We were first made aware of this problem when Deb's son George, a world class sailor, participated in the Volvo round the world race a couple of years ago on ABN AMRO II. 'Bear' telling us that in the far southern ocean below Australia, they were finding plastics in the sea, plastics wrapped about albatross, and then as he traveled the earth's circumference there were more reports. Every where- plastics, on beaches, but mainly loading up the waters, sailing in the midst of no where, hundreds of miles from land, sometimes thousands, and plastics. So Sad, We must ban the dumping of garbage in our Oceans. Even Now the plastics will remain for ever?
Friday, January 8, 2010
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Thoughts of Trees
Trees, I hear them daily on my walks, and think how trite to think these thoughts, the conversation and the wisdom of trees. Why trite, it seems such a simple thought. Like almost all thoughts, certainly it has been thought by others walking in the forest for as long as forests and man have been on the surface of this planet together...Trees and forests, time, and the wisdom that comes from watching and experience.
I think Tolkien said it best in his characters the Ents and their Entwives. There it was; the nature of time, of man, of woman, of order, of chaos, of old growth and mold, and rugged, and spring, and happy gardens, all in these characters he had conjured up. My mother told me of these books when I was little. I remember when they were first released in the United States. I would have ordered a copy months before. We would have been at the bookstore five times or more getting books for her, and always the Tolkien volume would not be there. Not yet, and then, I would have the book in hand and I would rush home and devour it. As fast as I could, in bed and reading until it was finished and I was awed, and frightened, and unhappy I would need to now wait for the next one. So, I think of trees, and this is only a fraction of what they mean to me.
My mother, she is dead now. I hear her voices in the trees when I go on my walks through my forest that was her forest. She probably had thoughts just the same or similar. I think of her as I listen to the trees, the crack of their sap freezing in the winter and rising in the spring, their structured complaints as they bend and tug at their roots. I think as I walk through the forest, at night, in cold, in wind, with snow whirling in great white sweeps. I hear the trees and think of man, and then I try to conjure up the difference between the man of the present, the man so angry, the man of Washington, so greedy and confused. Then I think of man imagined, man of fairy tales, and forests, man of wizards, demons and ghostly goblins, bright queens and princely poets. Then, I retreat from the horrible present man. I look forward. I look back. I wonder, will we make it as a species and I don't think so? I think the trees will be shouting and they will whisper long after man has screwed it up so badly that he is gone. Then I think good riddance.
But, with this observation comes a form of wisdom. Perhaps not, perhaps. The same stumbling, shoddy mess that makes up man will improve. I doubt it, but perhaps. And, we can only hope that this is the case because it is Christmastime. The snows are blowing round me now in clustered flakes, and they are talking too. I am drifting off. Is this what happens when you freeze to death? I do not know, but it is not unpleasant, so, so be it.
I think Tolkien said it best in his characters the Ents and their Entwives. There it was; the nature of time, of man, of woman, of order, of chaos, of old growth and mold, and rugged, and spring, and happy gardens, all in these characters he had conjured up. My mother told me of these books when I was little. I remember when they were first released in the United States. I would have ordered a copy months before. We would have been at the bookstore five times or more getting books for her, and always the Tolkien volume would not be there. Not yet, and then, I would have the book in hand and I would rush home and devour it. As fast as I could, in bed and reading until it was finished and I was awed, and frightened, and unhappy I would need to now wait for the next one. So, I think of trees, and this is only a fraction of what they mean to me.
My mother, she is dead now. I hear her voices in the trees when I go on my walks through my forest that was her forest. She probably had thoughts just the same or similar. I think of her as I listen to the trees, the crack of their sap freezing in the winter and rising in the spring, their structured complaints as they bend and tug at their roots. I think as I walk through the forest, at night, in cold, in wind, with snow whirling in great white sweeps. I hear the trees and think of man, and then I try to conjure up the difference between the man of the present, the man so angry, the man of Washington, so greedy and confused. Then I think of man imagined, man of fairy tales, and forests, man of wizards, demons and ghostly goblins, bright queens and princely poets. Then, I retreat from the horrible present man. I look forward. I look back. I wonder, will we make it as a species and I don't think so? I think the trees will be shouting and they will whisper long after man has screwed it up so badly that he is gone. Then I think good riddance.
But, with this observation comes a form of wisdom. Perhaps not, perhaps. The same stumbling, shoddy mess that makes up man will improve. I doubt it, but perhaps. And, we can only hope that this is the case because it is Christmastime. The snows are blowing round me now in clustered flakes, and they are talking too. I am drifting off. Is this what happens when you freeze to death? I do not know, but it is not unpleasant, so, so be it.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Climate Protests in Copenhagen
Every time we hear Copenhagen. We remember Danny Kay and Hans Christian Anderson, and the song Wonderful,wonderful,Copenhagen. But things are not so wonderful there at the moment and it does not look like the nations of the world are going to be giving our old Planet any gift this Christmas. Not that the planet cares if it is hot or cold or stormy or full of tranquility, but humans do. For some back ground here is an interactive link to the timeline of the situation from the New York Times oddly provided on Pearl Harbor Day.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Obummer, World Peace-and the Prize
Deeply is reminded of Woody Allen in one of his movies, acting the beauty queen and mouthing, world peace, with a strange, stupid, ridiculous grin on his face.
And yes, Deeply saw bits and pieces of our President's speech. They were as usual excellent. But, so what, the man can speak, we've got it. It is the doing that is the problem. I know, I know, after the Doofus, with his inept strides, his lack of curiosity, his wars, his lies and his onslaught on all but the very rich, well, anything would have been better. And after W's mangled syntax, a warbling bright President seemed heaven sent.
Wrong, big wrong, solid wrong, completely wrong; one wonders if the Europeans get us at all. Deeply doubts it. Come on people the peace prize was nothing more than hope and a bribe of expectation. Sadly, it seems, the last European to really get the good old USA was De Tocqueville. And while he wowed and wondered at our experiment he also thought we were a bunch of drunks. De Tocqueville would not have given any Peace Prizes before the pudding.
But these are just thoughts, perhaps the looking glass will eject us, and we will find that we have not fallen down that rabbit hole. That our verbose and warbling President didn't just send 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan, didn't continue hit squads and drones a drumming ( just imagine it must be like the Empire strikes back if you are some peasant in Pakistan) The death star courtesy of America.
Hello Noble Boys and Girls, either you are idiots, wishful thinkers, or like we said two paragraphs ago, you just don't get America. How and the hell could you give a Prize of Peace to a Warmonger.
And yes, Deeply saw bits and pieces of our President's speech. They were as usual excellent. But, so what, the man can speak, we've got it. It is the doing that is the problem. I know, I know, after the Doofus, with his inept strides, his lack of curiosity, his wars, his lies and his onslaught on all but the very rich, well, anything would have been better. And after W's mangled syntax, a warbling bright President seemed heaven sent.
Wrong, big wrong, solid wrong, completely wrong; one wonders if the Europeans get us at all. Deeply doubts it. Come on people the peace prize was nothing more than hope and a bribe of expectation. Sadly, it seems, the last European to really get the good old USA was De Tocqueville. And while he wowed and wondered at our experiment he also thought we were a bunch of drunks. De Tocqueville would not have given any Peace Prizes before the pudding.
But these are just thoughts, perhaps the looking glass will eject us, and we will find that we have not fallen down that rabbit hole. That our verbose and warbling President didn't just send 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan, didn't continue hit squads and drones a drumming ( just imagine it must be like the Empire strikes back if you are some peasant in Pakistan) The death star courtesy of America.
Hello Noble Boys and Girls, either you are idiots, wishful thinkers, or like we said two paragraphs ago, you just don't get America. How and the hell could you give a Prize of Peace to a Warmonger.
Sorry For the Lack of Posts
Well, Fall came and went, along with ill health, a lack of industry, and then a whole lot of catching up. So while we have kept the site running, we, and or I, have been remiss in posting. Whoop de do this shall now be remedied with a video from yours truly in a different incarnation, plowing snow, yes plowing snow, and after you watch plowing snow we recommend you poke about a bit for articles and videos on A Bee in Winter, not to be confused with that great movie A Lion In Winter, starring Peter O'Toole and Kathryn Hepburn, Anthony Hopkins, and many more. What a use of language. Happy Holidays. Now clang, clank bang, and bluster... Voici
Thursday, October 1, 2009
New English Film Agrees With Michael Schacker
A new English Film, ninety minutes long, on colony collapse disorder, claims what has been pointed out in Michael Schacker's Book, A Spring Without Bees. Mr. Schacker was on the forefront and should be commended. See the book on the left hand side of the page. Bayer Drug company is the problem.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
New Device to Harness Wave Power
Known as the Oyster and being tested off the Orkney Islands this could be an answer for power generation for seaside cities. Clickety Do.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
New Battery research
Click Click For article on battery research for wind, for cars, for the future, for you. And perhaps Jobs, Jobs, Jobs.
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