved out on her own, and by that time, his habitat filled an entire bedroom. So yeah, he did get a little larger than that iguana she wanted. (Now he lives in a nature preserve with other African spurred tortoises.)

A couple other quick tidbits before we go on to that tale:

• Most lizards have autonomous tails, which means they can break them off to escape predators.  I must confess, I caught and snapped the tails off quite a few skinks when I was a kid, simply because I thought it was funny as heck to see those detached tails wiggle. Besides, I knew their tails would grow back again. However, now I know the regenerated tails are smaller, boneless, and sometimes of a different color than the original. (So to all those skinks whose beauty I marred, I deeply apologize.)
• Some lizards can squirt blood two to four feet... out of their eyes!
• Lizards can conserve water by excreting salt. When water is scarce, they excrete enough salt  to form a white residue on their bodies.
• Most lizards have suction cups on the bottoms of their feet.
• The gecko is the only lizard with a true voice, because he's the only one with vocal chords. As anyone who's ever seen those insurance commercials could tell you, they also speak with a British accent.

                                                             Okay, ready? Story time.

Cute little guy, isn't he? And he looks pretty doggone pleased with himself, too. Just picture that expression in the story that follows.

WARNING: This is one of those laugh-out-loud funny stories that went around the Internet without attribution some years back, so you might want to set your drink down before you start reading it.

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he said. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"

So I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. Sure enough, one of the little lizards was lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. "Honey," I yelled, "come look at the lizard!"

"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."

"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"

I was equally outraged.

"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I said accusingly to my wife.

 "Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!).

"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).

 "Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

 "Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me (Again with the
 sarcasm!).

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, and decided to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."

"Oh, gross!" they shrieked

"Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my
 wife wanted to know.

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.

 "We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.

 "It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.

 "Do something, Dad !" my son urged.

 "Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.

 "Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)

 "Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.

We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.

 "I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean, what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.).

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.

"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.

"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. And Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

 I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

 "Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

 "Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to
 happen. Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into
 maturity, like most male species, they um... um... masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his
 back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.

 We were silent, absorbing this.

 "So, Ernie's just...  just... excited," my wife offered.

 "Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.

 More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then  laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.

Tears were now running down her face. "It's just that... I'm picturing you pulling on its ... its... teeny little..." She gasped for more air, and laughed even harder.

"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car.

He was glad everything was going to be okay. "I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me.

"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.

Two lizards: $140.
One cage: $50.
Trip to the vet: $30.

 (Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless!)

****

So what little tidbit of information could have prevented that priceless experience? Simple. Most lizards... lay eggs.

Don't forget: Every comment you make here during the month of May earns you another shot at winning a FREE signed copy of Hot Flashes & Cold Lemonade. Mention it on your blog, and earn TWO shots.

Oh, and guess what? Both the paperback and e-version will be available on Amazon on the 28th!!! That's just one week away... Woo- HOO!




Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.


[Images from Wikipedia, icanhascheezburger, morguefile, and seniorark]

Duck Races, Doggie Trysts, and Aliens

Thought for the day: Contrary to popular opinion, Americans do NOT need a passport to visit New Mexico.

Here we go, back to our Yammy Fridays, as Laura likes to call 'em. Gonna shoot for every other week, I think, and we'll kick off with the next state on our alphabetical list... New Mexico, a place where  (shhhh) you can ... really get high. Matter of fact, at 7000 feet above sea level, the state capital, Sante Fe, is the highest in the country. Yup, this state is truly high and dry. Lakes and rivers only make up .002% of the state's total surface area. You ask, how dry is it? It's sooooo dry, 75% of the roads are unpaved. (No danger of roads washing away.)

As anyone who's followed the news about recent wild fires already knows, this state has a LOT of trees. A quarter of the state is covered with them, including seven national forests, the largest of which covers 3.3 million acres. Unfortunately, all those trees, coupled with dry conditions, equates to a long history of forest fires. In 1950, a bear cub found trapped in a tree after one of those fires became the iconic symbol for fire safety. Perhaps you've seen him before... he's known as Smokey the Bear.

If ya think about it, New Mexico has a split personality. Arrowheads ten thousand years old can be found on the same desert grounds where today's space age missiles are tested. The same state which hosts the International Space Hall of Fame also contains more than twenty-five thousand archeological sites and fourteen million acres of Navajo Indian reservations. State-of-the-art space age research is conducted by some of the most brilliant minds in the world, but the state residents aren't too stuffy to enjoy a festival celebrating the building (and eating!) of the world's largest enchilada, or to hosting duck races and World Shovel Racing Championships. See? Split personality. Which, in my opinion, makes the state all that much more interesting. 


Okay, enough babbling. How about some pictures?

This is the Palace of Governors, built in 1610, and located in Sante Fe. Not sure why it's referred to as a palace, but it IS one of the oldest public buildings in the country. Interesting facts: by its constitution, New Mexico has two official languages. Also, to go along with that,  two separate state songs, one in English, and the other in Spanish. (See? Split personality!)

The word Pueblo is used to describe a group of people, a town, and an architectural style. There are nineteen different groups, or tribes, of Pueblo Indians living in New Mexico, who speak four distinct languages. These mostly agrarian people have lived in their current locations longer than any other cultures in the nation. At left is a typical pueblo structure.

Thousands of bats call Carlsbad Caverns home. Don't let that keep you away, though. There's plenty of room left for visitors. The largest chamber in the caverns is more than ten football fields long, and twenty-two stories high. (Um, but better wear a hat.  And boots. All that guano has to go somewhere ...)








                                         INTERMISSION! Wanta see some ducks race?

                                        Deming, New Mexico hosts these duck races every year.

On July 16, 1945, the world's first atomic bomb, designed and manufactured in Los Alamos, was detonated at the nearby White Sands Testing Range.

The sands of White Sands National Monument really ARE white. But they aren't actually SAND. Would you believe the massive desert is comprised of gleaming white gypsum crystals?

Not much rain splashes DOWN here, but every year, some gorgeous splashes of color go UP. Each October, Albuquerque hosts the world's largest hot air balloon fiesta, and hundreds of balloonists from all over the world participate.

We can't discuss New Mexico without mentioning the mysterious 1947 UFO incident in Roswell. First report at the time mentioned a strange "saucer" that had crashed. The next day, the crash was purported to be an errant weather balloon. Even so, rumors and questions about the incident, and the alleged secret dissection of aliens have persisted over the years. The people of Roswell know how to capitalize on the lingering interest, as evidenced by the UFO Museum right in the middle of town.



Okay, time to move on and see if the fine state of New Mexico is harboring any weird laws on their books. (In English AND Spanish!)

• It's against the law for idiots to vote. (Who gets to judge?)
• It's illegal to dance around a sombrero. (Guess they have to do the Mexican hat dance around a beanie, huh?)
• State officials ordered four hundred words of sexually explicit material to be cut from Romeo and Juliet. (Yipes! No shades of gray there, huh?)
• In Carrizozo, it's illegal for a female to go out in public unshaven. (Don't worry, ladies; those lovely locks on your head are safe. But the hairy legs and mustaches have got to GO!)
• In Deming, home of the fun duck races, it's against the law to spit on the steps of the opera house. (If ya don't like their presentation of The Ugly Duckling, you'll simply have to find some other way to express your displeasure.)
• It's also illegal in Deming to hunt in the Mountain View Cemetery. (Probably don't stand a ghost of a chance of bagging anything lively there, anyhow.)
• In Los Cruces, you're either gonna have to hide your favorite Lone Ranger lunch box, or stick to the back roads. It's against the law there to carry a lunch box down Main Street.
• And last, in Raton, it's illegal for a woman to ride a horse down a public street while wearing a kimono. (No problem. By golly, go Godiva!)

++++++

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. Time for (ta-DA!)

The Weirdest News Stories of the Week

***  We all love our pets, but what do you do for your dog when he needs a little extra pampering, or when's he's feeling a little (ahem) amorous? Do you make your mutt muddle through on his own, hopping fences and running the neighborhood in search of l'amour, rutting around in the back yard like an ... animal... desperately humping your next door neighbor's leg? There IS another way. If you happen to live in Brazil. Fabiano Lourdes and his sister Daniela are opening Animalle Mundo Pet in Belo Horizonte this week, an eight-story, one-million dollar enterprise with, among other things, an entire floor dedicated to ... doggie trysts. Soon, for the mere sum of fifty dollars, you can provide your four-legged Romeo with a dimly-lit room with red cushions on the floor and a heart-shaped mirror on the ceiling. But, wait! There's MORE! This pet love hotel also offers a canine fitness center, and special party rooms, where your favorite pooch can celebrate his birthday in style. Oh yeah, and a gift shop, too, offering such memorable trinkets as a thousand-dollar Swarovski crystal dog collar. Wow. Sure gives a whole new meaning to going to the dogs, doesn't it?

***  It's possible that Triberg, Germany Mayor Gallus Strobel was only trying to drum up a little publicity for his town, but whatever his motives, he's getting it. It seems the spaces in a new car park there are designated as being either male or female. The spots are spacious and well-lit for the women, and a bit more challenging for the men: smaller, not nearly as well-lit, and located near concrete pillars. Plus, the only way to get into those male slots is by backing into them. The mayor doesn't understand all the hoopla. He says it was a natural decision, because, "men are better at parking than women". I'm sure the women in his little town don't mind. Nope, they don't mind a bit ...

***  I dunno. Maybe she asked for a divorce seventy-five years ago, and he just wasn't listening? Maybe he chewed with his mouth open, or kept pooping all over the floor. Heck, maybe he was just too damned slow for her. Whatever the reason, after 115 years together, giant tortoise Bibi was evidently DONE with her longtime mate Poldi. She ran (?) after him, and bit off a chunk of his shell. Zookeepers at the Austrian zoo, shocked by the unprecedented behavior, said, "We get the feeling they can't stand the sight of each other any more." So after just a mere115 years of turtle love, the mister has moved out to his own bachelor cage. Such is life in a fishbowl... or turtle cage. Hmmm, I wonder if they had a prenup-shell agreement?

                                      Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

We Can Fly With a Little Help From Our Friends

Thought for the day:  Man must  not allow the clock and the calendar to blind him to the fact that each moment of his life is a miracle and a mystery.   H.G. Welles

All's relatives at family reunions.

No, I'm not gonna go all Einstein-y on you, but the old dude was right. Time and speed are relative. Children have little grasp of time, and scant concern about it beyond the eon separating one Christmas from the next, or the interminable amount of time it takes to drive to Aunt Sally's or to the vacation spot at the beach. On the other hand, as we get older, our days no longer seem to contain the full allotment of twenty-four hours, and the days, weeks, months, and years pass so quickly, there doesn't even seem to be much point in bothering to take our Christmas decorations down anymore. Like the joke says, life is like a roll of toilet paper: the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.

Speed's the same way. To a child pedaling his toy car down the driveway as fast as he can, he's flying like the wind. But if you put that same pedal car on the autobahn? Different story. And compared to a snail, a turtle moves pretty darned fast. But compared to a 747? Road kill.

Or at least,  it could be.

If  you've ever been disheartened by news stories about modern progress pushing yet another animal out of its natural habitat and to the brink of extinction, here's a story of a different breed. On June 29, a piece of the modern world hit the pause button. Or you could say ...  it slowed to a crawl.

You've heard of the annual running of the bulls? Well, every year diamondback terrapins leave the salt marshes of the Atlantic and Gulf coasts to take part in a slow motion stampede of their own. In this annual running of the turtles, these critters are lumbering to their nesting grounds, and every year, a herd of 'em crawls across a runway at New York's JFK Airport while making their laborious trek to the Jamaica Bay Refuge Center to lay their eggs. This year's journey intersected with JFK's Runway 4 on June 29, when an estimated 150 turtles shut down the runway and delayed flights for approximately an hour. As one unnamed Jet Blue pilot allegedly said, "Running over turtles is not healthy for them, nor is it good for the tires." Right. I can't see as how being run over by a 747 would be particularly healthy for any of God's creatures. Life transforming, perhaps, but definitely not healthy.

As soon as the first turtles were spotted on the tarmac, airport staff did what they do every year. They rushed out to help. Some terrapins were hand-carried across the runway to safety, while others were scooped up and given a lift to their nesting grounds in the bed of a pick-up truck.




It just goes to show you. Even if we cover it up with concrete, steel, and asphalt, nature is still all around us. And it was here first. It's good to know the folks at JFK Airport understand that.

Another thing this turtle tale reminds us. We might feel like the lone turtle on a scary runway at times, but we aren't alone. No matter what our destination, there are others willing to help us in our journey. In the amateur radio community, the more experienced hams who provide guidance and assistance to other hams are called Elmers. In schools and workplaces, we have tutors and mentors. Same for most hobbies, and same for writing. Especially in the blogosphere. Not only is there a host of aspiring writers blogging about their travails and triumphs, but there are also agents, editors, publishers, and already-published authors offering a treasure trove of tips, advise, and support, and bless their hearts, they're willing to throw us in the back of the truck and help us across that scary tarmac. In a matter of speaking.

Two authors will be killing me   dissecting my writing  throwing me in the back of their truck this coming Friday. The lovely Dianne Salerni and the lovely Marcy Hatch will be critiquing the first page of my novel Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade on their blogs. Go on over and check it out. If I survive the surgery, you might even consider submitting a page of your own work. While you're checking out their blogs, you lovely people can even pick up a scalpel cut my baby to shreds   offer your valuable opinions, as well. (And remember, y'all. I did call you lovely. So be kind.)

Know what? I may still be a turtle, but with the support of so many wonderful friends, I feel like

SUPER TURTLE!!!

Super thanks to the fine folks at icanhascheezeburger.com for so graciously granting me permission to use that cool picture of the flying turtle.

We can all be super turtles. With a little help from our friends. Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.