Sibling-Less-Than-Rivalry

My brother and I had a fairly peaceful relationship growing up - we didn't ever really argue extensively, though we would squabble like any siblings. When we were growing up, we didn't have TV, so my brother and I used our imaginations to invent entertaining scenarios for ourselves. This included a "hand parrot" named, Polly, of course. Always being a "word-a-holic" (Please here see my post on Why I Can't Read Dictionaries at http://sirensecho.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-reason-i-cant-read-dictionaries.html) I had stumbled across the word "polypropylene" (a thermoplastic polymer) and thus Polly, the Hand Parrot had a stock phrase which was "Polly wants a polypropylene pea, please."

For some reason, and I'm QUITE sure, much to the eternal annoyance of everyone around us, this phrase entertained my brother and I endlessly.

But we did argue. Mostly about the line in the backseat which COULD NOT BE CROSSED, yet we crossed repeatedly anyway. And of course, "He's breathing MY AIR!"

However, most of our tiffs were relatively minor, with no major injuries on either side. Mostly.

So... we had figured out how darts worked, and had taken a set of them to go play in the backyard, throwing them into a hula hoop (or attempting - the hula hoop was fairly safe from our juvenile efforts as our aim was remarkably poor.) For some reason, my brother went racing across the yard, just as I loosed the dart. It was one of those moments of horrified slow-motion as the dart had already left my hand, and my brother went zipping in front of me. The trajectory was like a cartoon with dotted lines leading directly to... the... top... of... his... foot.

Both of us were frozen in horror as the dart stuck directly into the top of his foot, quivered for a moment, and came to rest perfectly vertical.

When he was a kid, my brother had a signature habit of gasping a couple times before he started crying in earnest. The first gasp came out, and I panicked, racing toward him and grabbing the dart, yanking it out while yelling "Don't tell Mom!!!" A little upwelling of blood rose up, a second gasp, and my repeated plea, "PLEASE don't tell Mom!"

Of course, I did get in huge trouble. I'm just thankful we weren't allowed to play with lawn darts!

And then there was the time my brother and his friend shot me out of the tree with a BB gun. Of course, they were rubber BB's, but the effect as it impacted my gluteus, was the reaction of instant surprise and me letting go of the tree branch I was using for support, successively hitting just about each one below me on the way down. I lay there in the dirt, gasping for the wind that was knocked out of me with my brother and his friend looking down at me laughing. And what is that reflex anyway, where when someone is injured you have the nearly irrepressible urge to laugh? I realize that people have emotional responses under stress, but when you experience it yourself, it's rather unnerving!

Thankfully, my childhood was relatively trauma-free, though I did end up at the hospital after dumping a huge pot of boiling water on myself at eight, and may be one of the reasons that I despise cooking. I was trying to help cook noodles, and as I was wheeled on the gurney through the hospital corridor, the light strips overhead flashed by just like in a movie. This was not the traumatic part, however, as I was pretty thoroughly in shock by that point. The trauma originated when they were going to apply "Silvadene" (Silver Sulfadiazine) and I absolutely freaked out, thinking that they were applying liquid silver to my chest and I was going to become some android/human amalgamation with Terminator-esque metallic skin beneath my actual flesh.

Yeah, my imagination works like that.

So I absolutely panicked, without having the adequate vocabulary (particularly in my shock state) and just began screaming that I didn't want to turn into a Terminator. Thankfully, my Mom somehow understood that it was the ointment that I was afraid of, and calmed me down by letting me know that it was simply a cream they were rubbing in and would not, in fact, turn me to liquid silver. In retrospect, that would've been pretty cool, but at the time being eight years old, I was completely panicked!

Thankfully, afterward I got my favorite treat of frozen yogurt! And my little brother was pretty awesome, sitting with me and reading to me while I recovered, or watching TV while I held down the couch in my Hawaiian shirt wardrobe (so that medication could be easily applied...)

But mostly our sibling relationship was peaceful, and mostly we just invented trouble to get into together. For instance, one of our favorite tricks was hiding the paddles that Mom would use to spank us. These were the plastic ones that have a small rubber ball on an elastic attached to them... though they inevitably snapped the elastic and became implements of torture instead. So my brother and I became QUITE inventive as to places to hide them to attempt to avoid spankings. However, we were relatively unsuccessful, because in a pinch a wooden spoon, a breadboard or even bare hands would suffice. Still, we ninja'd these weapons, which were fairly thin, into places including under the refrigerator, between the washer and dryer, and behind the water heater. 

We got into food that we weren't supposed to be eating, and we broke stuff sometimes... including my head once... We were engaged in an activity that we called "Couch surfing" and we'd pile the giant beanbag on top of the couch, jump on top of it, and "surf" down the two levels, the seat and then the floor. However, having very little understanding of inertia, momentum and the fact that we'd hit the floor, launch me into the VERY pointy edge of the coffee table. With my forehead.  I didn't actually crack my skull, but if you felt my forehead in just the right spot, you can still feel an indentation. AND BOY DO HEAD WOUNDS BLEED!!!

My older brother went through a phase where to discipline us two younger kids he would smack our heads together, but unfortunately I picked up this trend, and would randomly grab my younger brother and smash our foreheads together. It's a wonder we didn't suffer concussions and that he can still do math. (My arithmetical abilities were hampered much earlier on... such as apparently from birth.)

Today I'm very fortunate that I have excellent relationships with both my older and younger brothers, with MUCH less forehead smashing and foot dartboards. However, if the beanbag hadn't ruptured and spilled the polypropylene beads everywhere, you might still have found us attempting "couch surfing" - this time moving the coffee table first... 

The "V" Incident

Hi all my Blog-o-philes!
Exciting changes around here! I've got confirmed INTERNATIONAL audiences including Russia, China and even a smattering from South Korea! How they all got to my little blog defies imagination, but WELCOME! I'm glad you're here!

So for all you True Blood fans out there, no, my title "The "V" Incident" is not referring to the drug from the show, but rather to a rather unfortunate sunburn in my backside acquired on our Honeymoon. (And if you haven't read Parts 1 & 2 of "Happy Honeymooners... sort of" please go to:  http://sirensecho.blogspot.com/2013/07/happy-honeymooners-sort-of.html)

So on our Honeymoon, (as described  in my prior Honeymoon post above) I had suffered a malady (or two) of epic proportions, though I was determined not to let it get me down. Following my epic challenges of both upper and lower GI, to put it mildly, we had booked a snorkeling trip - an activity which seemed to me to be both safer than scuba diving and not requiring certification. I had never been snorkeling prior to this, and after hefty doses of Tums, Immodium, and Bonine for the motion sickness, we headed out in a Zodiac raft, the same kind that the Navy Seals use, which was tremendously exciting, terribly fast, and terrifically bouncy.

The harbor where we were going is a protected reef area, so the guide advised that we would not be able to re-apply sunscreen following our initial smearing in the office, so I had my husband smudge sunscreen  all over my back and shoulders, (thoroughly this time, unlike the time he left a handprint on my back and I spent an entire day on the river crisping a bright red background around stark-white fingers....) and I made sure to apply thoroughly to my legs - front, back and sides. We headed out of the marina and picked up speed on the raft. Our guide cruised out to the reef area, hearing a bit of information on Captain Cook, the history of the area, and we were given brief instructions, masks and fins to get ready. My husband hopped in and off he went, an old pro at this, apparently.

I leapt in and immediately started flailing around, doing exactly what the guide told us NOT to do. I swished my fins frantically and scrabbled for the surface, sucking seawater and coughing like a toddler thrown in a pool sans water wings. I flailed and floundered over, gripped the side of the raft desperately, and ripped the mask off my face. "No, no, no!" the guide admonished me, "you just put your face into the water and just paddle around a bit." I cough, choke, spray spittle elegantly on the side of the raft, and exclaim "This mask tried to drown me! It's working like a vacuum and sucking water INTO my face."
He told me to press it against my face to make a better seal, but when I tried that and (while holding to the raft like a lifeline) it did the same thing when I demonstrated by just putting my face barely into the water, a vortex of salty water rushed into my mask. Pulling the mask off with eyebrows quirked at him, he chuckled and gave me a smaller size, which when appropriately cinched down to my face worked like a charm and off I went, happily snorkeling around. In fact, I snorkeled longer than anyone else once I had functioning equipment that wasn't aggressively trying to drown me. And my efforts were rewarded as I saw a giant puffer fish, a ribbon of a Moray eel out swimming (which is apparently a relatively rare sight as they typically stay in hiding in the reef itself), a tremendous pink sea star with impossibly long arms, schools of translucent ghost fish, and more darting in and out of the reef.

However, in the midst of my happy snorkeling, my equally happy bikini bottoms were beginning a process of slow, but inevitable migration. And being in a prone position, face down and ... *ahem* derriere skyward, gave some rather sensitive areas rather more Vitamin D exposure than they'd previously experienced since I was a toddler with a propensity for removing my garments.

In a word, I was burnt. Which I realized only AFTER climbing back into the raft. And without any application of sunscreen in the protected reef area, I would have to  just wait it out until I got back to "civilization." (Not that it could've mitigated the damage already done.) So I pulled my sundress on over my suit, ate my lunch rather uncomfortably sitting on the hot side of the rubber raft, which while squishy, was incredibly hot, and I was already feeling quite heated right about there anyway. But I had no idea what pain was... yet!

We headed back to the marina, and the guide seemed to take particular pleasure crashing cross-ways to the wakes left by the other sea-faring vessels, and the wind had come up as well, leading to far choppier seas than on the way out. My husband, loving the adventure, had wanted to sit in the very front (and hence, BUMPIEST part) of the raft. I held on for dear life - not because I was frightened, far from it in fact, but for the sheer fact of trying to reduce the friction between my backside and the rubber raft - which the thin material of my sundress was doing nothing to protect from increasing abrasion.

When we headed out, my husband had really wanted to see a shark, but I had a deep-burning desire to see a whale. (Also, a dolphin and a sea turtle, but I really really really wanted to see a whale.) Well, I got my wish, and a quick cut of the motor as our guide saw the tall dorsal fins of a pod of whales. It was absolutely indescribable - the whales passed so close to us, that had I reached out fully, I could nearly have stroked their sleek sides! It was beyond description! I was absolutely in awe, but Mother Nature had more in store for us that day! Shortly after picking up speed again after the whales passed by, a pod of spinner dolphins with hundreds of dolphins came flipping and leaping. They churned the water to a white-topped froth, so many that they leapt in graceful arcs - and one young playful male was literally leaping across the front of our raft over and over again. He had a lamprey stuck under his belly, which may have accounted for his excessive behavior, but even our guide was astonished as he circled under the raft and leapt repeatedly.

I was absolutely floored! Two of my three animals I'd wanted to see, though no sea turtles or sharks. But as we pulled into the marina, there sunning on the rocks was a SEA TURTLE! So while my husband didn't get his wish, I DID get mine!

We clambered off the raft, and I gingerly went to our rental car, easing myself into the seat. My husband, ever vigilant, looks over at me with a quizzical look on his face. "What's wrong with you? "

I grimace, and shake my head, hoping to divert his attention. We drive back, talking about everything we got to see on our journey, and me, eager to wash the saltwater out of my hair and put some lotion on.  I shower, come out wrapped in a towel and very carefully begin dressing. My husband looks over at me and begins to GUFFAW.

"What... what... what happened to your ... your ...  you have a big red "V" on your BUTT!!!!?!"

If it were possible to turn even more red, I accomplished this feat.

"I got sunburnt." I mumble.

My husband is in fits at this point, while I carefully cover my blistering (literally, there were blisters!) very abraded backside and get ready for dinner. Typically each night we'd walk the waterfront, looking for a likely place that wasn't TOO exclusive and had no wait. Tonight, I asked if we could just eat in the hotel's restaurant. My husband accommodates my request, pulls himself together, and we (me very tentatively!) walk down for dinner.
The host, a very proper and well-dressed gentleman, seats us and pulls the chair out for me to be seated. The restaurant is quite full with a whole cruise ship full of German-speaking tourists, and we luck out to get a lovely table by the waterfront. I cannot help but exclaim a little in pain as I sit in the chair, and our host worriedly asks if I'm quite alright.

Before I can assure him otherwise, my husband loudly blurts out to the whole restaurant "She sunburned her BUTT!"

I gasp, once again turning brighter than the sunset over the Pacific. Other patrons turn around, gazing in amusement. I can't hide. I can't help but to suddenly become completely absorbed in the menu. 

Eventually everyone goes back to their dinners, conversations resuming (hopefully not only about the state of my backside) and normal dinner hubbub resumes - except my husband's occasional chuckles.

The "V" stayed red for several more days before the blisters popped, the skin sloughed... and I had a lovely browned strip of "V" as a momento of our Honeymoon. I'd love to go snorkeling again sometime, but this time I think I'll wear shorts...

Keep Calm & Love Halloween -- Here's Why I LOVE Halloween...

Halloween is my FAVORITE holiday. And no, it's not the vampire fangs, fake blood, and gaping wounds (though those can be fun as well) but the fact that for ONE day there is freedom.

For ONE day a year, without restriction, you have absolute permission to be ANYTHING you desire. ANYTHING you can think of in the whole wide world, without limits. I love that! You can easily wear a cape to work and no one calls the looney bin on you for it.

What happened to that?

What happened to that freedom of imagination that we all had as children, somehow cut off by social parameters to which we all (or almost all) subscribe? That innocent carefree land of your wildest dreams that becomes somehow shut off and diminished - the threat of social repercussion making us conform to a suit-and-tie mentality.

But all that falls away on one day a year. (Or multiple days, if you have a few parties to go to....)

Yet even then, being dressed up for a work party the day before Halloween, in line at Subway people chide "You're a day early!" Um... we have a work party. "Oh, because Halloween is tomorrow...."

Yeah, what's up with that?

It's like in becoming an adult somehow we think it behooves us to mock and belittle others? OBVIOUSLY we were dressed up for a reason, but why does there HAVE to be one?

I for one, fully support costumes year-round. Movie premiers, birthday parties, random Thursdays... it all sounds good to me. Sometimes we get so bogged down in the misery, the struggle, the challenge... we need something to make us laugh, lift our spirits, and get us out of "ourselves" for a while.

So all of you that take the spirit of Halloween and make it your own, I salute you! And yes, I'm dressing up tomorrow too!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

The Anti-Twilight League... or Why I Hate Kristen Stewart

Anyone that knows me knows that I am not a particularly argumentative person, normally. I usually prefer to be a part of the conversation and not the fomenter of dissension.

Except when I have my strong opinions.

Like about llamas. Or seafood. Or Kirsten Stewart...

Which is what this blog post is about.

Now, I do not know this woman personally. So my opinion is formulated solely on my experience with her through public appearance, roles in movies and popular culture knowledge.

To be blunt, I am not impressed.

After complaining incessantly for years about how much I don't like her, I finally started my own board on Pinterest called "The Anti-Twilight League" and posted gobs of hilarious anti-Twilight and anti-Kristen Stewart cartoons. (Alright, hilarious to ME, anyway!)

First let's talk about acting ability. Or apparent lack thereof. Now, I stumbled into the first movie by horrible accident. My husband and I were headed to see another movie entirely, though the movie phone misdirected us and we ended up just picking any other movie that was close to the showtime of the one we inadvertently missed.

I watched Interview with a Vampire back in the day, and while not an enormous vampire movie buff, I'm not violently opposed to them either.  So with no prior knowledge, we unwittingly went to the show. There have been only a couple movies that I've been ready to walk out on. Meg Ryan's "In The Cut" which was basically bloody violence, sex, violent sex, bloody sexy violence and no plot. The next was MacGruder... which by the time the carrot was inserted into an uncomfortable place I realized I'd lost 2 hours of my life that I would never get back. I could feel my brain dribbling out my ears by then. And finally, the atrocity that is "Twilight".

The plot was ridiculous, the acting barely passable, and then.... the sparkling. At that point I literally could've just left entirely, but sheer macabre interest kept me in my seat. Honestly, I've seen a wall with more facial expressions. If Kristen Stewart and Kevin Costner had children they would be baby bricks.

My friend gushed to me "OH! But you HAVE to read the books! They're *SOOOO* much better!" I dutifully borrowed them, and gagged, rolled my eyes and finally gave up a couple chapters into the inanity. Nope! NOT FOR ME!!!!!!!!

However, I reserved my final opinion until I saw Snow White & The Huntsman. I wanted to see a different side of Kristen. Maybe, like Natalie Portman playing Queen Amidala, she was directed to be stoic and barely emotive. Perhaps she just needed a different role to really break out and become something spectacular. I was not surprised by the same wooden board performance. Even her rousing speech to the troops (while in her nightgown) did little to stir me to any semblance of passion. It seems as though she is (barely) capable of nothing more than additional volume, with no emotional attachment to her character, her lines, or her motives.

Thankfully, Charlize Theron was creepily beautiful enough to bestow much saving grace to the film, and Chris Hemsworth was actually quite startlingly good as The Hunstman.

However, I couldn't believe that she was actually HIRED for another job. Did the director not even see Twilight? Oh wait! That's right - APPARENTLY he had ulterior motives...

And with that segue, the scandalous affair with her director did nothing to enhance my opinion of Ms. Stewart, though it would take a miracle to change my dim view at this point.

The problem with Kristen Stewart, however, is not necessarily even her acting, for me. The entire Twilight series is truly and deeply flawed in a way that is positively INCOMPREHENSIBLE to me that it endures. More than just teenage girls crushing on young male actors, even WORSE is the fact that grown women are raving fans of the books as well.

The presentation of what their "relationship" entails (quotes intentional) is not what I would consider normal, healthy or a good model for naive young women (or not-so-young women) for that matter. The presentation of a co-dependent girl who would surrender her relationships, her family, and even her life to be with the "man" she is idolizing is the perfect example of what a healthy relationship should not be! And since when does stalking behavior constitute romanticism? AND WHY IS EVERYONE OKAY WITH THIS?!?!!!

Of course there are other folk who are as anti-Twilight as I am, but why has this phenomenon swept through the ranks of females like a plague, patterning themselves as part of "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob" as violently divided as Superbowl fans at the big game. But, in my estimation, none of the relationships presented in the series are a good model for our young women to follow.

Why are we promoting dangerous relationships comprised of unhealthy behaviors? Why is it okay that a (theoretically) old undead dude is stalking a high school girl? And how is it that women aren't downright burning this books in violent protest to the unrealistic, unhealthy and risky behaviors demonstrated in these books?

If I were to have a daughter, these books and the hype surrounding them would prompt a serious discussion about what healthy, normal and acceptable parameters for relationships would be. And these books, my friends, are NOT it.

So why is my hatred and loathing centered on Kristen Stewart? Well, technically it isn't. I can't believe that these are published, accepted by the mass populace and gaining publicity. Sure, Robert Pattenson, Taylor Lautner and the rest should be embarrassed that they're promoting this kind of misdirected relationship modeling, but Kristen Stewart is a woman, and therefore setting herself up to be a role model, for good or ill.

Is this to say that Halle Berry, Charlize Theron, or other women who play abused, maligned women in dysfunctional relationships should equally be embarrassed? Of course not. In their instances, I feel that these are stories of overcoming. But when you put a young woman into a movie that idealizes this kind of horrible behavior (including her willingness to kill herself to be with the man she "loves") then you are creating a scenario where this type of interpersonal interaction feels accepted and warranted.

As a woman, as a feminist, and as a women's rights advocate, this kind of media frenzy should be in decrying these series, not promoting them. If this becomes the fantasy for teenage girls, then we are allowing our young women to believe that the dysfunctional "love" between these two is justified, and the model to look up to, the type of relationship they seek and the kinds of behavior that they will allow.

I hope that there is some delineation between the perceived fantasy world, and a healthy and normal interpersonal basis for interaction. My hope is for a loving, supportive and healthy relationship for all women (and men) and that vampires wouldn't be creepy pedophiles stalking teenage girls, and instead use their powers (of sparkling?!) for good causes. I'll still revel in my True Blood, and enjoy movies about vampires, women struggling to overcome incredible odds, and so on. I'm not entirely prejudiced, but promoting bad relationships gets my ire up.

And yes, I still intensely dislike Kristen Stewart. And Llamas.

TOUCH ME - BABY! Or, the importance of human contact in infant development.

TOUCH ME - BABY! Or, the importance of human contact in infant development.

So I was reading about a study on orphanages where the babies were suffering from a lack of  loving touch, and some would actually die from lack of affection. Additionally, their higher functioning capability, their IQ, and even the prevalence of mental and behavioral issues were all affected by the lack of contact. Literally these babies were dying from lack of loving physical touch. Without these loving gestures, skin contact and the physical cuddling of these babies, even though living in a sterile environment, appropriate nutrition and technically correct care, the infants would die.

The power of human touch cannot be overestimated. In humans, the loving touch between people aids in physical and emotional development, lessens pain, improves pulmonary functioning, lowers blood pressure, regulates glucose levels, and aids in immune support. For infants, it aids in proper physical growth, develops mental functioning, and regular touch promotes superior motor development.

As we age, the amount of touching that we receive significantly decreases. We have societal inhibitions, we have a culture wherein touching others becomes prohibited, and we, as a whole, are suffering from it. According to what I've read, the amount of touching we receive from childhood to our teen years is roughly halved, and decreases even more sharply into adulthood. But our need for this comforting human contact does not diminish. From babies to elders, those who receive regular healthy human skin-to-skin contact are happier, better adjusted, less prone to illness, infection or even to aggression or violence. Establishing their worldview as babies through the caring contact leads to more confidence, happier and healthier humans.

Even with so many benefits to human touch and physical interaction, we have created a society wherein touch is taboo as it is primarily relegated to the realm of the sensual. But with touch reducing stress hormones, promoting good social behaviors, and increasing self-esteem, the benefits are clearly defined.

As a technological society, we are touch-deprived. Maybe even touch-starved. With the limitations by our culture, inter-personal relationships, and social norms, we have relegated touch to those between intimate couples, handshakes in business situations, parent-to-child, or very few other acceptable situations between very close friends, such as a hug at meeting or departing. Even in a modern (more) homosexually-accepting culture, touch between two hetero males is nearly forbidden, and certainly not widely accepted. The random high-five, a punch on the shoulder, or mock-aggression (or in some cases, real aggression) is the typical male-to-male interaction, with very few exceptions.  While the incidence of touch varies widely between cultures, overall most Americans maintain a wide berth between themselves and others.Where touch between people has become so widely socially unacceptable, our general population at large is suffering a lack of human contact.

Oddly enough, I am a person who does not particularly like to be touched. Especially by people that I don't know. The whole social phenomenon where waitresses earn larger and better tips by casually touching a customer in a "safe" place, such as a shoulder, does not work for me. I will often go out of my way to avoid accidental touch with strangers.

However, with the people that I like and am close to, then touch is frequent and loving. But it takes time for people to "earn" this level of contact. Our modern socially-enforced barriers to casual touch work fairly well for people like me that would prefer not to have to be in contact with anyone outside of my immediate social circle.

With this said, in situations where I anticipate being touched: booking a massage, a business meeting where introductions will be made and hands shaken, or amongst a crowd, where as much as I might personally dislike it, the touch is infrequent and involuntary (one would hope, anyway!) it is permissible. I'm not so touch-phobic that I avoid social situations. And though I understand the need for physical affection, the casual touching by people that I would not normally allow into my "personal space bubble" is what I dislike. This is a circumstance outside of my control, however. Though I love the affectionate hugs of my family and close friends, and of course, contact with my husband, the social taboo of random touch is strong otherwise.

But where does this social restriction begin? When we are infants, whether animal or human, we have an incontrovertible need to be touched. Babies need to be nurtured, held, coddled, shown affection. The runts of the animal kingdom often die - not only because they are smaller and already seemingly weaker and more frail than their litter mates, but also because this lack of nurturing from the mother. Since the young are programmed to select a specific teat and the process of nursing will encourage the mother to groom, lick and nuzzle the strongest young. Without the stimulation of licking and nuzzling from the mother, growth hormones are not activated. Consequently, the "failure to thrive" response and the runts will die off.

The health benefits of massage have been clearly documented, and the studies with newborn monkeys, when given the choice between a wire-mesh "mother" with a bottle to provide nourishment and a terry-cloth "mother" would spend their time clinging to the tactile "mother" figure, even when the actual nourishment came from the wire figure. So is touch, that tactile contact with another, even more biologically programmed into us than even the drive for sustenance?

In human infants, evolutionary-wise,  humans are born before we are physically competent or remotely capable. Because of our upright bi-pedal posture, our relatively small pelvis and large craniums, humans would be unable to be born later in our gestation, so we're born not fully developed. We are unable to see clearly, to communicate effectively or move in any realistic manner. When compared to say, a newborn foal, which is up and capable of running within an hour or so of birth, humans are painfully slow at developing. Humans are helplessly slow and immobile for nearly a year before we are even remotely capable of independent movement.

So for a baby, the primary method of gathering information about its environment is through touch. And a surprising amount of the information it gathers is through its mouth. With any new toy, object it encounters, food or not, a baby puts it into its mouth. Why? Not because of taste as the primary motivating factor, but instead touch.  The sensory input from the lips and tongue send a message to the infant brain giving it information about what it has in front of it.

As we can see, the sensation of skin being massaged stimulates the young, leading better-adjusted, more capable, and more highly mental and physical development. Lower anxiety, improved self-esteem, and lower incidences of depression occur in those who have regular contact. So, with your friend, your neighbor, your kids, even your dog.... ask for a hug. Sure, it may be momentarily awkward, but odds are, they need it just as much (or even more) than you!

Cited:

 http://www.huffingtonpost.com/maia-szalavitz/how-orphanages-kill-babie_b_549608.html

http://www.sonomapsychologist.com/pdf/human_touch.pdf

http://www.businesspsych.org/articles/28.html

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/let-their-words-do-the-talking/201207/six-tips-get-higher-tips

http://www.benbenjamin.net/pdfs/Issue2.pdf

Movie Review: Riddick - Rule The Dark

Riddick - Rule The Dark

 Again the trilogy delivers: scary unexpected alien monsters, Riddick's uncanny ability to survive in the most extreme conditions, one-liners delivered straight-laced that make them all the funnier, and some good eye candy (including a really buff chick that I kinda love - though she does take to beating the bloody blazes out of creepers a bit too much to her liking...) The plot line kind of muddles through the Necromongers (apparently Riddick decided instead of fighting to join them as Lord Marshall somehow? Details unclear? And despite having beds full of writhing necromonger sorceresses, he is determined to find FURYA and discover his forgotten (and erased) past before being betrayed and left for dead. Again.

This time, though, Riddick is left on a sizzling alien world in quite a bind, and has to summon mercs to get him off-planet. In a witty game of cat-and-mouse, he alternately lures them out, and invades their safety zone, bargaining for his ticket off-world by raising the stakes with every death. And meanwhile, danger stalks ever closer in every raindrop.

Very little in the way of plot-twists, and fairly standard Riddick plotline: bad guy, but one who we have affinity for, despite being a serial murderer (in self-defense, supposedly, right?), creepy-awesome-scary monsters in the dark, jaw-dropping effects, and this time... a dog friend... a tiger-striped, bat-wing eared jackal that makes us see the softer side of Riddick. 

No deep revelations about his psyche or uncovering Riddick's deep desires (other than to survive desperately unfair odds) , but with good fight scenes both human and alien (though admittedly the last battle was so long-drawn even I lost interest in Vin Diesel kicking alien @$$....) it's worth seeing in theaters in big-screen format.

While another installment in Riddick is always welcome, this movie had very little new material to draw in any other aspects to the storyline, though clearly left open as a set up for another movie. 

Additionally, the potential chemistry between Riddick and the chick is pretty much left to the last few seconds of the film, and while personally I really appreciate Riddick not disintegrating into a chick-flick filled with syrupy inanity, there was potential for much more than the flat stares and little justification for any true attraction between them.

Vin Diesel delivers a standard Riddick performance: deep-voiced, bulging biceps and smolder, but the movie itself fails to compel the viewer to any true emotional highs or lows. The imperiled mercs are so much less emotionally-involved than the alien fodder tourists/love interests in the prior two films that there is no real sense of urgency fueling audience’s to gasp… except in the cleverness of some filming of the … more fatal bits (without giving TOO much away)….

Overall, CG gloriousness and Vin Diesel's quips make this good for the ticket price, (and of course I'll add to my personal BluRay collection,) though I had hoped for more for my favorite anti-hero with a "shine job". 

Thermodynamics & Thermostats, or "Why my butt is so dang cold."

Aw, Blogger! The Klutzy Fairy strikes yet again! Tonight in my martial arts class, after taking care of myself through sparring drills, and helpfully coaching (or attempting to be helpful, at any rate! Explaining technique is harder than it would seem - and here I thought I was GOOD at talking!) folks through throws and bear hug releases, I finally got to participate in our last few minutes of class playing a game.... and BLAMMO! I ran full-bore into a teenager playing frisbee. Hours later, I'm still plagued with back spasms and shooting pains... yarrrr...

SO in honor of not sleeping and waiting for the ice packs and pain relievers to DO THEIR DAMN JOBS ALREADY - here's some cognitating that I was pondering on the other day...on a boat... waiting for salmon to bite... you know, much as any other day... NOT! (I haven't fished since I was a pre-teen! And have repeatedly asserted my disinterest in the end-product of fishing. However, I had a BLAST! Read about it here: http://sirensecho.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-one-who-didnt-get-away.html)  :)

First a preface, I notice a couple things when I've dropped some pounds. One is that when I sit in my saddle, (much to the assumed delight of my riding instructor) my seat bones jab me and I think "Aha! There you little buggers are!" and theoretically greatly improve my riding position by the aid of feeling these jabbing bones of the bottom of my pelvis and properly aligning them and so forth. (Hey! I said it was a theory!) I also sit far more gingerly on hard benches as a byproduct of this situation.

Secondly is that I get cold much more easily. This is fact.

So, while weathering a brief rainy, windy squall rolling across the beautiful water just outside Shilshole Bay Marina, sitting on our boat waiting for the fishies to get hungry, I got to thinking about the alleged evolutionary advantage that women have over men by having a greater amount of subcutaneous fat. Naturally. As I was shivering inside my 3 layers, goosebumps coursing over my skin.

This phenomenon is incidentally triggered by teeeeeensy muscles situated at the base of your hair follicles and is, appropriately, I think, called "horripilation." This appears to be a remnant reflex of our much furrier Sasquatchey days - except those notable men at the beach who insist on wearing Speedos to show off their hirsute selves. Good for them for their personal self esteem and bucking societal norms, but when your shoulder hair is long enough to braid and put in pony beads Ala Jack Sparrow... *shudder*

Though after my own experience with waxing, I'm more sympathetic than I used to be: http://sirensecho.blogspot.com/2012/10/todays-eposide-brought-to-you-by.html

But back to goosepimples. I theorized that perhaps it was because men through evolution were in a more active role - being the typical hunters straying afield in search of game, while the women tended the homestead (uh... cave-stead???) and cared for the young, presumably with the advantage of fires and indoor cave plumbing and so forth. (I'm NOT saying they didn't work hard, I'm just saying they were less typically racing alongside mammoths, spearing them, and hauling fuzzy mammoth steaks back the the cave.)

Did men just use up their stores more quickly based on the higher caloric needs of an active life? Wouldn't that predispose men to needing to store GREATER subcutaneous fat, though, not less?

So then I contemplated the biological advantages of women having greater fat stores for the body to subsist on (and hypothetically nurse hypothetical young, hypothetically speaking) during lean times. After all, men, while having nipples, still won't lactate (without hormonal stimulation, of course... and I'm pretty sure hunter-gatherers 20,000 years ago - male or female - were quite busy painting the caves at Lascaux and not injecting hormone cocktails to induce male lactation... just sayin'....)

My best friend proposed that it made great sense to have more females survive a starvation situation using their greater body stores of fat. Realistically speaking, one man could father many children and - ONLY EVOLUTIONARILY-SPEAKING PEOPLE! Don't get your bloomers in a tangle!- men were less prioritized for survival in that light. This is definitely a case of a little goes a long way.

Either way, it is a fact that women have a thicker layer of subcutaneous fat underlying our skin. So if we have this extra layer insulating us, then WHY do women have the incessant argument over the thermostat's settings? Why, at the first drop in temperatures, we're snuggled under a fleece blanket freezing to death while Mister Man is ready to strip to his skivvies if we women are supposedly suited to withstand extreme survival situations?

Is it based on hormonal levels to determine thermodynamic regulation? (Wow, was THAT a sentence, or what?! I'm kinda impressed, and I actually wrote it! Enough vanity... there's pseudo-science to be done here!!!!)

I was curious. So I did some reading. (It's on the Internets!!! It must be true!)

Fact: women have more subcutaneous fat. However, we are typically the ones shivering. And we shivered a lot when certain subjects (thankfully not me!) were subjected to cold water immersion tests. This showed that women did indeed experience colder surface skin temperatures, though (and here's the kicker!) deep skin temperatures remained the same for both men and women -at least in the non-hypothermia-inducing conditions of this particular test. (This also leads me to wonder how they tested deep skin temperatures... injection thermometers??? Oh man, and I thought rectal thermometers were as bad as they could get!) So while on the skin of things women were colder, though we retained our core heat, overall our maximal difference between external and internal temperatures was increased. In plain "Engrish" - we feel colder.

However, we women also have another advantage in our greater aptitude at vasoconstriction - the ability to constrict the blood vessels and retain the blood around the vital organs rather than extremities. (Though apparently you do have to learn to walk again if you lose toes to frostbite, so try to keep them piggly-wigglies warm, eh?) So in this case, having cold hands and feet (the reading I did said nothing of my husband's complaints of a purported refrigerator-temp backside....) is actually an advantage in a matter of ultimate survival. Though playing a piano piece by Chopin is difficult enough with all your fingers in an unfrozen state, it pales in comparison to the difficulty of keeping your internal organs from icing over in extreme weather!

This preferential treatment for your vital bits that keep you actually functioning (albeit fine motor control will disintegrate quickly - forget about Chopin - you'll be struggling with "Chopsticks" when the cold settles in!) Your body will slow and then halt blood flow to those outlying digits, your nose and cheeks (the areas most prone to frostbite) in favor of your heart, lungs and other essential blobs of meat. You will also want to pee, as the blood pulls into the core, reducing the blood volume and raising blood pressure. The body seeks to compensate by reducing the fluid volume through urinary excretion and your involuntary processes will get you shivering to create heat as a by-product. Whew!

So with our feminine advantage of maintaining our core temperatures better through more efficient vasoconstriction, we dames also suffer the proverbial double-edge as women are far more prone to skin surface damage from the cold . Time for the extra-fleecy gloves, ladies!

Additionally, men tend to carry more overall muscle mass. (I know, there will ALWAYS be exceptions to the rule, skinny men and hefty ladies, certain medical conditions will greatly alter these stats, low blood pressure, poor circulation, hot flashes and all that will play a factor. I realize that. Let's stick with sweeping generalizations, shall we?) According to what I have read, muscle generates an estimated third of body heat produced.

Ah ha... so I'm for SURE hitting the weights!!!! But wait... the more fat that a person carries, the better insulated they will be as well. Oh bugger. A trade-off.

Now that I've moved to a much milder climate, the question emerges: does acclimatizing actually work? Can you actually adapt to a colder environment? The answer? Of course! Not only do you get smarter about your layering, get over your fashionista-qualms about wearing a balaclava (which SIGNIFICANTLY differs from baklava, the tasty phyllo-dough, nut & honey Greek delicacy. Wool knit and honey make a frightful mess, subzero temps or not!) but you also have the ability to actually metabolically adapt to your environs.

This was most easily witnessed in my life when, as a kid, my grandparents would come visit from the Arizona desert. They'd venture up north and in the middle of June be wrapped in heavy sweaters outdoors while we played in our swimsuits in the sprinklers. We were acclimatized to the temperatures while they weren't. Of course, age is an enormous factor in the ability to survive temperature extremes, with the majority of temperature-related deaths among the elderly as they are least able to cope with either very hot or very cold weather.

And this same scenario of acclimatization is played out in my own life every Autumn when the temperatures first drop and I am wearing more clothes than that kid from "A Christmas Story" and I'm still shivering... until one winter's day I venture outdoors and invariably remark "What a lovely day! It's above freezing! It practically feels balmy!"

Full circle. Now we know the what and the why, and we even have some ammunition in the fight with menfolk to get to turn the thermostat up a few degrees on a particularly blustery winter's day. (Wind-chill factor is a real killer here people!) Yes, women do have slightly more underlying subcutaneous fat (and I'll thank you for not pointing mine out!) and twitchier blood vessels that presumably slurp more blood into our vital bits and save our uterus for the greater biological good. We have a greater ability to survive temperature extremes. Based on our biological role of reproduction, the demand on our bodies is far greater in the perpetuation of the little pink monkeys we call Homo Sapiens. And our greater differential between skin and core temperatures seemingly explains our cold hands and feet being a particularly effective manner of thermodynamic temperature regulation. (Say that ten times!)

As for me, I'll prepare for cooler fall weather by digging out my poofy jackets, gloves and hats and snuggling up to my nice warm hubby! (After removing said ice pack from my lumbar area. OH HONEY!!! You got some warming up to do! Don't worry, my vasoconstriction is more efficient than yours, so I can retain your radiated body heat better!!! Look how muscly you are! You know that those giant and extremely attractive muscles provide a third of your body heat! Besides, you won't even feel nearly as cold without the greater external-to-internal temperature differential like I have! Seriously dear, I'm more prone to frostbite, biologically speaking! It's your duty as husband to let me put my cold feet on yours! Think of the unborn children! Tee hee!)

For my actual scientific sources, other than our hypothesizing, please see:
http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/tech/columnist/aprilholladay/2006-04-03-women-extra-fat_x.htm

For a definition of hirsute:
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/hirsute

For really cool stuff about Antarctica, the process of frostbite and other neat stuff see:
http://www.coolantarctica.com/Antarctica%20fact%20file/science/cold_humans.htm

For the differences in men and women storage and utilization of fat as it relates to exercise (and why all women should love their glutofemoral fat!) go to:
http://www.marksdailyapple.com/gender-differences-in-fat-metabolism/#axzz2dWSD3xk7

And of course be sure to check out the incredible caves of Lascaux at : http://www.bradshawfoundation.com/lascaux/

Thanks for reading! Stay warm! And don't Google pictures of baklava if you're trying to avoid sweets!

Movie Review: Elysium

With Matt Damon and Jodie Foster in the cast, I was already intrigued by the premise of the movie, though anything that looks action/sci fi already has a general bias in my book.

The overall premise being a contrast between the separation of society with the privileged wealthy elite living a life of Utopian tranquility on an orbiting habitat, possessing superior medical technology to cure any disease at the molecular level, and defending the right to maintain that lifestyle - through violent means, if necessary.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Earth's population suffer and struggle in an over-populated, polluted and degraded Earth. Max, a parolee and repeat offender, is struggling to eke out a life when by a fluke, he is caught in a desperate struggle for survival when an industrial accident leaves him fighting for his life. A ticket to Elysium is expensive, however, and undertaking a dangerous mission to earn passage to Elysium and the hope of getting into a med bay is his only hope of survival. By working a deal with "Spider", the illegal shuttle launch mastermind, Max submits himself to a questionable medical team to have a robotically-enhanced exoskeleton bolted on. With this super-skeleton, he is part of a crew created in order to run a data heist for Spider, thereby earning his passage. For Max, the job gets personal, and he targets the head management exec of the factory where he was hurt. Their intent is noble, in order to obtain the codes to reset the space station, thereby changing the Earthbound's access to Elysium.

Far from the straightforward shot for a chance to survive his own health crisis, when a childhood friend and her critically ill daughter enter into the mix, Max's loyalty and moral conscience are called to the fore.

Having the same moral undertone and general aesthetic as to this movie as District 9, including the director  Neill Blomkamp, and the South African actor Sharlto Copley, who instead of protagonist in this movie plays the antagonist secret agent, Kruger, the "larger picture" theme carries through both movies, not only having a sci-fi element, but also a moral undertone and social critique woven throughout the movie as well.

Elysium, the word itself being the Greek ideal of the afterlife, is an interesting take on the Utopia ideal. Though quite limited in scope as the entire world apparently condenses to the greater LA area and Elysium, with no outside world news, events, or clear explanation for the schism between the exceedingly wealthy and the remaining "everyone else." Additionally, there seems to be a racist element as the majority of the "remaining" population leans heavily toward being Hispanic.

The movie was absolutely glorious in the CG rendering, completely absorbing me into the story without picking apart which scenes were filmed live and which were CG. The storyline was entertaining enough that the hour and forty-nine minute run time speed by but not so drawn-out that you anticipate the ending.

My review: Two thumbs WAY up and buy on BluRay. The seamless CG, the good fight choreography and the reworked Utopia/Dystopia  contrast is entertaining. And Jodi Foster makes you just love to loathe her, which is always fun.

The One Who DIDN'T Get Away!!!!!!!!

It happens to all of us...

we find ourselves hemmed in by the harsh edges of the timeclock, punching in, punching out.... caught in the mundane, overworked, under-appreciated mores of modern society. Our humdrum lives slip by in weeks, months and years, the highlights punctuated by only tragedy, roadrage, or those brief flickers of happiness: a raise, a bonus, or... VACATION TIME!

Having cooked up a scheme with my best friend's parents and husband over the past few months to surprise her at her cousin's wedding in Seattle, (of all places, as neither of us lives there!) we e-mailed surreptitiously back and forth, plane tickets were booked, transportation and lodging arranged, and fishing charters scheduled.

I was so excited to come surprise her that I could scarcely sleep, both because of the (sadly!) years that had passed between us getting together and because of the excitement of finally getting to meet her twins! So few people understand my humor when I quipped upon finding the genders of the babies to be a boy and a girl that I would be an Aunt AND an Uncle... *sigh*

I arrived and spent the first two days doing awesome stuff like sight-seeing, wandering Pike Place Market, me eating a hamburger in a famous seafood waterfront restaurant, and taking a bazillion pictures like the tourons we are. :) We took a harbor tour and rode the Giant Ferris Wheel (awesome 175 foot high view), we shopped for gifts and ate ice cream, we got a little lost in the Seattle maze and heavy traffic, and we talked A LOT. Seattle favored us with very little of its trademark rain, a fact for which I gave heavy and profuse thanks. The first few days were fun and touristy.

However the final day would hold an entirely new experience for me. But first, a disclaimer:

I'm usually a fairly even-tempered, perhaps even "sunny" person. Sure, I get heated once and a while, but they pass quickly and my Pollyanna personality pops back out, Now, with that disclaimer, there are a few things that I have EXTREMELY strong opinions about. Llamas, Kristen Stewart, spicy food... and fish.

Fish. Ah those critters with fins and scales, hiding in the depths of watery unknowns and taunting fisher-folk of the eons. The hypnotic pull of the water, be it ocean, lake or river, summoning folk with rod and reel, bait bucket or flies, and just about everyone has the tale of "the one that got away." I have four.

Embarking out to the marina in the VERY early morning hours, battling Seattle's omnipresent traffic (seriously? 5 am??? Where are all you people going so early??? Surely you can't ALL be going fishing???) and the construction, cussing out the GPS unit trying to re-route us back to the same closed road, we headed off for adventure, and eventually found our way to the marina, met our awesome fishing guide who did not look in the least put-out that he had a 3-person trip (instead of 6 - though how happy WE WERE that we didn't have 3 strangers along as well!!!) and never once treated us women like we were stupid... though more on that later....

Sunrise over Shilshole Bay. Photo copyright Chuck Trapani

We headed down to our boat and were greeted with a spectacular sunrise as we headed just past the breakwater to the marina to set up. The downriggers were set to about 50 foot depth with glow-in-the-dark squid and big silver flashers on them, plus one high line set with a small bait fish to hopefully catch a Coho salmon or four. (Boy, how's that for learning some jargon fast... I almost sound like I know what I'm doing! WHICH I DON'T! I was probably 9 or perhaps 10 tops the last time I held a fishing pole on purpose! And taking one fly-fishing lesson on the lawn of the ranch I used to work at does not count. Though the guide told me I was a natural at casting..... didn't catch any lawnfish though, so I must not have been THAT good! HA!)

We set to trolling (see, more jargon. Not the Internet kind...) and I showed a hidden talent at spotting fish on the line at the first bite. I think here I can thank two iced mochas on the way to the marina (also the cause of testing the on-board potty later in the morning.....) for the slight jumpiness that contributed to me jerking to look at the line if it so much as twitched, and the heightened senses from living for the past year and a half in a Shelob-infested basement. If something moves, I look at it! (My motto: smack it first, ask what it was later...) The guide who has been doing this A LOT longer than I have and I would see the lines at the same time, and my friend and her husband reeled a few in that morning. Mostly Pink Salmon, though there were a couple of Coho as well, (which I later learned unprocessed were currently going for $55/fish!!!)

The fish were leaping all around us, the putt-putt of the outboard motor and the rocking of the water gently lulling me to sleep. The sun was rising and the rain had moved on, the crying of the gulls and the sun illuminating the Olympic Mountain Range were glorious. I was perfectly content to hang out on my bench and snuggle into my hoodie, but eventually my wallflower act snagged our guide's attention.

He had caught on to me, and huddling in the cabin out of the wind and short smattering of rain that we went through wasn't going to work. So the next bite was mine.... I grabbed the rod after he handed it to me, started reeling (holy mackerel... er... salmon! It was FIGHTING ME!) and got it about 5 feet or so up to the surface, when BAM! Slack line.

I wasn't overly discouraged the first go-round. After all, I'm beyond green (thankfully not from the boat, my motion sickness meds were working!) and the fishing thing isn't really my bag of (fish and) chips. So the second one, I gritted my teeth, tucked the butt of that pole harder under my arm and reeled for all I was worth, when BAM! Free fish.

By the third go, I was frustrated. I grabbed that pole, reeled slow and steady, kept the tip up, and pulled that fish in and just barely to the net.... the guide was reaching, and BAM!

Okay, now I was pissed. The fourth fish bucked and pulled, see-sawed and jigged, and I wrastled it and fought, got it to the surface. I could SEE it! The flasher glinting, the fish did a characteristic spin... and BAM! it too was gone.

By now my shoulder was blazing from fighting these guys up from 50-some feet down. My adrenalin was starting to jack up, and I was furious. I WAS GETTING A DAMN FISH INTO THE DAMN BOAT!

We hit a lull. My friend and I started discussing horses, the weather, the trip, the family... and I saw a line jerk. I got to the pole before the guide even did, grabbed it up out of the boat-side holder and reeled that bugger in. This one was NOT getting away! I pulled that tip high as instructed, and just reeled it slow and steady with no jerks.... and lickety-split that baby was IN THE NET!

This huge silver monstrosity flipped and flopped on the bottom of the boat, and our guide got his bat to give it a hefty dose of "aluminum shampoo" and though I'd been a bit squeamish the first fish he gave a knock to, by this time I was ready to whack it myself! I VERY happily shoved my finger up through those gills for my obligatory picture, and the next one was going to be mine as well.

Crazy enough, I did get the next! Hooked through a fin, I fought it all the way to the surface and into the net without losing it, and though bloody, got a pic with that one... fish slime, spattering of blood, water and fish scales and all!

We were nearly at our limit, and now I'd caught two Pink Salmon. But the Coho was what I wanted next. (King Salmon season had ended the week before, and while we did catch one, it was just a little feller and he went back. Our guide said "See you in 3 or 4 years!") So while we were talking, the high line did a little jig and that baby was MINE!!!!!!!!! I hadn't had a fight like that one yet... not in the four (FOUR!!!) that got away, nor the two Pinks. My arm was shaking. I had that rod stuck up under my arm and against my ribs. My heart was hammering from excitement, and the amount of work it took to pull that puppy up to the boat. I was fighting that fish with all I had. I braced my feet against the boat and pulled and that fish fought me with everything it had. I suddenly could not even imagine a big sport fish that these folks wrestle for sometimes hours to get into the boat, as here I was fighting a salmon much smaller, but using all its tricks to try to escape me.

I hauled and hauled that fish in, and in one horrifying moment, that line went smooth as glass, and for a split-second I forgot to keep reeling.... I was hollered at and my arms started remembering their job, pulled a big fat Coho to the surface and the picture of this fish it reaches from my shoulder down past my waist! (I am loathe to put pictures of myself on my blog, but this once I think it's okay to show a "bragging shot" or two.)

A few more fish and we'd caught our limit: 4 Coho and 8 Pink Salmon. Our catch laid out before us, I had indeed caught the biggest fish of the day and I was happy! I had asked a million questions, as I was completely unfamiliar with how to tell the species apart (Pink Salmon have small, easily-loosened scales, which was the easiest way for me to tell them apart) or the ways to identify a male from female (short of the roe we found inside several females of our day's catch) and when the distinctive hook nose, bright color and humps appeared on the spawning males, (ours were much younger males, probably four years old or so)
how to tell a wild from hatchery fish (they lop off the rearmost fin, called the adipose fin, on the hatchery fish) all about their lifespan, the fishing seasons, how big halibut got (40-60 pounds? HOLY SMOKES!) and about seeing whales, dolphins, about sea lice (ICK! Those are actually grosser than the dang fish!!!)

Who knew I would have such fun fishing? Who knew I'd end up snagging the biggest salmon of the day! And thankfully for everyone, I have no desire to eat any of them. All told, we had 30 combined pounds of processed salmon fillets for them to take back with them, and I had pictures and memories... and maybe just a few fish scales still stuck to my jeans.

 

Kevin Mallick's beautiful photo "Olympic Mountains through Shilshole Bay Marina"

All pictures copyright:
Special thanks to: Hatchery vs Wild Salmon photo www.themasterangler.com
Species of Salmon found at http://www.wildflyrods.com/images/FWSSpeciesofSalmon.gif
And utmost thanks to Kevin Mallick for "Olympic Mountains through Shilshole Bay Marina" be sure to check out his incredible work of Seattle, wildlife and more at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kevinmallick/

Poems for Kristen, Going on her Mission

• My dear friend Kristen is leaving to serve a mission for her church. She was struggling to write her farewell talk late one night, so I decided to help her after she said her talk was turning poetic. She liked them so much her whole family printed them out and read them to each other, though her precocious 9 year old brother commented my syllables were off for my haiku. I fixed it (it WAS 1 am, in my own defense...)

  
  

  Enjoy!

  
  

  A haiku:  Missionary talk, 

  farewell in the making, Tennessee is calling.
•  A limerick: There once was a girl named Kristen, who wanted to go on a mission. Public speaking was cake, once she knew what's at stake, but somehow she'd have rather been KICKIN!!!

  
  

  A sonnet: How shall I compare thee to a bright Sunday's talk? Thou art lengthy, and thou art strangely beautiful. Thy grammar, it calls to me. Thy syntax and structure alluring. All the days of my life shall I cherish thee - O farewell talk!

  
  

  Free verse:  Waiting. The thoughts. They come like scattered sparrows before a summer storm. Ink from my pen, a Rorschach print as my words tumble amidst the list, rampant in my brain, scattered as the belongings which I so hastily assemble. The luggage stands, impatient sentinels, ready for the next steps beyond this door, this threshhold, eager for their taste into the unknown... while I, ponderous with thoughts both mighty and scattered, throw my life, my hopes and dreams to this page.

  
  

  An ode: What words are these? What inspiration divine? What muse hath covered mine ears with her sweet song? Be bold! A warrior of faith! A champion of courage! Fortitude prevail!

  
  

   A narrative in the style of Chaucer: Beholde thy fayre maidyn, stryving full twytny and one, adventyre to speke, adventyre to fynde. For oft she hath long'd withe feal and verdante hearte to further afielde far in hir chirch truely ynough, goodly spekes, rightly work, enternel lyve.
• 
  
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  Kristen's reply: I love you! you're the best!  That Limerick was true and hilarious all at the same time. ...I'm very impressed.You should be writing my talk! though, this poetry is rather inspiring... 

Have fun on your mission Kristen! You will be missed! :)