Night Blooming Cereus blows…3 days from now? Hard to predict.
Meanwhile, the Monarch caterpillar eggs in the ground at the base of the milkweed plants somehow survived Vermont’s flooding. The fuzzy guy is young; the juicy fatty is ready to TRANSFORM. Decided not to bring inside this year. I always miss its cocoon spinning no matter how closely I watch the thing. But it does keep them from getting eaten by birds, so I may change my mind.
But in general: aren’t things happening at once? It’s a bit much, no?
When I’m not eating like a hog, moving like a sloth, sweating like a horse, and smelling like a goat, I’m swimming like an otter, laughing like a hyena, sleeping like a log, and smelling like a rose. Or some mixed-up combination thereof. It’s all extremes lately.
In a week’s time we have such highs and lows, no? One day it’s a crazy-good 4th of July; days later, disaster strikes. If, in Vermont, you haven’t suffered serious flood damage, you know people who have. Flooding and dam issues continue. It has us on pins and needles, drinking like fish. Our daily lives seem full of extremes.
Maybe this is partly due to COVID. We’re now positively overjoyed, in a way we weren’t prior, at simply sharing a sunset or religious service or dancing together. A party is a big deal. Dining out? Thrilling! Contrarily, with people being more forthcoming these days, we hear sad personal news like never before (diseases, suicides, overdoses). Throw in endless televised news with upsetting global stories and there is much to fret about. The highs are higher and lows more frequent, like a screwy rollercoaster.
The weather is reflecting the extremes inside us, or causing them. Both? Initially, I dug the mad dash to close car windows for daily cloudbursts. Now it seems silly that I’d planned to stand out in the biblical downpours and get soaked. Fun as a kid. Now: rain is scary.
Before the flood, I wrote: “How do wild animals feel about such rain? Do they just run with it? Or are the birds like, come on already, quit raining, we gotta f l y. The fish hate droughts, but do they enjoy chronic turbulence? I envision little fish banging into rocks, mystified. Is that what divorce is like? Nothing makes any sense any more, and you’re just tossed around, blind, lost?”
Now it seems unlikely any fish survived Vermont’s waste-filled rivers. Riverside songbirds have taken off, their cover washed away.
There’s not a hell of a lot we can do for these floods except build wiser, use less fossil energy, monitor rainfall better, and help each other dig out. With terrible timing I had a bike crash right before the flood, so I can’t get that hopeful feeling you get from helping others; I can’t lift my own head. Fit as a fiddle after the Irene Flood, it was easy to roll up sleeves and dig in. The Bucket Brigade marched by in their Wellies, waders, and shorts, bailing out basements gratis. We cheered! Our young, Superhuman Heroes! Nothing beats in-person neighbors helping neighbors. Sign up at vermont.gov/volunteer.
Friend Sassy and I were discussing how, decades ago, we just felt more safe. Then I see a sign, “WARNING: Windows can be hazardous.” For God’s sake, what isn’t? We constantly learn of new hazards, with dread. Like: Do not go in brown, churning water. There is no oxygen in such water, and humans have no buoyancy as a result. A life preserver does no good; you will sink like granite. As I’m afraid did the fish.
Weather disasters, ticks, shootings, marauding bots … who feels safe? The good news is that humans default, mostly, to trust. (See Malcolm Gladwell’s dark book Talking to Strangers.) Turns out we mostly try to envision a safe world. We trust.
Electrical storms, now there we can take action. Lightning can mess you UP. Fuse your vertebrae, destroy your bone health or hearing … avoid! If you can hear thunder, you can be struck by lightning. Lightning can strike from 10 miles away. Do not go in a shower or tub during a storm. Or on a landline. Or by a window (hazardous!). Hide in bed. I do.
A friend said about The Flood, “Not sure what the damn message is.” I have no answer. Some questions remain ever unanswered (“What’s that smell?”), others answered eventually (“It was the O-rings”). Undeserved misfortune is simply part of life, no? In Vermont we try for tiny carbon footprints. California blows us away in electric vehicles, but Vermont buys local, promotes rideshares, and wastes little. And gets punished anyway.
For now, we’re like blindfolded rats in a maze, operating on some combo of memory, ESP, and science – to repair and rebuild. Then, as humans do, buoyed by the LIFT of helping each other and an inclination towards trust, we will bounce back. Soon we’ll run like the wind, baying like hounds, having the time of our lives. Strong as an ox, maybe a blue ox. Maybe sooner than we think.
May you rise like a Phoenix, with strength like Hercules’, helpers lifting you like angels, and your worries vanishing like a mist. Please enjoy, as able, a Good Day.
As I’d vibed, the NBC is going to bloom when I’m out of town. Drats! The good news is it’s VERY tiny right now, 1/16th of an inch. I’ve never caught one this early. She always takes longer to blow than I anticipate, so it’s possible I can send pix upon my return.
This is the first year time in years there are 2 blooms. The 2nd one (not pictured) is even tinier. So I remain hopeful! If I gave you a plant, look for the above. Careful, they’re wicked fragile. If you’d like a plant, let me know!
No, not the peony or candle or the cylindrical packaging ~ the fountain pen, Silly.
Yes, those other things make a nice gift, but a writer digs a good pen. This is from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Makes you want to WRITE. Its beautiful pattern is by the founder of the Arts and Crafts movement, William Morris.
And it’s heavy. You know something is well made when it’s heavy.
Thanks so much for participating in or forwarding my free eBook “sale”!
By doing so, you kicked me up to the top of 3 categories, so when people searched that category over the 4th, my book showed up as at left. And many “strangers” are now reading it.
Download a free eBook of A Young Woman’s Guide to Life. On Amazon, click BUY NOW and the price will show up as $0.00 at Checkout. Forward this if you wish!
If you SUBSCRIBE at www.annaikens.com or Forward this, LMK and I’ll do another COOL LIGHTER giveaway. (See it at SURPRISES on above website). I may do a free hardcover raffle as well? Why not!
This question is asked in different ways for different reasons. Sometimes it’s asked by someone in an arch manner, a manner that challenges “Hey, Sissy…what are you afraid of?” Or a shrink asks softly, “What are you afraid of?” to find out why you’re not taking a certain step, such as confronting someone who has wronged you or getting yourself out of a rut. There can be something compelling or even a little creepy about these five words, no?
For our purposes, I’m just interested in what people are actually afraid of. In part because Fears can be so different, just like the kinds of Lucks people have. And in part because I have developed three very real fears worth fretting about. These three since the disastrous Ukraine invasion (only one year ago), when I hadn’t felt strongly such imminence of danger other than in the early months of the pandemic when we didn’t know anything. People forget how terrifying that was. It seems long ago, no? Now I feel ascared anew.
Off to others’ fears! This honest and at times comical list was contributed by the usual suspects: the nutters I call friends. And whomever on my author email list* answered the question, “What Are You Afraid Of?” Here we go, in no particular order:
Snakes and Scorpions • Heights • Bats • Cats • Wind • Disappointing the people I love • Snakes…hate snakes! • Strangers • Public speaking • Cooking shows • My own anger • Riptides • Bugs with many, many legs • Getting poked in the eye with a fork • Not living my life to the fullest before I die • Exploding peonies • Our health • Disease or an accident • Global warming • Further division in the US • World war • Birds.
Some went longer: We are going on a cruise soon – what if I was to walk alone on the upper deck at night and some deranged person pushed me over the edge; that would be something to be afraid of! • I’m afraid we’re going to destroy this planet and take all innocent life with us (plants, animals, insects); we have the tools and understanding to avoid it but that may not be enough…scares the hell out of me • Suffering, with regards to physical health; seems like turning 60 amped this shit UP! • Anything bad happening to my kids is what I would be most afraid of • Fear of my child never launching • I fear developing a disease that will change my life for the worse. • Losing my husband • I put return address labels on small objects when I fly so if the plane blows to smithereens, people will know I was on the plane. • Because I live alone, I’m afraid of choking on a sandwich and dying. I did start choking on one once, and thought to run into the street waving my arms, but what if no one saw me? • I am afraid of getting run over by a messenger bike while crossing the street in NYC. • I end with this cheering one: Seems I am afraid of less and less as I age.
Thank you, nutters! What am I afraid of? I don’t like bugs with many, many legs or dead mice, but I don’t fear those or even, particularly, death. Mostly, I’m afraid of three uncontrollable things: people being hurt by other people (esp. despots and lone gunmen), ticks, and Artificial Intelligence. When killer A.I. robots start walking down the street, I’m heading directly for the next level. Who wants to see that?
No, really. As widely reported, more than 1,000 tech leaders signed an open letter in March about A.I.’s “profound risks to society and humanity.” When those who invented something are telling you it’s extremely dangerous, head for the hills.
There was a brilliant cartoon in the New Yorker where an older man is depicted from high above, reading the paper at home. He cries to no one something like, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?! CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
If anyone can tell me what the hell is going on here, please report in as able. Good tick-checking, good despot/killer robot avoidance, and good day.
*Join my email list at annaikens.com to get asked my next question.
Nothing made my father happier this year, I think, than when I unexpectedly handed him a hardcover of my book.
I told him I had a surprise for him. He said, “It’s a book.” I said, “Yes, I wrote it.”
He watched with me as my numbers rose on Amazon, and was my total champion. He has always been and wanted me to be a writer since he gave me a copy of “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn” as a child, likening me to Francie.
A fiction writer I’m not, but when he said, “Your mother thought this would have happened 30 years ago,” I felt good, not bad. It’s never too late to please your parents. Dead or alive, in my opinion.
uppervalleygirl 