In the Hebrew Talmud, the book where all sayings of rabbis are conserved over time, it says:

Be very careful if you make a woman cry, because God counts her tears.

The woman came out of a man’s rib, not from his feet to be walked on.

Not from his head to be superior, but from his side to be equal.

Under the arm to be protected, and next to the heart to be loved.

When my younger daughter, Little Gem (7) was four, and we were in the tub one night, she said,

Mama, there are two ways to make a baby…

one where the sperm meets the egg…

and then there’s the other way…

the way in which it just happens…

Four years ago I worked with a student whose father is the captain of a freighter… 

He is always away for a year at a time…

off at sea…

This was very hard for his little girl…

so we brought him into our life at school…

charting his route on a large wall map, writing letters, following the ships coordinates, and learning about the countries and continents he traveled to…

We even made WANTED posters offering a reward for the return of the Captain…

He sent back letters, postcards, and a DVD showing a tour of the ship and his professional and after hour activities…

The whole crew is fine with me here in spite of a very long journey… we played games on the weekend like basketball, table tennis, Bingo, and watching movies… every Saturday we have a grill party…  this has become a ritual… not before but only during my command… I like my crew to be well balanced in their morale, personality and health… it only makes sense to keep them better because of the nature of our job… away from home one needs strong camaraderie…

He even wrote of the threat of pirates…

and how he has to sleep with a pistol under his pillow…

in case of attack through the Strait of Malacca…

That Christmas I volunteered for an organization which provides services for the men who live and work on the ships anchored in Burrard Inlet and English Bay…

Services like knitted socks, internet, table tennis, care kits and a hot turkey dinner…

And she walked through a harbour town...

My older daughter Starshine once said to me,

Mama, you might be sad that you don’t get to be with us all of the time…

but think about this…

some people never see their children…

I do think about this…

I also think about families that are separated…

for better and for worse…

forced separation, for all kind of reason, that happens all over this world…

Yesterday afternoon, as the sun was setting in my upper floor, I read a story about the internment of Japanese-Canadians written by Thomas King in Our Story… Aboriginal Voices On Canada’s Past… 

This part broke my heart…

So Coyote gets all the Women Enemy Aliens and the Children Enemy Aliens out of that Livestock Building smells like horses and cows and sheep, and that one gets those Men Enemy Aliens with those targets painted on their backs from that other place, and that Coyote puts all the Enemy Aliens into the back of his pretty truck says, “Okada General Store” on the door…

Okay, says that Coyote, let’s start dispersing.

So that Coyote drives that truck into that valley, and then that one drives that truck into those mountains, and then that one drives that truck onto those prairies…

What about those Enemy Aliens with the targets painted on their backs, who look pretty angry?

Oh, says Coyote, those are the dangerous Enemy Aliens. They’re going to Angler, Ontario.

Holy, I says, those Enemy Aliens must be real dangerous have to go to Ontario. Have any of the Enemy Aliens caused any troubles?

Not yet, says Coyote, but you can’t be too careful…

In his contributor’s note King writes:

I’m not suggesting that Native people have suffered the way the Japanese have suffered or that the Japanese have suffered the way Native people have. I’m simply suggesting that hatred and greed produce much the same sort of results, no matter who we practice on.

So never ask a writer why he wrote something.

You’ve been warned…

This is the first Christmas that I have ever spent with my children, completely free of family obligation…

I’ve been working up to it, and this year I made it happen…

My mother, from her own pain, said a lot of things at Christmas, including,

Smile at me the way you smile at your friends…

when she was taking Christmas pictures…

I looked long and hard through all of our family photo albums and I was the one who is always smiling…

looking happy…

Sometimes people don’t see the sunshine that you fill up the house with until you aren’t there anymore…

then they have to admit that the cloud they saw you through belonged to them,

and not you…

You have your own clouds…

but you know that your light is always there…

underneath the clouds…

and that clouds come and go with the changing weather…

My gift is my song... and this one's for you...

This morning, after opening presents, the three of us went back to bed, to read together…

and Little Gem said to me,

I have a message for you…

you have to love yourself…

all the parts…

even the parts you don’t like…

I asked her where she got that message from…

She said,

It was in my brain…

and my brain was telling me to give the message to you…

All I want for Christmas...

Now, I’m probably one of the few people to admit that I, for the most part, dislike “feel good” movies, especially those with a Christmas theme associated with them and found on the Hallmark Channel. They’re too cutesy, too fake and too tied up with a red ribbon on top. Not to mention the bad acting that accompanies these colossal wastes of time. Please. “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “Miracle on 34^th Street,” and “A Christmas Carol” are fine, but add any other  “feel good” films to the mix and I go into” too happy endingness” overload. But something has happened recently that has caused me to question my severe dislike of such “feel good” movies.

The second week of December, I was lucky enough (I used the word “lucky” because you wouldn’t believe how quickly dogs get adopted at the Larimer Humane Society. One blinks and the dog that they were interested in is gone) to adopt a two-year-old Shetland Sheep Dog. Granted, he had his issues at the outset as my parents and I became acquainted with soon enough. He was very jumpy and nervous, as a result of having his ears and tail pulled and his toys taken away by the children with whom he last stayed. And much to my poor father’s dismay,it was clear that  he didn’t get on well with men, running away as he did with my father’s very approach or voice. Despite those lackings, he  was a beautiful dog, who we were told was slow to trust, but would warm to us after a week or two, so we chose to believe the shelter volunteer and brought dear Cody Edward home to Windsor.

Once home, he followed my mom and I around constantly, my own Secret Service Agent as I started to call him, never wanting to be separated from either of us. He was loyal yet skiddish, running away every time a leash was brought into his vicinity, fearing surely that he was on his way back to the shelter.

It was closing in on two days that Cody had been a member of the Paxton household and at 10pm on day two; it was time again to take Cody out to do his thing. My dad volunteered to do the honors and seemingly, as soon Dad got Cody outside, he was furiously ringing the doorbell and banging on the front door. Mom and I rushed to see what was going on but, I had a feeling that I already knew what had transpired in that split second of time.

Cody had gotten free from the leash and taken off for parts unknown. Plus, this was no ordinary night in Northern Colorado. A massive snow storm had caused the temperature to dip into the single digits during the day; the dip was even more pronounced after dark. To add insult to injury, Northern Colorado is known as coyote country, not exactly a friendly place for a twenty-nine pound, frightened dog. I got into my car and along with Dad, canvassing the area, at first driving in the direction we believed that Cody had run, then in subsequent drive-bys, followed tracks thought to be Cody’s through the bright, white snow. No luck. We circled back a third and a fourth time only to find no success. No Cody anywhere in sight. Even my dad, who I could tell was pretty upset by this time, was ready to halt the search. On the drive back to the house, we tried reassuring each other that either he would run toward the Wal-mart Distribution Center and someone would bring him back from there or someone would return him to the Humane Society, where his microchip would bring up my information so that I could be called to come and pick him up.

It was approaching 11pm by the time we got back to the house, and Dad hurriedly fled to bed. I just sat in front of the TV with Mom, letting the events of the last hour sink in. After the shock had worn off, the tears slowly began to fall. Through the search and aftermath, I had this nagging feeling that I had somehow allowed this to happen as I flashed back to my mind’s running message board on the day of  the adoption (I was later reminded, December 7th, at day that “will live in infamy”). It appeared to be gently nudging me to tell my dad to just go home, that I had rethought my decision to adopt Cody. While my Dad had been holding the instrument that precipitated Cody’s abrupt departure, maybe it should have been me; maybe this should have been my guilt to bear.

The next morning, the anticipation for a phone call informing us to come pick up Cody from wherever was palpable. Dad, still clearly shaken up, apologized for his actions and hugged me tightly. I just stood there hugging him back, not replying and not knowing why I didn’t just tell him that it was okay.

That day, my family was all on edge of our seats, hoping against all hope to hear some news either way of our escaped, newly acquired canine. Wednesday ended and Thursday dawned. All three of us had just about given up hope.

Seven thirty Thursday evening found me in front of my computer, downloading songs from iTunes. In the midst of my downloading frenzy, I heard a bark, quite close to the house. I looked out, saw nothing and figured that maybe someone was out walking his/her dog. I returned to my downloading. Seconds later, I heard a second bark. Again, I peered out the window and saw nothing. Again, my attention returned to my computer, vowing that if I heard a third bark, I would go outside to see who the mysterious barker was. Sure enough, a third bark sounded out in the night. I alighted from my chair, went out to the garage and headed towards the side door. Seated in front of the door was a dog and as it was dark, I couldn’t instantly tell what type of dog it was. So I opened the door and who was sitting there with a big, ponderous leash from Bed, Bath and Beyond still attached to him? Cody Edward. Disbelief was my initial reaction. Upon touching him and not having my hand pass through, the questions mounted in my head. What exactly had he been doing for two days and who had he been with during that time? My dad was convinced that angels had taken care of him, spiriting him back to us when the time was right. Against all of my instincts and better judgment, I have to admit that this was the first time in my life when the idea of angels seemed plausible. Was this event to be my Christmas miracle? I would appear so. While disbelief of how the events of the week unfolded still clings to me, much of that feeling has been replaced by happiness to have dear Cody Edward back. And lest you think that no transformation happened within me as a result, do me a favor and watch at least one Hallmark Christmas movie this year. As for me, it appears that I have recently starred in my own holiday special. Merry Christmas!!

Thanks to Sean Dixon for the tip.

Recently I witnessed a Native American Church baptism. As the last man got up to join the others on the blanket, a replica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, he turned to me and jokingly said, “I couldn’t do this without you Michael.” My immediate response to this Sun Dancer, whom I met the previous month at a South American Medicine Ceremony, was “have a seat on Coyote’s Magic Carpet then.” The Road Chief and his Drummer chuckled at this seemingly private joke and began singing Native American chants. My son Turtle was baptized by the same man six years ago. That story is in Riding Coyote’s Tail http://ridingcoyote.blogspot.com/ I had shared it earlier in the morning with the Road Chief, so it was semi-private. I guess it takes a coyote to recognize one.  The Sun Dancer was the biggest coyote in the Tipi that morning.  He also has one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard.  Bravo Nephew Jim!

I took off on my usual Sunday mountain bike ride today, alone. Without my trusty riding partner, it meant I got a late start (which happens with no fire under my ass). It also meant the gods must know what they’re doing because I was treated to quite the solo adventure.

Halfway into my ride, as I came down one of the rolling hills along the ridge, I saw an older couple walking up ahead in the middle of the fire road (there is at least 8 feet of space here), so I rang my bell, moved far to the left to go around them, and announced, “On your left!”

Before I even got to the left of the woman, she turned around holding a big stick (like four feet long for sure!) and waved it at me with a huge, crooked toothy scowl.

“You better watch out!” she hissed with her stick in the air.

“Oh my god!” I thought, as I felt, or imagined I felt, a rush of wind on my back that was her swinging the stick at me, which triggered a vivid sensory recollection of the time I was running down Marguerite Parkway and a carload of high school boys drove by and whacked me on the back with a whiffle ball bat. No joke! This really happened.

Grateful I made it safely past the wicked witch of the west ridge, I gathered what composure and confidence I could (because something like that happens and you start to question yourself: Did she and her partner really need 8 feet of trail space to themselves? Should I go back and apologize? How is it that she was so ready to lunge at me with that stick? Hell no! I’m not apologizing. I rang my bell, I announced my presence, we had 8 feet of trail space to share, I moved way to the left, WTF?), and headed to the end where I could go down the backside of Cholla and head home via a fun single track called Coyote Run, or Trail (whatever).

Clearly shaken up, I faltered over a couple sandbags going down the steep grade that I had no problem with yesterday. The image of that wiry old woman swinging her stick and yelling at me lingered in my head. “What if she crammed it between my spokes for heaven’s sake?!” I made it down the grade, around the corner, and back on the main road heading to Coyote.

Once on Coyote, I got my groove back (again using my bell as I neared corners and small ridges). As I rode through the trees and came out to an open space, I saw the trail’s namesake ahead just left of my path. He saw me, ran off as I got closer (strangely, I wasn’t afraid to keep going when I saw him), then he stopped in front of a group of trees about 30 yards away. I watched him watch me go by.

At first I thought he was a fox because he seemed small and much better groomed than the last coyote I remembered seeing, and this reminded me of a dream I had ten years ago in which I was blow-drying my hair in the upstairs bathroom of my parents’ house while a fox watched me from the outer edges of the house. He just paced back and forth and watched me. I wasn’t afraid in the dream either, and now I wondered if this possible fox sighting was finally revealing to me the still-puzzling meaning of that dream. But, it was definitely a coyote today, so my dream remains a mystery.

Next, I prepared for yet another attempt up a super steep, single track, short climb that I re-did five times two weeks ago with no success. I had it in mind that it just wasn’t possible for me, but yesterday, Meghan and I watched a guy make it look easy, and he told us we could do it.

So this time, with new found nope, I came around the corner, shifted up (or down, whichever one makes it easier to pedal), and charged up the trail only to put my foot down a couple feet further than I’d made it previously.

“Errrgghh!” I turned around and went back down.

I waited for a couple guys to go ahead of me, then I started again, in a new gear this time. Suddenly, I found myself past the part I always crash on, then up to the part I usually see other people crash on, then over that part, and then I was at the top. Holy shit! I did it! Yes!! This is best feeling ever!

I sailed down the front side and exited onto the main trail heading back to my car, the whole time trying to suppress my smile to prevent bugs from flying into my mouth.

When I got to the paved road leading out of the park, I passed a guy who then caught back up to me and asked, “Did you make it up the backside of Coyote?”

“Yeah! It was my first time, finally! I’m so excited! How did you know to ask that?”

“I passed you waiting to go up.”

“Oh! Nice!”

“Congratulations!” he said.

“Thanks!” I replied, beaming even more because how much sweeter it is to share a victory with someone, even a stranger. “Yes!”

Digital Image by Pdxrailtransit

Johnette Napolitano wrote a great song about our relationship with the coyote, Hey Coyote, from the album Mojave from Concrete Blonde.

by Carl Strang

This is another of my species dossiers, consisting of what I know about a given species from my own experience. I started the dossiers in the mid-1980’s.

Fox, Red

Initial summary: Common resident of mixed fields, brush and woods edges in northern IN, northern IL, south central PA. Also seen on tundra in western Alaska. Near Culver, IN, seen most commonly in winter, when they are frequently active and visible at a distance during the day. In summer, occasionally flushed from resting spot beneath a bush in an old field.

In Alaska they foraged for mice, birds, eggs and young waterfowl in summer. In tall sedges they attempted to pin birds and mice by listening for them, then leaping high and coming down with front legs together and extended straight down. Cached eggs singly, burying them near where found.

Den found on 2AU71 in high bank of tundra lake in bluffs area near Kokechik Bay, western Alaska. Entrance faced south. Well worn paths leading to water 15 feet below and to top of bluff 7 feet above. Entrance about 1 foot in diameter. A second entrance on top of hill. Fish remains.

At Blackwell Forest Preserve, in June, their contact calls heard at night: a high-pitched whining scream or “yipe,” beginning and/or ending with a harsher, rougher, strangled sound. In May 1986, on a walk through the forest at the Morton Arboretum, DuPage County, IL, I felt the need to freeze. Soon a yellowish-colored apparition came toward me, following a dry streambed that passed 30 feet to my left. Soon the red fox came into clear view, a chipmunk dangling from its jaws. It was walking fairly quickly and directly, not looking from side to side. Chipmunks gave single “chip” calls and were silent as it passed. It went by me, then after another 20-30 yards came to a sudden halt, spun around, and at a faster speed came back past me. I suppose it had caught my scent where I crossed the stream.

Trot on thin layer of snow over ice. Width of entire path 5 inches. Travel left to right.

           RF                               LF

RH       o                    LH      o

 o                               o         

     3.5″        10″              3.5″

13JA87. Red fox bed in Willowbrook Back 40. Snow 6″ deep, was compressed in a 15″ diameter area. May have been flattened with feet first. No hair, but claw marks in bottom of bed probably from stretch as the animal prepared to leave. Bed in area where brush slightly denser than average, and concealed well by grasses on one side. Photos next day after some melting (bottom of one part melted out). Odor of fox evident on day it was made, not detected following day.

17JA87. Red fox lope. Front feet bigger, back feet have rounder heels. Body held at an angle to direction of travel.

LF       RF                              

 o         o                     RH       LH

                                      o         o

4FE87. Fox at Willowbrook cached a short-tailed shrew, and apparently stopped by later to check on it.

6AP87. Willowbrook fox still present.

17AP87. I saw the fox.

27JE87. McKee Marsh area. A red fox passed just north of sawdust storage pile. In thin summer fur. Saw me as it came even with me, 50m away (I was standing, but still), and it ran into tall vegetation.

23DE87. Fox swam across Glen Crest Creek at Willowbrook several times in recent days.

3JA88. McDowell Grove Forest Preserve. Several pictures of newly excavated fox den, with rabbit remains at entrance. In gravel bank above floodplain of stream.

9JA88. The McDowell fox has used the river ice intensively as a corridor and for crossing (tracks especially heavy opposite den).

15JA88. Followed Willowbrook Back 40 fox’s wanderings through last night’s inch of new snow, Back 40. Nearly all the time in steady diagonal walk or trot. Relying on nose for clues? Occasionally deviated to investigate rose bush or brush tangle.

17JA88. Blackwell. Rain melting snow reveals a superabundance of meadow voles (also found 2 dead voles), near where kestrel had picked the one found on the 14th. Predators taking heavy advantage. Fox tracks all over.

23JA88. Alternative trot pattern, body straight with path of travel? McDowell. Even spacing throughout (within and between sets), 12 inches separating (slow lope? But so close together?). Travel left to right.

 LF       LH                   LF       LH

  o        o                         o         o

            o        o                          o        o

           RF       RH                     RF       RH

Foxes highly active last night (rabbits, too). 1″ snow fell just after sunset.

28JA88. Fox tracks in normal walk separated by 14-18″. After 2 full days of no fox tracks, suddenly after last night the Back 40 is filled with them.

29AP88. Fox seen at Pratts Wayne Woods Forest Preserve. Stopped many times to look back at me as it ran away.

10SE88. One seen Herrick Lake F.P. Seemed weak, or perhaps simply expected me not to notice it there.

2NO88. Willowbrook. Tracks have returned to Back 40, after disappearing during summer of marsh excavation and nature trail construction.

15JA89. Red fox tracks at Herrick Lake Forest Preserve: one fox’s set had a pattern for a long distance, on cleared path with ice and a thin snow cover that had partly fused to it, of a mix of walk and trot, i.e., two walking steps and a trot step.

24MR89. Winfield Mounds, tracks. Red fox moved from walk to trot (body angle version). Step increased from 16″ to 18-19″, and more on toes.

22JE89. Scats in Willowbrook Back 40 packed with mulberry seeds. The berries first ripened within the past week.

7SE89. Red fox tracks near marsh. Fox also crossed Park Boulevard last night.

8SE89. Back 40, fox walking stride average about 16 inches, heel to heel.

19NO89. Tracking coyotes in half inch of snow that fell last night on McKee Marsh area. Ponds frozen. Coyotes’ activity heavily on and around them. Frequent rolling, sometimes in urine. Fox tracks absent from wide area I walked in N. Blackwell. Were common before; have coyotes driven them off? (In late 90’s, foxes resurging; researchers say mange took them out).

20NO89. Red fox tracks, Willowbrook, soft soil (but true track size) 1 5/8L x 1 3/8 W.

14DE89. Willowbrook. Fox direction of travel when track partly filled with snow: slides foot in at an angle, lifts it straight out. Covered a lot of ground last night. Played a while with the caged fox. Below 0°F last night. Rabbits, mice and a muskrat active.

16DE89. McDowell. Foxes and coyotes present. Foxes about 12-16″ between steps in walk, coyotes 15-20.”

19DE89. Willowbrook. Fox carried stiff dry weed stem 1.5 feet long for some distance, dragging end in snow. Play? Were mink doing same at Herrick and McDowell last winter?

21JA90. West Chicago Prairie, on Prairie Path. Fox slow lope, maintained considerable distance. 9-14″ (variable) between footprints, tend to be greatest from the Left front to the pair of tracks. Gait developed out of a trot, body-angle version, with 11-12″ between pairs of tracks and 2″ (along axis of travel) between the members of a pair. The slow lope appears to be a common gait along here today, either an individual preference or controlled by the quarter inch of snow that had fallen earlier.

          LF       LH                  

            0         0                      0        0

 0                     0          0                    0

RH                   RF                              

26JA90. Willowbrook. 4 inches of snow dumped in heavy wind yesterday. Last night wind calmed. Sticky snow on all plants. Mice and foxes, some rabbit activity. Fox taking longer (16-24″) walking steps. Lifted leg to mark (male?). A common slow lope pattern, so similar to the diagonal walk as to be almost indistinguishable in this snow depth. Appear to be LF, RF+RH, LH. Space between sets of 4 tracks slightly greater than spaces between. Travel left to right:

 o                    o                    o                    o

          o  o                                      o  o

(actually, slightly longer hole in snow where right feet are close together)

22AP90. Winfield Mounds. Tracks near SE corner of preserve, near houses.

26JA92. Hidden Lake. A red fox in forest bedded for a time atop a fallen log, bed 8″ diameter at bottom, 12″ diameter overall. Fox removed a bit of a burdock bur with some hairs. Bed 2.5 feet above ground, on a hillside. Fox had walked along top of log to reach the spot.

From 1993 to 1997, red foxes were scarce in DuPage County. I don’t remember seeing any on the preserves during that period, and essentially no signs. Coyotes, meanwhile, became abundant. Beginning in 1998, I began seeing red foxes again. Coyotes remained abundant.

1AP00. Red fox scats on Heritage Trail, Morton Arboretum, near its southern boundary with Hidden Lake Forest Preserve.

In the 2000’s I seldom have encountered red foxes or their signs. Based on reports from phone calls to the forest preserve district, and occasional sightings of my own, I have the sense that red foxes now are mainly animals of residential neighborhoods, and are much less common than they once were in the county. Their place on the preserves has been taken by coyotes.

Now with more bad ass fewer give-a-damns!!!

Just in folks!!! The 5.o liter V8 that Ford is dropping into the 2011 Mustang will be churning out 412hp!

What’s that, you say? Not as much power as Camaro and Challenger? Dude, like it matters!! The 4.6 liter V8 was never too far behind the Camaro 0-60 time and just ahead of the Challenger’s.  Need I remind you, that was back when the Mustang only had a 315hp answer for 422-426hp of the competition.

412hp isn’t as much as 426, but the Mustang started out being lighter than both of it’s rivals.  Even if the 5.0 liter V8 weighs more than the old iron 4.6 (it shouldn’t because the 5.0 is aluminum), it won’t be enough to matter.  This isn’t just a chess game of power numbers, but of power-to-weight ratios.

The Mustang had the new muscle market corner right until the Challenger hit the streets.  Then the Camaro put up it’s dukes and claimed superiority in 2009.  But like a lot of things in the universe, the car industry is cyclical, and the Mustang is poised to be the leader of the pack again in 2010.  Oh look! A rhyme!

-Triple_Deuce

Just made a run in to town to get some propane for the shop heater, hit the PO and grab some pork for the potluck tomorrow. Just put over 10 pounds of pork butt in the oven with my own home made rub…in about 8 hours it will be ready to “pull”. We can take it to Tori’s Work potluck tomorrow. Today I will be doing more work in the shop, got the over head cabinet stained yesterday for the guy in Denver, (I’m trading for a granite slab for the cabin). I’ll also do some more oiling on the doors and trim for a client in Rollinsville. Just as I was heading up the last hill to the house a pretty good sized Coyote hopped onto the road in front of me, and then headed up the side of the hill. This was the first time I have seen one this close to the house. He also was the biggest one I have seen yet….he was bigger than Maybelle by a couple inches…maybe 60 pounds. I wish I had the camera in the truck It would have tough to get a shot…but worth the try. Since I didn’t get one , here is one I found online.

Tori and I have been making some progress on getting the house ready for the holidays. The tree is up, about half of the girls presents are wrapped, and the guest room it transitioning back to its role as sleeping quarters, from its normal role as our shipping and receiving dept. The weather has turned for the nicer side of freezing, and it is a pleasure to feel temps 40 to 50 degrees warmer than last week.

I bought some aluminum attache cases this morning on E-bay. These will be the start to the Solar powered “Laptop Stations” I will soon be building. I started a wood case a about a month ago, but decided it was bit heavy and bulky..its not the fist time I have changed my design mid way through a project. I think the Aluminum case will add a bit of “tech” class to the project and make them way more user friendly. My upgraded laptop is due from Fed Ex today, this one will have a slightly bigger screen (10.1 from 8.9) twice the RAM and twice the main drive…I went with a SSD flash drive for more reliability…My old one is for sale …$260 with case…any takers?  its only two weeks old.

I need to finish up the covers for the DVDs we are shipping out to family and friends…so long for now.

by Carl Strang

November had been unseasonably warm. I heard Carolina and Allard’s ground crickets singing on December 1, the latest I have heard any singing insects in DuPage County. But it wasn’t to last. A major winter storm, complete with strong winds, a significant snowfall, and temperatures dropping to the single digits Fahrenheit, arrived in the second week of December.

Mayslake Forest Preserve, like most of the eastern U.S., received its blanket of snow, though only 2-3 inches accumulated locally. The low temperatures froze the lakes. Coyotes again could use the ice for quick short cuts.

The snow revealed that the coyotes were covering the entire preserve, though apparently singly; I saw no signs of tandem hunting. Birds in evidence were mainly consumers of seeds, like these mourning doves,

and this cardinal,

here caught in the act of reaching for fruit.

I told myself that I wouldn’t jump in on this best of the decade that everyone else has been doing on just about every online printed source, but after seeing a couple of very good and a couple more very confusing ones, I went through my bookshelves and pulled out several books that were my favorite, and in my opinion, best genre books of the past ten years.

The Windup Girl, Paolo Bacigalupi
This book was released earlier this year, and while I was unfamiliar with Mr. Bacgalupi’s shorter fiction, I was singularly impressed with his first novel, The Windup Girl. I’ve already reviewed the book in length here, but in retrospect, this will likely stand up as one of the best genre books in the past ten years. The Windup Girl is not only well written, it’s well conceived, which is just as important, I think, for a future world. Bacigalupi puts together a compelling, terrifying and ultimately believable near future, with relevance and everything that good science fiction should be.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Suzanna Clarke
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell was one of the books that took me a long time to get into and to finish – I stopped and started it several times since I got it, but was never able to really get into it before I actually made the time to read. It’s a challenging book, with an older style of writing. Once I had gotten into the proper mindset, I was pulled right into Suzanne Clarke’s alternative world of Wizards, Napoleonic War and fate, and loved every minute from that point on. Clarke dispels with the very common notion of sword and sorcery fantasy novel by setting it in a far more relatable London, and approaches the subject matter in a far different manner than other books of the genre.

American Gods, Neil Gaiman
American Gods is another novel that I had to take my time to read, stopping and starting a couple times before really getting into the proper mindset that was required for Gaiman’s world. This sort of mythological story is an interesting concept, where belief begets creation, and there is a conflict brewing between the old and the new, with the protagonist, Shadow, caught in the middle. The story is a profound one, and one that I’ll likely return to someday.

Soon, I Will Be Invincible, Austin Grossman
Where a couple of the novels on this list have been akin to great feasts of old, Soon, I Will Be Invincible is a modern day family dinner, a bit rushed, fairly complete but really good. Author Austin Grossman creates an entire superhero mythology, split between a hero and villain, in a modern day setting. Where a number of comic books have stagnated, with the same characters recycled year after year, we are party to a mythology that is put together with the benefits of a realistic society. Grossman’s superheroes are just as messed up as the rest of us, and this is where the book is an incredible amount of fun, because it’s like the Marvel Universe, but all grown up.

The Magicians, Lev Grossman
Lev Grossman is the brother of Austin Grossman, and like his twin brother, he takes what was a well tread-upon world and tweaks it to become more relatable in The Magicians. Here, rather than superheroes, we are treated to wizards, and a magical academy. The style here is very different, and while there are similarities to Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Narnia, they act more as references and influences than they do style and feel. Grossman’s Brakebills College is realistic where Rowling’s Hogwarts is not, and imagines the fantasy world as one akin to ours.

The Lies of Locke Lamora, Scott Lynch
I learned of Scott Lynch through a friend of mine, and when I picked up his debut fantasy novel The Lies of Locke Lamora, I was already pretty excited, and was impressed with Lynch’s style of storytelling – his fantasy world is different from the typical sword and sorcery take that a lot of fantasy novels seem to have taken on. Like other authors on this list, he has put together an incredibly well conceived world, one that was vibrant, dangerous and interesting all at the same time. Lynch’s follow-up novel, Red Seas Under Red Skies was just as good, and I’m eagerly awaiting the third installment of his series, The Republic of Thieves.

Altered Carbon, Richard K. Morgan
Altered Carbon debuted with quite a bit of buzz, when it was released. Richard K. Morgan’s first book about a noir mystery in a conscious/body swapping sounds like something out of the worst dregs of B-movie Science Fiction, but the result is a dark, exciting and intelligent SciFi thriller that I think of as Blade Runner, but more violent. The first of the Takeshi Kovacs trilogy, Morgan weaves together a complicated and twisting futuristic tale, one that had me guessing throughout the book.

The Amber Spyglass, Philip Pullman
Where Harry Potter was the real fantasy show stopper of the decade (and for good reason), I’ve always thought that Philip Pullman’s Golden Compass trilogy (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and the Amber Spyglass) was a bit marginalized. Pullman’s fantasy tale is more than that – it pulls in elements of science fiction and alternate worlds to put together an epic story that goes from a childhood fantasy adventure to discovering the nature of existence itself, while a war between two sides of that sort of question rages on across multiple universes. The Amber Spyglass, the conclusion to the series, is heavy with meaning, questions and utter brilliance, and is far above and beyond most genre books to begin with.

Coyote, Allen M Steele
Allen M. Steele’s Coyote was first serialized in Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine, and is still a joy to read after several sit-down sessions. Grounded in quite a lot of hard science fiction, Coyote tells the story of a near future colony of humans who steal a massive space ship from their fascist American government and find themselves on Coyote, the moon of a distant planet that was deemed a good candidate for colonization. The story follows several characters as they learn to exist on this hostile new world, in a story that is very reminiscent of the origins of America. The follow-up books in the series are good, but this is easily the best. While the story isn’t groundbreaking, it is a great deal of fun, covering a number of popular themes, chief of which is exploration and discovery, which helps to remind me why I love this genre so much.

Halting State, Charles Stross
Charles Stross is one of the preeminent science fiction writers of our time, and his novel Halting State demonstrates that he’s really clued in to what might happen in the next couple of years. Halting State is a book that I’ve talked about before, but what makes this stand out for me for the past decade is Stross’s understanding of how the future might work, from technology to politics to economics, all of which are brought in for this story, expertly woven into the actions of the protagonist, and really make this a stellar read.

City of Pearl, Karen Traviss
Karen Traviss has been making a name for herself with the tie-in world with Star Wars, Gears of War and Halo, but this first book in her own universe outshines them all. City of Pearl is a wonderfully realized book, the first in a six book series that puts together first contact, interstellar politics and warfare, environmentalism and bioethics. Spanning the course of several hundred years and across a couple of planets, this book puts all of that in with a number of intriguing characters and well conceived plot lines. The bonus is Traviss’s cynical attitude towards humanity, which makes this book a bit of a break from most of the human-centric stories that I’ve read.

Think about this, I think that this is a good list to have put together. In a very big way, the past decade has been the most formative when it comes to my tastes in books, music and movies, and where my interests in Science Fiction, Fantasy and related genres really came from. This decade marked my high school years, where I not only transitioned from a Star Wars only diet of reading material to the larger classics: Dune, Ringworld and Foundation, to name a few.

While I got most of my base from these classics, most of the books that I’ve picked for this list are far from the classics – at points, they take a lot of the best themes and turns them on their heads, realizes a number of well conceived notions in new light and makes the genre something new and interesting to read. While reading these books, I’ve come to realize that the field of science fiction is not one to be left mired in the b-movie territory that long characterizes it; it is a dynamic and interesting field, one that will continue to thrill fans in the future.

…or in other words, wildlife.

I mentioned earlier in a previous post that Dr. Stephen Chen, my dentist is a photographer too. He likes to shoot wildlife, so we’ll go shoot wildlife together, these are some photos from a recent trip.

Stephen said this egret (below) looked like it was doing tai chi. ha! he’s a funny man.

This guy thought he could camouflage himself in the trees to hide from me. This little bird sucks at camouflage.

This bird below is what I believe a North American Mallard. The same kind of ducks you used to shoot in Nintendo’s Duck Hunt.

I have  almost an exact replica of this in a painting form that I painted when I was younger.

This is the big bad wolf. Or maybe it’s a coyote, and it’s not that big. He looks pretty haggard, I have some friends that look like this on the weekends.

“Meet the wiliest of all coyotes: Hit by a car at 75mph, embedded in the fender,road for 600 miles – and SURVIVED! When a brother and sister struck a coyote at 75mph they assumed they had killed the animal and drove on. They didn’t realize this was the toughest creature ever to survive a hit-and-run. Eight hours, two fuel stops, and 600 miles later they found the wild animal embedded in their front fender – and very much alive.

Daniel and Tevyn East were driving at night along Interstate 80 near the Nevada-Utah border when they noticed a pack of coyotes near the roadside on October 12. When one of the animals ran in front of the car, the impact sounded fatal so the siblings thought there no point in stopping. ‘Right off the bat, we knew it was bad,’ Daniel explained. ‘We thought the story was over.’ “

COYOTE V. CAR (Photo’s)

No, I am not touchy feely about varmints, but I do have to give this one the animal survival award for this year. And, for those that are quick to remark on your favorite varmint round, this is pretty impressive….give the dog his due.

So this is my first comic – yay! I hope you enjoy it. I’m not committing to a multi-day schedule just yet. Enjoy the once-a-week posting for now.

Edited to add: It’s been brought to my attention that for some viewers the last panel is cut off. This seems to be the result of different screen resolutions. I’ll be looking on how to fix this but in the meantime – for maximum enjoyment use maximum screen resolution. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Donald Conrad

The Last Prisoner

The first explosion stopped him dead.

A coyote began to growl and he couldn’t turn away from it to look. He had made it to his first goal, the rocky outcropping. It was the closest change in the barren waste. There were probably more coyote around, but so far it was the only one to show.

When the bus went over, he knew he would run. The rumor-mill inside never mentioned successful escapes. The sequence of events—tire blow-out, bus swerve, ditch, and flip—offered an opportunity. The iron grate in the roof popped out like an escape hatch when the bus twisted to a stop.

He was looking at the horizon behind him when the plume from the second explosion rose in the air. His mind flashed to an old Monty Python episode in which everything seemed under attack with an occasional and curt, “Waaah” thrown in for effect. As if the one being blown to bits could utter such an exclamation. The realization struck him that the inside of the bus must be splattered with gore.

He didn’t see exactly what happened as the bus was going into the ditch, worried as he was for his own skin. Of the seven prisoners being transferred, he was the first to move. His chain was locked to Mini’s seat. When the bus went over, Mini’s weight tore the seat from its mountings. Mini was the biggest friggin’ Mexican he had ever seen, and now was glad for the acquaintance.

Someone else must have gotten out. The third explosion came from a different direction. They were going off a couple of minutes apart. He went through the order. “Ram” Ramirez had been shackled into the front seat. He was the most likely to be a problem, easily flared into violence. Then there was SoCal Sam who liked them young yet understood that beggars couldn’t be choosers. The third one was St. Pierre. He talked to himself. Surprisingly, he had enough wits about him to get away.

The Wander Guard got him anyway.

He pulled the opening of his shirt away to look down at the lump under his skin. Between his left nipple and his breast bone a tube had been inserted as big as a cigarette. It was the one thing he received on his first day at Louksome Prison that he didn’t have to carry to his cell. Proximity to the prison kept it inactive. During transport, the guard in charge carried a device with which he had to account for each prisoner every ninety minutes.

There was a little more time before the forth was taken out; perhaps four or five minutes. It came from the direction of the bus. The coyote walked to a new position, undecided on whether to attack or wait it out for a better opportunity.

He thought about the last time the officer had scanned the Wander Guards. He had just finished St. Pierre and was just about to scan Tupper, the big smiling black guy, when Ram started in on SoCal Sam’s sexual preferences which appeared to be all-encompassing. It slowed the guard down. Ram’s actions, then, had bought Tupper another minute later on, perhaps with which to pray. Knowing Tupper, that’s exactly what he did with his time.

He looked to his hand, the one with the broken bottle neck. It was a tall boy; Schlitz. The bottle broke just where the dark brown glass began to flare out from the neck. His motivation for picking it up outside the bus was as weaponry. It might have been discarded years ago awaiting his arrival.

He considered the Wander Guard he carried. Supposedly, there was no surviving its small explosion, given its location. If it didn’t blow a hole in your heart, the shrapnel shredded the wearer’s innards.

He uncurled his fingers to study the jagged edge of the bottleneck. He could do this. He pulled his shirt away again to see the lump.

The fifth explosion came from the direction of the bus. It had to be the Weasel. That skinny bastard definitely had it coming.

Time was running out; a minute or two at best. He felt as though he didn’t have it coming. He hadn’t killed anyone like these other men had. The coyote took a few steps back to its original vantage point.

He turned the bottleneck to an advantageous edge and dug in, scooping the tube shaped thing under his skin and cutting into flesh. Blood welled up as he tried to fish it out. It had been inserted while he was sedated. There was no scar; there would be now.

Another explosion—from the bus again. Mini was simply too big to get out the hole in the roof of the bus. Girth had its drawbacks.

He was next, the last prisoner. He had a finger under the skin, his other hand pushing the tube shaped thing from the lower end. He didn’t relinquish his pain with a scream, gritting his teeth instead.

He growled—pushing one end and prodding with a finger.

It was coming.

He could feel tearing under the skin.

It was anchored somehow. Finally he had a grip and yanked it out. With a fluid motion he threw it away from him, not taking time to study his potential assassin.

He watched it spin end for end. The coyote snatched it out of the air. It swallowed and licked its chops.

The explosion was muffled more than he was prepared for. The coyote emitted a light whine as it toppled over.

The last prisoner felt exonerated, abandoned, and free. He began walking toward the foothills that were miles away, thinking of new names.

Skimmerhorns

This photo of the Skimmerhorns was taken near Creston, B.C.

Coyote

This photo of a young coyote was taken near Duck Lake, B.C.

Young Eagle

A young Bald Headed Eagle flies into the clouds near Duck Lake, B.C.

Rough-legged Hawk

A Rough-legged Hawk hunting voles near Creston, B.C.

Rough-legged Hawk

Photo of a Rough-legged Hawk in flight near Creston, B.C.

Rough-legged Hawk

A close up of this Rough-legged Hawk was taken near Creston, B.C.

Northern Harrier Male

A photo of a male Norther Harrier in flight near Creston, B.C.

Northern Harrier Male

A photo of a Northern Harrier Male eating a vole near Creston, B.C.

Northern Harrier Female

A female Northern Harrier in flight near Duck Lake, B.C.

Harlan's Hawk

This photo of Harlan’s Juvenile Dark Morph, a Red-tailed Hawk subspecies was taken near Creston, B.C.

American Kestrel

A photo of this small falcon, an American Kestrel was taken near Creston, B.C.

]]> http://serenadraws.wordpress.com/2009/12/08/arrrrooooooooo/ Tue, 08 Dec 2009 22:47:37 +0000 serenadraws http://serenadraws.wordpress.com/2009/12/08/arrrrooooooooo/

Just getting into the holiday spirit as I draw up my annual cards and send them out:

Oh Christmas Tree I

The markets reaction last Friday to the employment numbers proves we are in a bipolar market.

As you may recall, I discussed market behavior when October employment numbers were released:

The unemployment numbers were higher than expected and the national unemployment rate rose to a high of 10.2%, to which the market responded by rallying and moving higher. The reason given by financial main stream media was higher unemployment means interest rates will likely be kept low for a longer period.

So in their Bizzaro universe, higher unemployment is reason to celebrate in the stock market.

Now there has to be two sides to every equation, which means that if the jobs number showed lower unemployment, the market move should be negative (higher interest rates), right? Well, my Bipolar Market Theory predicts that the market will move in a certain direction independent of any new information.

Now last Friday the jobs number was much lower than expected- only 11K jobs lost for the month and the national unemployment number dropped to 10%

How did the market respond? Well if you guessed it went down since this means interest rates will be going up, you’d be wrong. The market instead rallied to make another new high for the year and ended positive for the day. The financial media, as expected, linked the rally to positive signs of the recovery taking place, forgetting all about interest rates.

So in summing up we have the following:

1) Higher unemployment triggers a market rally.

2) Lower unemployment triggers a market rally.

3) The financial mainstream media will try to make both situations seem logical and expected.

From this we can conclude:

1) Bipolar market theory has been verified.

2) Financial main stream media are basically idiots and should never be looked at for insight.

3) The market isn’t trading on fundamentals at this time, which makes it equivalent to Wyle E. Coyote running off of a cliff and not falling because he hasn’t realized it yet. Technical analysis is best suited for use now and one needs to be alert to any signs of bipolar market sentiment shifting. Once the sentiment shifts negative, you will see the market continue to fall regardless of news in the same fashion as it did going up.

 A snap shot:

Eleven AM; I was sitting at my computer when Uriah starts to bark. He was outside in the kennel, which is outside the window next to my computer.

There are two windows in the room where I do my writing. One faces south. When I look through that window I can see a lattice wooden fence, my neighbor’s barn, an odd amount of leafless trees, a Blue Spruce, Mulberry tree, one small Lilac bush. Add in an expanse of grass in-between me, and all those things I just described.  Also, outside that southern facing window, to the left, is an old rosebush.

The second window faces east.

I am in a room on the lower level of the house.  So when I look out any of the windows, I look straight ahead, nearly ground level.

That east facing window has a space of about three feet between the window and Uriah’s outdoor kennel.  Which is constructed with sections of, four or six foot wide chain link fencing. I believe the dimensions are twelve by eight feet.

The kennel gate is on the north side.  A piece of wooden fencing is also connected to that section, on the outside, next to the gate. 

The Southern section, across from the gate, also has wooden fencing covering about three fourths of the chain link.  Above the kennel is the deck. The extra wood blocks some of the wind, rain and snow.  

Uriah has a dog igloo made of heavy plastic, or PVC- I am guessing at what it’s made of.  The ground is paved with light colored bricks.

When I look out the east window, I can see right into Uriah’s kennel, and he can see me at the computer.

Because of the chain link fencing, I can look directly through his kennel, straight onto the vegetable garden, which is about forty feet long; to be exact I would have to measure. Not today..

 Beyond the garden is the lawn. The lawn stretches out to the old apple trees, then onto the old evergreens.  Behind those sixty foot trees, starts the walking path.

Uriah started barking; I stood up and looked out the window. The snow was coming down heavy, big puffy white flakes.  Uriah was wagging his tail and looking east, out over the garden. For a second, I thought he was barking at the rat that steals his food.

 I saw the rat, standing in the garden on his hind legs, eating one of Uriah’s milk bone biscuits…

I blinked, trying to focus on the rat. Instead, what I saw was a coyote standing at the edge of the garden.

This all seemed surreal to me. I was watching Uriah and the coyote. The coyote was watching the rat, The rat was watching me.   Uriah was still barking at the coyote.

All I needed at that point was for one of my cats to wake up, and jump up on the windowsill.

This would make a great children’s’ book…Unless someone got hurt.