Yin/Yang
A seeming impossibility becomes possible
Rock in the Snow
January in Toronto
Monday, October 3, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
A big one balanced on a small one.
I became intrigued by the idea of balancing a smaller rock then setting a larger one balanced atop it. Looking at it I feel the sculpture is showing the impossible. It is not. The laws of Gravity and Friction have been obeyed.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Saturday, April 25, 2009
How about them cars?
In the debate about carbon emissions, villains are found abundantly. We are certainly making a lot of fires. Studies have shown that our food travels substantial distances to reach our tables. Most of the motive force is provided by burning fossil fuels. Some areas have even cracked down on open wood and brush fires. Even open cooking fires are brandished as sources of great carbon emissions. Animal flatulence and belching are also held as examples of enormous sources of greenhouse gases on the loose. Then there are the great continuous fires used to produce our need for abundant electric energy. I suspect these arguments are perhaps screening the real culprit--automobiles.
In order to get an example of the scope of this fire, I came up with some calculations to try and find the magnitude of inferno we produce that enables us to move around at will. I did not use real scientific research to arrive at my figures but used a reasonable estimate to suppose that at any given moment there are likely two hundred million personal motor vehicles on highways worldwide traveling at cruising speed. I also assigned the average number of cylinders at work to be six per vehicle. At this rate, we have one point two billion cylinders laboring all the time. What would this fire look like?
To get the picture, I used these estimates to arrive at the enormity of fuel air explosion that was continually going off. Assuming that all these vehicles are going at cruising speed, I deduced they averaged around three thousand revolutions per minute. Dividing by sixty we arrive at fifty per second. In normal four stroke engines, a power stroke is sparked every other turn. So each cylinder produces twenty five explosions per second. By my estimate of cars cruising, we have thirty billion ignitions per second of fuel air mixture. That would seem an enormous conflagration were it even matches being struck. I have a notion that the fire in an automobile cylinder is a tad larger that a firestick.
Now, I will try to construct a picture of what it would look like were the fuel expended in one second to go off in one place in one huge fireball. A cylinder on a large bore engine displaces forty five cubic inches, a small engine roughly thirty six. A good mean is forty cubic inches. Using this figure, results that in one second our car engines inhale one point two trillion cubic inches of air fuel mixture. This figure yields six hundred and ninety five million cubic feet. Roughly this could be contained in a box with nine hundred foot sides. That describes a huge piston. I cannot fathom what a detonation of this order would look like. But, it is not too difficult to extrapolate that a blast on this order occurring every second could likely drive our planet into a new orbit.
©
In order to get an example of the scope of this fire, I came up with some calculations to try and find the magnitude of inferno we produce that enables us to move around at will. I did not use real scientific research to arrive at my figures but used a reasonable estimate to suppose that at any given moment there are likely two hundred million personal motor vehicles on highways worldwide traveling at cruising speed. I also assigned the average number of cylinders at work to be six per vehicle. At this rate, we have one point two billion cylinders laboring all the time. What would this fire look like?
To get the picture, I used these estimates to arrive at the enormity of fuel air explosion that was continually going off. Assuming that all these vehicles are going at cruising speed, I deduced they averaged around three thousand revolutions per minute. Dividing by sixty we arrive at fifty per second. In normal four stroke engines, a power stroke is sparked every other turn. So each cylinder produces twenty five explosions per second. By my estimate of cars cruising, we have thirty billion ignitions per second of fuel air mixture. That would seem an enormous conflagration were it even matches being struck. I have a notion that the fire in an automobile cylinder is a tad larger that a firestick.
Now, I will try to construct a picture of what it would look like were the fuel expended in one second to go off in one place in one huge fireball. A cylinder on a large bore engine displaces forty five cubic inches, a small engine roughly thirty six. A good mean is forty cubic inches. Using this figure, results that in one second our car engines inhale one point two trillion cubic inches of air fuel mixture. This figure yields six hundred and ninety five million cubic feet. Roughly this could be contained in a box with nine hundred foot sides. That describes a huge piston. I cannot fathom what a detonation of this order would look like. But, it is not too difficult to extrapolate that a blast on this order occurring every second could likely drive our planet into a new orbit.
©
Credible Threats
I awoke this morning with a phrase ringing through my mind. That phrase was “credible threat.” As my day proceeded I incorporated this phrase into my thinking. First, I wondered about squandering of resources and energy combating fears that posed no real peril, but could likely be termed incredible threats. Then I wondered what is the most sure threat I can imagine. In my memory, it seems highly likely that random events continually occur that present clear and immediate danger. These strikes seem to come without warning and pay no heed to time or space. Large events that sprang to mind included assassinations of JFK, RFK, MLK and countless others, both within and without our borders. Next I pondered the random mass murders that seemed to occasionally pop up on campuses of our educational institutions. My earliest memory was the University of Texas Tower shootings conducted by Charles Joseph Whitman on August 1, 1966, concluding with his own shooting death at the hands of the Austin Police.
Almost in a regular way since, we have been visited by other outbreaks of random violence directed at our schools. Sometimes these have been at the hands of an individual, at others part of a conspiracy of a few. More than once we have witnessed violence perpetrated by organized hired hands of the state. I think of the Kent State massacres conducted by the Ohio National Guard and other violent intrusions of campuses by police and organized militia and not only within our borders. In 2004, Russian security forces stormed a school in Beslan where over one thousand hostages were being held. This military type intervention resulted in over 385 deaths. It is difficult to tell which is the most believable danger, the random outbursts or the reactions to them. In any event, anyone in attendance could perceive a realistic peril in the form of bullets whizzing by.
These outbreaks have spread out into other segments of our society. None of our institutions or establishments seem safe from this scourge. We have observed outrageous actions popping up during proceedings held both publicly and privately. Large scale attacks have occurred at business, cultural, religious, and sporting events. Assaults using military type ordnance have been visited upon even small family celebrations. Often responses to these acts of violence resemble commando operations and lead to further carnage and bloodshed. As a result society as a whole is exhibiting behaviors and symptoms that if observed in individuals would lead to a diagnosis of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Individuals may become infected with PTSD after either experiencing or witnessing an event that involved actual or threatened death or serious injury to self or others. Other criteria for this disorder are recurrent and persistent recollections of the disturbing event. Society may be inflicting itself with a type of this malady by virtue of bombarding the public with repeated graphic scenes of these traumatic actions by the media. In my memory, I can see both the moment that a sniper’s bullet struck John Kennedy‘s neck and the grimace on the face of his alleged shooter, Lee Harvey Oswald as Jack Ruby shot him in the stomach. These scenes whirl through my mind along with countless others of conflicts stretching from then till now. Prints detailing all these graphic scenes of violent death would take volumes. I am certain there are many folks in this world who have no trouble recalling the vivid image of a plane slicing through the World Trade Center. And this is only one of the images being stored in collective psyche.
If indeed we are inflicting ourselves with psychological distress due to overexposure to internal or external cues that resemble an aspect of traumatic events, then we can expect our reactions to be similarly disordered. Even innocent events can take on the appearance of credible threats. This in turn evokes responses that are overwhelming and inappropriately threatening. We are showing a marked pattern of reaction to many events as if they were genuine terrorization.
This makes responses overwhelming displays of authentic threats. Examples are police shootings of unarmed suspects, the overpowered raid on Mount Carmel Compound in Waco, Texas and even the large military operation to catch a few guys hunkered down in caves in Hindukush. I suppose, if I was a tribal person living in that area, I would feel my skies patrolled by Predator drones a credible threat. It can be easy to see this leading to an ever increasing cycle of violence. And in this scenario, it makes sense, a villager would take sides with whatever could offer security, even if this means an increase in brutal action. Where is the solution to this maddening state of affairs?
Perhaps, we have to look in diverse places for an answer. Since any reaction seems guaranteed to continue the cycle, a pattern of inaction may be called for. This brings to mind Scriptural remedies that suggest evil will fall of its own accord. Many traditions teach the value of sitting still midst the storm as a sure way to ride it out. Seafarers know that panic reactions can only lead to disaster. Accordingly, brushfire fighters learn the value of letting fire consume itself, meanwhile, lighting backfires to remove fuel. Even the Beatles suggested the answer in their popular tune, Let it be, “ and in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, ‘Let it be, Let it be. ‘”
Since, this solution suggests we act contrary to our psychological state and adverse to popular reaction, what is needed is Faith support. I envision a body of folks who hold one another up in Love and Peace, lest we stumble into reaction. In this way we can be witness with one another that indeed, Wonders and Miracles will arrive in the nick of time.
©
Almost in a regular way since, we have been visited by other outbreaks of random violence directed at our schools. Sometimes these have been at the hands of an individual, at others part of a conspiracy of a few. More than once we have witnessed violence perpetrated by organized hired hands of the state. I think of the Kent State massacres conducted by the Ohio National Guard and other violent intrusions of campuses by police and organized militia and not only within our borders. In 2004, Russian security forces stormed a school in Beslan where over one thousand hostages were being held. This military type intervention resulted in over 385 deaths. It is difficult to tell which is the most believable danger, the random outbursts or the reactions to them. In any event, anyone in attendance could perceive a realistic peril in the form of bullets whizzing by.
These outbreaks have spread out into other segments of our society. None of our institutions or establishments seem safe from this scourge. We have observed outrageous actions popping up during proceedings held both publicly and privately. Large scale attacks have occurred at business, cultural, religious, and sporting events. Assaults using military type ordnance have been visited upon even small family celebrations. Often responses to these acts of violence resemble commando operations and lead to further carnage and bloodshed. As a result society as a whole is exhibiting behaviors and symptoms that if observed in individuals would lead to a diagnosis of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Individuals may become infected with PTSD after either experiencing or witnessing an event that involved actual or threatened death or serious injury to self or others. Other criteria for this disorder are recurrent and persistent recollections of the disturbing event. Society may be inflicting itself with a type of this malady by virtue of bombarding the public with repeated graphic scenes of these traumatic actions by the media. In my memory, I can see both the moment that a sniper’s bullet struck John Kennedy‘s neck and the grimace on the face of his alleged shooter, Lee Harvey Oswald as Jack Ruby shot him in the stomach. These scenes whirl through my mind along with countless others of conflicts stretching from then till now. Prints detailing all these graphic scenes of violent death would take volumes. I am certain there are many folks in this world who have no trouble recalling the vivid image of a plane slicing through the World Trade Center. And this is only one of the images being stored in collective psyche.
If indeed we are inflicting ourselves with psychological distress due to overexposure to internal or external cues that resemble an aspect of traumatic events, then we can expect our reactions to be similarly disordered. Even innocent events can take on the appearance of credible threats. This in turn evokes responses that are overwhelming and inappropriately threatening. We are showing a marked pattern of reaction to many events as if they were genuine terrorization.
This makes responses overwhelming displays of authentic threats. Examples are police shootings of unarmed suspects, the overpowered raid on Mount Carmel Compound in Waco, Texas and even the large military operation to catch a few guys hunkered down in caves in Hindukush. I suppose, if I was a tribal person living in that area, I would feel my skies patrolled by Predator drones a credible threat. It can be easy to see this leading to an ever increasing cycle of violence. And in this scenario, it makes sense, a villager would take sides with whatever could offer security, even if this means an increase in brutal action. Where is the solution to this maddening state of affairs?
Perhaps, we have to look in diverse places for an answer. Since any reaction seems guaranteed to continue the cycle, a pattern of inaction may be called for. This brings to mind Scriptural remedies that suggest evil will fall of its own accord. Many traditions teach the value of sitting still midst the storm as a sure way to ride it out. Seafarers know that panic reactions can only lead to disaster. Accordingly, brushfire fighters learn the value of letting fire consume itself, meanwhile, lighting backfires to remove fuel. Even the Beatles suggested the answer in their popular tune, Let it be, “ and in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, ‘Let it be, Let it be. ‘”
Since, this solution suggests we act contrary to our psychological state and adverse to popular reaction, what is needed is Faith support. I envision a body of folks who hold one another up in Love and Peace, lest we stumble into reaction. In this way we can be witness with one another that indeed, Wonders and Miracles will arrive in the nick of time.
©
Thursday, January 1, 2009
What this inauguration means to me
By definition, inauguration means commencing a new operation or practice. In its procession to power, this administration rallied around two key concepts--Hope and Change. Too long, our country has been hostage to fear, greed, and criticism. Throughout history, these formidable Horsemen have rendered mighty empires to shriveled semblances of their former selves. Hope is: the American Spirit can be wrested from these daunting foes. Change is the process that will bring about this freedom.To begin this governance by looking backward and finding place to lay blame for our current state of affairs would find us still trampled by the hooves of these Beasts. Change dictates that we proceed along a new avenue. That way is marked by hope that we rekindle values that brought America to prominence as the desirable model for Democracy. America achieved greatness when she wielded considerable ability to sacrifice, perform hard work and apply herself persistently to troubles besetting her close to home. Choosing this presidency signals to me that Americans are ready to embrace again the values and ethics that made us a powerful example to the world. I do not regard President Obama as radiant savior. Instead, I deem our choosing him as leader, a gesture that faith exists in our political system. This inauguration signifies there is hope we can draw together and overcome the forces that have insidiously grabbed hold of our spirit and being. My belief is that when we draw together to solve the troubles inflicting our neighborhoods, towns, cities, districts, states, we will go forward to a nation the world can look upon as a guide to climbing out of the hole we have dug ourselves into. As certainly as Hope can provide the beacon, her sister virtues can bring about a new approach. Faith can supplant fear; Charity can overcome greed. These three virtues are cornerstone to worldwide religious thought and spiritual practice. My hope is that this administration can bear witness to ushering in of a renewed Spirit restoring our great nation to being beacon to the world.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Now for a brief interuption
Sorry for the interuption folks.
I am working on a story that will be posted as a Water Story. This one is fiction. So I do not get to dig it out of the recesses of my memory and simply transcribe it. This one takes some inventing as I draw it up from another part of my brain that uses other than memory circuits. This process involves sitting and reflecting time, then putting musings into words. After it settles a bit I go backwards and check how it is flowing with the tale I want to tell. So far, I have got two days into it. Not a lot of finished work has come out. But, I find it necessary to break off at times to let the froth cook and see what emerges. In the meantime, feel free to browse through some of the backpages, that are posted. When, this current project looks like it is finished, it will appear here. Or, I may just keep posting updates like this.
I am working on a story that will be posted as a Water Story. This one is fiction. So I do not get to dig it out of the recesses of my memory and simply transcribe it. This one takes some inventing as I draw it up from another part of my brain that uses other than memory circuits. This process involves sitting and reflecting time, then putting musings into words. After it settles a bit I go backwards and check how it is flowing with the tale I want to tell. So far, I have got two days into it. Not a lot of finished work has come out. But, I find it necessary to break off at times to let the froth cook and see what emerges. In the meantime, feel free to browse through some of the backpages, that are posted. When, this current project looks like it is finished, it will appear here. Or, I may just keep posting updates like this.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Shark Tale
Tales of sharks were common around West Coast Florida. Sighting were rare. Most stories came from fisherman who found their prize sport fish attacked and half eaten before landed it. By the damage inflicted it was obviously a shark attack. There had been no local stories of sharks attacking humans. There were always plenty of shark teeth to be found on local beaches. It seemed every beachcomber had an extensive collection. For all the talk and lore, I had never seen one landed.
One day my brother Karl and I accompanied Drew back to his house, a few houses up the bay. We cut across neighbors front yards. About half way there as we crossed the Graham’s property, we spotted a sizeable fish in the water. We walked out on a nearby dock to get a better look. It was a shark. It was still and obviously dead. It had a three deep wounds on its side no doubt inflicted by a boat propeller. Each gash cut down to internal organs. We decided to haul our find out of the water. We secured a piece of rope and waded out to the large carcass. Very warily, we attached the line to its tail and pulled it to shore. We asked Mr. Graham if we could haul it up a limb so we could get a picture. He agreed and helped us hoist it tail end up to a large horizontal oak branch.
Next we got a camera and took several pictures of us three boys surrounding our catch. We were careful to turn the wounded side away so that anyone looking at the picture might glean we were rugged fishermen. Later Mr. Graham provided a copy of our picture to the Sarasota Herald Tribune and Journal. The next day’s issue showed our prize fish in the sporting section. All three of us were even mentioned by name. We felt proud and much bigger than our size. We tempered our swimming in those waters a bit and kept our activities to boating. Soon we got a chance to go out. About a week later Mr. Graham called and demanded we haul our shark away from his property. It was raising quite a stink. We got hold of a boat, rowed over, cut down our shark and towed him out to the middle of the harbor. There we offered a a small ceremony to this beast as he drifted down into the depths after we cut him loose.
One day my brother Karl and I accompanied Drew back to his house, a few houses up the bay. We cut across neighbors front yards. About half way there as we crossed the Graham’s property, we spotted a sizeable fish in the water. We walked out on a nearby dock to get a better look. It was a shark. It was still and obviously dead. It had a three deep wounds on its side no doubt inflicted by a boat propeller. Each gash cut down to internal organs. We decided to haul our find out of the water. We secured a piece of rope and waded out to the large carcass. Very warily, we attached the line to its tail and pulled it to shore. We asked Mr. Graham if we could haul it up a limb so we could get a picture. He agreed and helped us hoist it tail end up to a large horizontal oak branch.
Next we got a camera and took several pictures of us three boys surrounding our catch. We were careful to turn the wounded side away so that anyone looking at the picture might glean we were rugged fishermen. Later Mr. Graham provided a copy of our picture to the Sarasota Herald Tribune and Journal. The next day’s issue showed our prize fish in the sporting section. All three of us were even mentioned by name. We felt proud and much bigger than our size. We tempered our swimming in those waters a bit and kept our activities to boating. Soon we got a chance to go out. About a week later Mr. Graham called and demanded we haul our shark away from his property. It was raising quite a stink. We got hold of a boat, rowed over, cut down our shark and towed him out to the middle of the harbor. There we offered a a small ceremony to this beast as he drifted down into the depths after we cut him loose.
©
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Haven’t Learned a Thing
By the time I was twelve I had become quite proficient at swimming. I not only swam in the warm waters of Florida’s bays, but had gotten over my aversion to coolness of swimming pools. I could dive in and swim many lengths of the pool without a rest. Breathing, stroking, and pacing were becoming second nature. I felt quite at home in water as long as it was temperate. I had yet to venture north of the Florida border and taste cold northern waters Some of the fresh water springs in Northern Florida were too cold for my liking. I seemed to becoming a reptilian creature. Unfortunately my brain functions were slightly on that level also.
In the summer of my twelfth year, I attended a month long summer camp. The attendance fees were bartered by my dad in exchange for a large wooden canoe. We were put up in cabins with boys of the same age. My cabin held ten twelve year old lads and our counselor. The canoe my dad provided was large enough to hold the whole cabin load of us along with our counselor. It became apparent to us that our counselor had a slight fear of water. He always acted nervous out in the canoe. We never saw him swim and maybe he could not. Feeling our full measure of adolescent meanness, we devised a prank for him. We figured that on one of our trips out into middle lake, we would in mass abandon canoe and leave our counselor to fend for himself getting back to shore. We all figured we could make it back swimming. One day we got our chance.
We got out in the middle and on a pre arranged signal, all of us jumped out. We swam away in glee as our counselor was yelling at us to return. . We proceeded back to our docking area. About halfway there, I noticed by full length jeans were becoming waterlogged. The heavier they got the more arduous swimming became. I began worrying that I might become exhausted. Before I got completely worn out, I remembered something from water safety class about removing your clothing. Apparently I had dismissed the lesson about not going in water in your street clothes. I began peeling my pants down my legs. I only got them as far as knotted up around my ankles. There they acted like small weights.
Without use of my legs, II was being dragged down. At a few feet depth, I hit bottom and had enough spring to propel my self back to the surface. When I broke surface, I took a hug gulp of air. As I descended again I kicked furiously to free my legs. After a couple attempts one leg got free from its ankle restraint. Using my freed leg I could kick my way to the surface. After another huge gulp of air , I descended again and freed my other leg. Having both legs free, I could now resume my swim to shore towing my pants with good lifesaving water rescue technique.
I changed course and instead of heading to our dock, I headed to the nearest one--the dock of the neighboring Girl Scout camp. I noticed no one around there and realized I would be coming ashore in my under shorts. Rather quickly I hit their beach, looked round and saw the coast was clear. Gathering my pants in a bundle, I stealthily ran across their compound through the woods to our cabin. That night our cabin was restricted and lectured at great length concerning our stupid mean spirited behaviors. We lost canoe and water privileges for the remainder of summer. We all felt cheated by the consequences of our actions. It was only many years later did I come to and understanding concerning the narrow escape with possible drowning I had encountered.
In the summer of my twelfth year, I attended a month long summer camp. The attendance fees were bartered by my dad in exchange for a large wooden canoe. We were put up in cabins with boys of the same age. My cabin held ten twelve year old lads and our counselor. The canoe my dad provided was large enough to hold the whole cabin load of us along with our counselor. It became apparent to us that our counselor had a slight fear of water. He always acted nervous out in the canoe. We never saw him swim and maybe he could not. Feeling our full measure of adolescent meanness, we devised a prank for him. We figured that on one of our trips out into middle lake, we would in mass abandon canoe and leave our counselor to fend for himself getting back to shore. We all figured we could make it back swimming. One day we got our chance.
We got out in the middle and on a pre arranged signal, all of us jumped out. We swam away in glee as our counselor was yelling at us to return. . We proceeded back to our docking area. About halfway there, I noticed by full length jeans were becoming waterlogged. The heavier they got the more arduous swimming became. I began worrying that I might become exhausted. Before I got completely worn out, I remembered something from water safety class about removing your clothing. Apparently I had dismissed the lesson about not going in water in your street clothes. I began peeling my pants down my legs. I only got them as far as knotted up around my ankles. There they acted like small weights.
Without use of my legs, II was being dragged down. At a few feet depth, I hit bottom and had enough spring to propel my self back to the surface. When I broke surface, I took a hug gulp of air. As I descended again I kicked furiously to free my legs. After a couple attempts one leg got free from its ankle restraint. Using my freed leg I could kick my way to the surface. After another huge gulp of air , I descended again and freed my other leg. Having both legs free, I could now resume my swim to shore towing my pants with good lifesaving water rescue technique.
I changed course and instead of heading to our dock, I headed to the nearest one--the dock of the neighboring Girl Scout camp. I noticed no one around there and realized I would be coming ashore in my under shorts. Rather quickly I hit their beach, looked round and saw the coast was clear. Gathering my pants in a bundle, I stealthily ran across their compound through the woods to our cabin. That night our cabin was restricted and lectured at great length concerning our stupid mean spirited behaviors. We lost canoe and water privileges for the remainder of summer. We all felt cheated by the consequences of our actions. It was only many years later did I come to and understanding concerning the narrow escape with possible drowning I had encountered.
©
Monday, October 20, 2008
Oh Yah, I can Swim
By the time I was I third grade I found waters that were not to chilly to jump into. Although the Gulf still seemed cold, waters in Osprey bay and its surrounding creeks, estuaries, and bayous were luxuriously warm. Not only that but the bottoms were soft mushy mud that felt good to walk on. Mud flats held no grassy sections that could hide crabs, fishes and other denizens that might devour small boys. Also, even at the end of the dock facing the shore, waters were not over our heads. Here we could jump in and pretend to swim. The whole summer that year, I learned how to paddle forward as long as my feet could occasionally touch bottom long enough to catch breath and rest. Perhaps for a few strokes, I could even be swimming.
With the advent of fall, we stopped going in the water. Because of the amount of time I had spent in the water including many short periods when I had my feet off the bottom and my posture almost approaching a float position, I considered myself an accomplished swimmer. I attended a short swim lesson session that taught us how to float and hold our breath under water. I could hardly wait until the next summer when I would join the kids who jumped off the dock on the deep side facing out of the harbor and swim under the dock to the swallow side where we could stand on the bottom.
The next spring my first chance for swimming came with the first warm weather. I was enrolled in Cub Scouts and once a week went to our Den Mother, Mrs. Langer’s house after school to engage in scouting activities. She had a pool and on the first hot day we all changed into trunks and gathered round the pool. Each boy was polled about his ability to swim. When asked, remembering the strong fluttering I had done the previous year, I answered. “Yah, I can swim.” Mrs. Langer accepted my answer and let me join the boys in the deep end. The depth where I jumped in was eight feet and it did not have a soft muddy bottom. I found the water not so buoyant and was not able to stay up in the float position. I let myself sink to the bottom, went into a crouch and sprang my legs open propelling me to the surface. There I captured a big gulp of air, fell back into the deep and sank back to the bottom. Hitting it , I again went into a crouch and sprang to the surface again. I repeated this for quite a while not making any headway, but not getting exhausted either. I was too embarrassed to scream for help and just kept bobbing up and down.
Finally, one of the scout leaders sensed I was perhaps in trouble and asked me “ as I shot above the surface, “Do you need help getting to the side.?” As I took in a big gulp, I nodded affirmative and went back down. On my next ascent, I was grabbed by strong hands and lifted out of the pool. I was grateful for the help but was ashamed to admit, how much I needed it. I just acted like I had been practicing a new water acrobat routine. Inside, I was determined to give swimming pools a rest and confine my swimming activates to the safety of Osprey town dock with its soft muddy bottom where I could stand with my head out of the water.
With the advent of fall, we stopped going in the water. Because of the amount of time I had spent in the water including many short periods when I had my feet off the bottom and my posture almost approaching a float position, I considered myself an accomplished swimmer. I attended a short swim lesson session that taught us how to float and hold our breath under water. I could hardly wait until the next summer when I would join the kids who jumped off the dock on the deep side facing out of the harbor and swim under the dock to the swallow side where we could stand on the bottom.
The next spring my first chance for swimming came with the first warm weather. I was enrolled in Cub Scouts and once a week went to our Den Mother, Mrs. Langer’s house after school to engage in scouting activities. She had a pool and on the first hot day we all changed into trunks and gathered round the pool. Each boy was polled about his ability to swim. When asked, remembering the strong fluttering I had done the previous year, I answered. “Yah, I can swim.” Mrs. Langer accepted my answer and let me join the boys in the deep end. The depth where I jumped in was eight feet and it did not have a soft muddy bottom. I found the water not so buoyant and was not able to stay up in the float position. I let myself sink to the bottom, went into a crouch and sprang my legs open propelling me to the surface. There I captured a big gulp of air, fell back into the deep and sank back to the bottom. Hitting it , I again went into a crouch and sprang to the surface again. I repeated this for quite a while not making any headway, but not getting exhausted either. I was too embarrassed to scream for help and just kept bobbing up and down.
Finally, one of the scout leaders sensed I was perhaps in trouble and asked me “ as I shot above the surface, “Do you need help getting to the side.?” As I took in a big gulp, I nodded affirmative and went back down. On my next ascent, I was grabbed by strong hands and lifted out of the pool. I was grateful for the help but was ashamed to admit, how much I needed it. I just acted like I had been practicing a new water acrobat routine. Inside, I was determined to give swimming pools a rest and confine my swimming activates to the safety of Osprey town dock with its soft muddy bottom where I could stand with my head out of the water.
©
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Adjusting to Water
Warm baths seemed nice. It was comforting to immerse in liquid that was near body temperature. If water was too hot or cold, it lacked comfort, and I probably wailed if subjected to it. Extreme air temperature seemed easier to take than extreme water temperatures. I do not remember venturing into water by choice while we lived in Michigan. At age six we moved to the Gulf Coast of Florida. Even though folks referred to Gulf of Mexico waters as bath like, I did not find them so. My first attempt into entering those waters probably occurred at my grandfather’s house. He owned beach front on Casey Key. It seemed adults liked the idea of escaping hot air by going into Gulf waters.
My first venture out into water, halted as soon as my toes hit liquid that I could tell was much colder than blood. I see myself in shorts up to the bottom of my ankles in seemingly frigid water, shivering and hunched over for warmth. I was being encouraged to quickly get in, and advised, “You’ll get used to it.” I saw no sense in getting used to freezing to death. So I took the slow approach and tried to inch my way to deeper waters. Every step seemed grueling and painful. It seemed to take a long time and I had to guard against cold waters splashing on the upper parts of my body, that were not yet subjected to being immersed. Even though it felt like the parts immersed were indeed “getting use to it,” I could see no benefit of continuing this strenuous task. For me, sweltering air was not that bad. I recall finding enough relief from heat, by the time I reached knee depth in water. Then I turned and ran out, fully satisfied with my water experience.
After several attempts I finally managed to get fully immersed. It seemed shocking at first and eventually I did get used to it. The water did not become warm, but I could stand it. The only thing that made it bearable is the frolicking that could take place in this liquid buoyant atmosphere. However, the chilling effect was not yet finished. The next painful phase emerged when I came out of the water. The cooling effect of water evaporating off wet skin immediately hit me. The only relief came from dunking back in cool waters. It seemed incredulous that something so cool to get into now provided semblance of warmth. Surely, I had entered an upside down world. Now it was important to have towels and dry cloths near at hand to cover up quickly so that my body could return to the comfort of blistering heated air. I quickly learned to prefer the cooling effect of sweat evaporating off my near naked body than go through this arduous cooling method.
My first venture out into water, halted as soon as my toes hit liquid that I could tell was much colder than blood. I see myself in shorts up to the bottom of my ankles in seemingly frigid water, shivering and hunched over for warmth. I was being encouraged to quickly get in, and advised, “You’ll get used to it.” I saw no sense in getting used to freezing to death. So I took the slow approach and tried to inch my way to deeper waters. Every step seemed grueling and painful. It seemed to take a long time and I had to guard against cold waters splashing on the upper parts of my body, that were not yet subjected to being immersed. Even though it felt like the parts immersed were indeed “getting use to it,” I could see no benefit of continuing this strenuous task. For me, sweltering air was not that bad. I recall finding enough relief from heat, by the time I reached knee depth in water. Then I turned and ran out, fully satisfied with my water experience.
After several attempts I finally managed to get fully immersed. It seemed shocking at first and eventually I did get used to it. The water did not become warm, but I could stand it. The only thing that made it bearable is the frolicking that could take place in this liquid buoyant atmosphere. However, the chilling effect was not yet finished. The next painful phase emerged when I came out of the water. The cooling effect of water evaporating off wet skin immediately hit me. The only relief came from dunking back in cool waters. It seemed incredulous that something so cool to get into now provided semblance of warmth. Surely, I had entered an upside down world. Now it was important to have towels and dry cloths near at hand to cover up quickly so that my body could return to the comfort of blistering heated air. I quickly learned to prefer the cooling effect of sweat evaporating off my near naked body than go through this arduous cooling method.
©
Friday, October 17, 2008
Water Stories: Earliest Memory
My earliest memory of water I do not remember. I must have been floating in a sack of water before I was born, since that is what humans do before they emerge. It was probably warm and dark, maybe even comfortable. After that, I do not remember specifics, but I feel that my earliest sense of water is that it was unpleasantly cold. Probably it first consisted of being bathed by my mother. Air was quite a bit colder than the warm moist environment I come from. Then, I was assaulted by something liquid and more chilling. It was not pleasant. Being bundled in swaddling clothes seemed more preferable than being immersed in fluid that was even the slightest bit colder than my body temperature.
Little did I realize that water could get much colder. In fact, it could lose so much of its heat it stopped being liquid and turned solid. That provided my next memory of water--that of ice. I only have the slightest vision of my sister Karen, sitting out in the middle of the lake with our dog. Next to me on the shoreline were my parents who were raising quite a commotion yelling at Karen to come back. Whatever message they were conveying to her, it only caused Karen to stand up and wave back in greeting. The dog just stood there wagging its tale. I could not understand what the fuss was all about.
I did know that the ice would support the weight of many grown men who would go out to the middle and harvest ice. I could not understand why my parents did not go out and fetch Karen, It would certainly have made more sense than standing on the shore and yelling. It did not seem to be working. Eventually Karen must have got tired and returned to shore. Once they she was grabbed in an embrace and my parents seemed relieved. I had no idea that Spring ice held danger.
I must have intuited that it was not worth venturing out onto the ice. I have no memory of making that trip alone for the next few winter we spent in Michigan. After that we moved to Florida and ice was something I did not have to contend with for quite awhile. But it still took some time before I discovered water’s refreshing qualities.
Little did I realize that water could get much colder. In fact, it could lose so much of its heat it stopped being liquid and turned solid. That provided my next memory of water--that of ice. I only have the slightest vision of my sister Karen, sitting out in the middle of the lake with our dog. Next to me on the shoreline were my parents who were raising quite a commotion yelling at Karen to come back. Whatever message they were conveying to her, it only caused Karen to stand up and wave back in greeting. The dog just stood there wagging its tale. I could not understand what the fuss was all about.
I did know that the ice would support the weight of many grown men who would go out to the middle and harvest ice. I could not understand why my parents did not go out and fetch Karen, It would certainly have made more sense than standing on the shore and yelling. It did not seem to be working. Eventually Karen must have got tired and returned to shore. Once they she was grabbed in an embrace and my parents seemed relieved. I had no idea that Spring ice held danger.
I must have intuited that it was not worth venturing out onto the ice. I have no memory of making that trip alone for the next few winter we spent in Michigan. After that we moved to Florida and ice was something I did not have to contend with for quite awhile. But it still took some time before I discovered water’s refreshing qualities.
©
Thursday, October 16, 2008
No Story tonight.
October 2008,
Dear Reader,
There will not be a story tonight. In the morning, I attend a servsafe class. My day begins at 8:30 AM and lasts until 5:30 PM. In my job as receiver of foodstuffs, I am required to have training in the method of handling food properly to prevent spread of illness. I was given a text to read tonight in preparation for tomorrow’s class. I will take it to bed with me and likely shortly fall to sleep. This weekend I intend to have an outdoor fire and hope that will prompt another fire story. In the meantime, stay warm.
Sincerely,
Baba Rob
©
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Got the Picture?
Yesterday, when I arrived home. I set out on an assignment to find nice photos showing the autumnal colors in their glory. The sky was overcast, and bright sun was not present. I went off hoping that sun would burst through for even a moment to illuminate the fall splendor. Shortly after pedaling away on my bicycle, a slight mist developed. Through out my ride, hard rain threatened. With out sun to cut through the mist, long range landscapes were not possible. I captured a few close views on my digital camera. As rain increased I headed home to download pictures. I felt this may be the last chance to view autumn leaves this fall. The rain and wind managed to dislodge a bunch of leaves. If it did not turn mild and quiet, the images I got would have to make do for addition to my blog.Arriving home, I used Photo Shop to crop pictures that I hoped to post on this blog. Three went up. I felt slight disappointment that what I posted seemed rather small and did not do justice to reality I viewed. I worried that the last chance had gone and colors were past their peak, never to return till next fall. This morning dawned bright and clear again. Though there were some bare patches on trees and many leaves were blowing around on the ground, sunshine lit up the hillside. I cruised around looking for more opportunities to gather shots. Today's posting will reveal what I found. Too bad, my little digital camera has no zoom lens. I hope the pictures I provided give a sense of the outstanding beauty, covering the Finger Lakes region.
©
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Hills Are Ablaze: On Assignment
On the way to delivering Natalie, Alex, Liam and Ella to their train in Syracuse we noted that the autumnal colors were likely at their peak. All the hues present in a fire were shining form the hillsides as we passed. The past few days have been unseasonably warm no doubt ripened final colors into leaves. By the time , I returned home clouds came over and a stiff breeze sprang up. Leafs are blowing off their perches. Likely a cold front is moving in and this may be the last chance to capture the radiance emitting from the hillsides.
I picked up my digital camera, am heading out on my bicycle in search of a brief sunny interlude to highlight this radiance. Hopefully I can capture a suitable image. My hope is to post it on my blog in lieu of a daily story. Any way, an older slogan holds that a picture is worth over a thousand words. So I better get out and see if I can put those thousand or so words into a digital image.
I picked up my digital camera, am heading out on my bicycle in search of a brief sunny interlude to highlight this radiance. Hopefully I can capture a suitable image. My hope is to post it on my blog in lieu of a daily story. Any way, an older slogan holds that a picture is worth over a thousand words. So I better get out and see if I can put those thousand or so words into a digital image.
©
Monday, October 13, 2008
Talking about Fires
There is no denying Liam is afraid of fire. His actions portray trying to manage that fear. He reacts in a way that he hopes will remove the object of his fear. While he was out yesterday, I made a small fire outdoors to get rid of yard debris. When he returned with his parents, he attempted to take charge again. He does this my insisting that an adult stay in attendance at the fire. Essentially, this is good practice. Fire safety dictates that fires be tended. But he pushed this to an extreme, since he fusses when I walk to the house to fetch a rake. In the battle of wills that ensues, I have to both attend to a fire that could blow up and a kid that is erupting. Luckily the fire has almost died down, and Liam’s dad comes to the rescue. They agree to perch on the hammock and keep an eye on the fire that by now has given up on producing flame and reduced to glowing embers.
This frees me up to attend to grinding up some nuts to produce peanut butter. All the kids looked forward to filling their own jar. Ella, Inanna, and Tyler all got to make personal labels for the jars they filed. Liam surrendered his chance since he could not let himself leave the fire till even the last wisp of smoke emitted. His fear yielded an extreme sense of fire safety. He was not about to listen to reason that the dying fire could be monitored as long as we were nearby and it did not require constant gazing at it to ensure it would not escape its metal container. But eventually, it died down enough that he felt safe to wander over to the playground and join in other kid activities.
Soon after supper was over, Liam’s parents left for a night on the town. I was left in charge of the kids. As it got dark, a chill was settling in and I prepared a fire in the fireplace. As soon as Liam noticed what was going on, be became anxious and stood outside the doorway to the living room, occasionally peering around the corner to see if he had to launch another fire safety crusade. He threatened to spend the night outdoors rather than live indoors and share his space with fire.
I stood firm in letting him know that staying outdoors was more risky than living with a fire and I would not permit that. I also let him know that it was beneficial for us to have warmth that the fire would provide. I was also aided by other folks that wanted to get warmed by the fire. Melanie and Cory, both engaged Liam in conversation about the benefits that fire provided for mankind, including the fact that Liam’s beloved trains ran because they could carry a contained fire.
Eventually, Liam came around the corner and was willing to join us in conversation . At first he had to be assured that the glass doors and screens in front of the fireplace would contain fire and not let it pounce out at us. Slowly, talk drifted to other subjects and Liam appeared settled and safe getting warmed by the fire. Finally, Liam let his imagination run free and began letting out tales that exposed his vast range of fears about its dangers. I listened to an incredible array of stories that showed what could occur in a fertile mind. We even joked about his immense powers of imagination that showed an inner flame of his own. By the time he needed to get ready for bed, Liam was OK with the idea that what was left of fire would be OK behind the safety apparatus in front of the fireplace. I figured he went to bed with a healthy respect for his new friend fire.
This frees me up to attend to grinding up some nuts to produce peanut butter. All the kids looked forward to filling their own jar. Ella, Inanna, and Tyler all got to make personal labels for the jars they filed. Liam surrendered his chance since he could not let himself leave the fire till even the last wisp of smoke emitted. His fear yielded an extreme sense of fire safety. He was not about to listen to reason that the dying fire could be monitored as long as we were nearby and it did not require constant gazing at it to ensure it would not escape its metal container. But eventually, it died down enough that he felt safe to wander over to the playground and join in other kid activities.
Soon after supper was over, Liam’s parents left for a night on the town. I was left in charge of the kids. As it got dark, a chill was settling in and I prepared a fire in the fireplace. As soon as Liam noticed what was going on, be became anxious and stood outside the doorway to the living room, occasionally peering around the corner to see if he had to launch another fire safety crusade. He threatened to spend the night outdoors rather than live indoors and share his space with fire.
I stood firm in letting him know that staying outdoors was more risky than living with a fire and I would not permit that. I also let him know that it was beneficial for us to have warmth that the fire would provide. I was also aided by other folks that wanted to get warmed by the fire. Melanie and Cory, both engaged Liam in conversation about the benefits that fire provided for mankind, including the fact that Liam’s beloved trains ran because they could carry a contained fire.
Eventually, Liam came around the corner and was willing to join us in conversation . At first he had to be assured that the glass doors and screens in front of the fireplace would contain fire and not let it pounce out at us. Slowly, talk drifted to other subjects and Liam appeared settled and safe getting warmed by the fire. Finally, Liam let his imagination run free and began letting out tales that exposed his vast range of fears about its dangers. I listened to an incredible array of stories that showed what could occur in a fertile mind. We even joked about his immense powers of imagination that showed an inner flame of his own. By the time he needed to get ready for bed, Liam was OK with the idea that what was left of fire would be OK behind the safety apparatus in front of the fireplace. I figured he went to bed with a healthy respect for his new friend fire.
©
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Liam Does Not Like Fires
I got used to the idea that we are not going to make traditional bonfires around here. Last night we used a metal container that is designed to hold a fire off the ground and provides a screen to cover it over when it is ready to go out. We managed to build and hold a sizeable fire that suited as campfire. This container is also light and quite portable. Today , I decided to move it near a large brush pile and hold fires there until that pile is exhausted. I began clearing away to bare ground an area of larger circumference than the large urn. I figured this area would also be a good place to dump ashes. As I was making this clearing several large rocks presented themselves from the undergrowth. By the time it was ready to make a fire, rocks ringed the whole shebang and besides having an elevated metal platform to hold the blaze, it resembled a traditional campfire setting.
I went in the house to fetch matches and a piece of paper. My intent was to make an initiation fire and begin burning up some of the debris I just cleared out. Liam , my six year old grandson was Inside and I asked him to join me in fire making. He agreed and I felt we were in for a grandfather-grandson bonding experience. He brought a squirt gun with him. After I got the fire going and sizeable blaze was bursting forth, Liam came up and squirted me. I dashed that idea and told him he could take charge of being the fireman and quench any small pieces that managed to get out of the container. He objected to this and told me he did want to be a firefighter. He stated, “I don’t need to learn about fires, I am going to drive trains when I grow up. He seemed upset with the idea fire could leave the container. I told him it was OK and we could take care of it.
He then broke into tears and ran to the house. He would not talk to me except to say he did not like fires and wanted me to stay in attendance with the one I lit, until it stopped glowing. When I went to the house to see what was the matter, he kept up a steady fuss and insisted I go back to the fire, and not leave it unattended. He was acting so alarmed about having a fire unattended, I wondered it he might be exhibiting strong primal behavior with an adversity to flames. I wonder about the source of his strong contrary reaction. We engaged in a power struggle. He not willing to discuss the possibility that this fire might be safe, and could be observed from other vantage points than right next to it. .
The fire died down , we talked about fires. He has a vast interest in them, but he also has a strong sense of caution. He expressed interest in all the differing ways fires can get out of control. To prevent that from happening he likes to take control. As far as I can figure, Liam gets bombarded with fire safety lectures and presentation s in school. He is normally, anxious and it takes very little to get him in a controlling protective frame. I was disappointed that he could not enjoy tending a fie with me, but it seems he is a good candidate for slow patient instruction about the nature of fires. Perhaps a good place to start is with his interest in trains. In times past one of the most important goods on a train was that of fireman.
I went in the house to fetch matches and a piece of paper. My intent was to make an initiation fire and begin burning up some of the debris I just cleared out. Liam , my six year old grandson was Inside and I asked him to join me in fire making. He agreed and I felt we were in for a grandfather-grandson bonding experience. He brought a squirt gun with him. After I got the fire going and sizeable blaze was bursting forth, Liam came up and squirted me. I dashed that idea and told him he could take charge of being the fireman and quench any small pieces that managed to get out of the container. He objected to this and told me he did want to be a firefighter. He stated, “I don’t need to learn about fires, I am going to drive trains when I grow up. He seemed upset with the idea fire could leave the container. I told him it was OK and we could take care of it.
He then broke into tears and ran to the house. He would not talk to me except to say he did not like fires and wanted me to stay in attendance with the one I lit, until it stopped glowing. When I went to the house to see what was the matter, he kept up a steady fuss and insisted I go back to the fire, and not leave it unattended. He was acting so alarmed about having a fire unattended, I wondered it he might be exhibiting strong primal behavior with an adversity to flames. I wonder about the source of his strong contrary reaction. We engaged in a power struggle. He not willing to discuss the possibility that this fire might be safe, and could be observed from other vantage points than right next to it. .
The fire died down , we talked about fires. He has a vast interest in them, but he also has a strong sense of caution. He expressed interest in all the differing ways fires can get out of control. To prevent that from happening he likes to take control. As far as I can figure, Liam gets bombarded with fire safety lectures and presentation s in school. He is normally, anxious and it takes very little to get him in a controlling protective frame. I was disappointed that he could not enjoy tending a fie with me, but it seems he is a good candidate for slow patient instruction about the nature of fires. Perhaps a good place to start is with his interest in trains. In times past one of the most important goods on a train was that of fireman.
©
Tonight’s Fire
Behind the house I moved into August 1, are several acres of woods, Scattered about the trails that my landlord mowed are piles of brush. When I first spotted them, I could only envision magnificent bonfires. I searched for a clearing where burning could be conducted in safety. One spot offered a circle over seventy five feet in diameter where no overhead branches would be harmed by a sizeable fire. However, the landlord nixed the idea. He feared that an open fire may not be legal and would draw undue negative attention. I assured him that fires for entertainment and cooking are legal and I felt comfortable tending a fire until it extinguished. But to no avail, he did not want an open fire. As a compromise, he purchased a metal fire holder it that stood on legs over a foot off the ground. It came with a dome shaped screen cover to help contain sparks. It did not provide the same atmosphere as a fire on the earth in a pit enclosed by a circle of rocks.
I gave up on the idea of large bonfires and headed towards making my fires indoors in the fireplace. Over time, I hauled much of the wood to a spot near the house and set up a wood cutting station. For the past few weeks, I cut and stacked over a cord of wood for fireplace fires. Tonight, several folks were over for a dinner and party. I managed to get a fire going in the fireplace as several folks gathered in the kitchen to fix a meal. Jayme and Dan headed outside to set a fire in the container. Being a mild evening, outdoor fires seemed appropriate. Looking out the back, I noticed a nice blaze. Looking closer at it, I spotted a few pieces that looked like they may have been ones I had cut to fireplace size. My woodpile had been raided.
Jayme was headed over in the direction of my pile. I went over and noticed one end of the stack was disassembled and the pile unraveling. I informed Jayme that I did not mind he used the wood, but showed him how I neatly stacked the ends so they held the stack together. He apologized for grabbing those pieces. Next I told him that for outdoor fires there was much material laying about that could be used and we did not have to use wood that was cut to fireplace length.
I gave myself the job of fire tender and went off in the woods to gather bundles of fagots. Each tine. I approached with a bundle, I set about snapping smaller pieces apart and laying them in the fire. Larger pieces, I laid across the fire till they burned through and both ends could be shoved into the inferno. In the meantime, our crowd of evening guests gathered round the fire and engaged in normal fireside behavior. Stories and jokes were told. Smaller side conversations were initiated. Finally, musical instrument s appeared and sitting round the fire sing-a-longs sprung up. II tended the fire till it retired, then went off to bed, satisfied that another fire story had been told.
I gave up on the idea of large bonfires and headed towards making my fires indoors in the fireplace. Over time, I hauled much of the wood to a spot near the house and set up a wood cutting station. For the past few weeks, I cut and stacked over a cord of wood for fireplace fires. Tonight, several folks were over for a dinner and party. I managed to get a fire going in the fireplace as several folks gathered in the kitchen to fix a meal. Jayme and Dan headed outside to set a fire in the container. Being a mild evening, outdoor fires seemed appropriate. Looking out the back, I noticed a nice blaze. Looking closer at it, I spotted a few pieces that looked like they may have been ones I had cut to fireplace size. My woodpile had been raided.
Jayme was headed over in the direction of my pile. I went over and noticed one end of the stack was disassembled and the pile unraveling. I informed Jayme that I did not mind he used the wood, but showed him how I neatly stacked the ends so they held the stack together. He apologized for grabbing those pieces. Next I told him that for outdoor fires there was much material laying about that could be used and we did not have to use wood that was cut to fireplace length.
I gave myself the job of fire tender and went off in the woods to gather bundles of fagots. Each tine. I approached with a bundle, I set about snapping smaller pieces apart and laying them in the fire. Larger pieces, I laid across the fire till they burned through and both ends could be shoved into the inferno. In the meantime, our crowd of evening guests gathered round the fire and engaged in normal fireside behavior. Stories and jokes were told. Smaller side conversations were initiated. Finally, musical instrument s appeared and sitting round the fire sing-a-longs sprung up. II tended the fire till it retired, then went off to bed, satisfied that another fire story had been told.
©
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Movie review: Quest for Fire (1982)
I enjoyed this movie in theater when it was first released. I was drawn in immediately. This movie followed a band of prehistoric people who had yet to learn how to make fire. For them, fire was a possession that needed to be kept alive. One tribal member was responsible for carrying a container of embers and keeping them glowing. His was likely an esteemed tribal position. Besides carrying the embers, he was charged with using them to develop a fire. They lose their fire when they are driven out into a rainstorm by an attacking band of strangers. They escape and huddle in a swampy lowlands. At first their mood is celebratory, until they discover their fire did not survive.
The dialogue in this movie is remarkable. A special language was drawn up. They communicated by grunts, guttural sounds and gestures. Even lacking translation, it was not difficult to pick up the gist of their communication. Their conversation after discovering they were with out fire, resembles a modern group facing crises. Here is where communication breaks down, just as it does when a present day group is under threat of losing a vital possession. Emotions tend to rule, and logic and planned response take a back seat. Here we witness the squabbling and in fighting that results as they try to figure out a method to obtain more fire resources.
Finally a band of three is sent out seeking fire. There are hints this is not going to be an easy trek. For one thing, which direction would you go to look for fire. It is not quite as simple as trying to find berries, when you just head to the regular patch that is always in the same place. Fire seems more elusive. It will not likely be found in the same place. We follow this crew as they wander around searching for fruit of a different nature. They interact in much the same way as a modern group would react to a loss of somethiof prime import but with not much clue of how to restore it. Finally off in the distance they notice smoke-- a sign of their elusive goal. They head gingerly in that direction, not knowing who they may encounter. They find that the smoke comes from a campfire of a group of cannibals preparing to have a feast.
The intended dinner, is tied up nearby. One of the dinner party already is missing an arm and it is shown being turned on the fire. Fumbling with their language, the band of searchers concoct a plan to steal fire and in the process, free the human cattle. As fate has it, one of the freed bunch demonstrates how to use flint to make fire. Besides this their teacher, a female, shows them new techniques of human fire making. Up till then our band enjoyed animal type sex, but now they were shown lovemaking. They proceed back to their tribe with much booty. This small aside, may or may not have been realistic, but I enjoyed it showed how in many ways sparks can turn to flame. The acting was elemental, but good in that all that transpired happened without a word off English, yet I felt I had good grasp of the story. Well done.
The dialogue in this movie is remarkable. A special language was drawn up. They communicated by grunts, guttural sounds and gestures. Even lacking translation, it was not difficult to pick up the gist of their communication. Their conversation after discovering they were with out fire, resembles a modern group facing crises. Here is where communication breaks down, just as it does when a present day group is under threat of losing a vital possession. Emotions tend to rule, and logic and planned response take a back seat. Here we witness the squabbling and in fighting that results as they try to figure out a method to obtain more fire resources.
Finally a band of three is sent out seeking fire. There are hints this is not going to be an easy trek. For one thing, which direction would you go to look for fire. It is not quite as simple as trying to find berries, when you just head to the regular patch that is always in the same place. Fire seems more elusive. It will not likely be found in the same place. We follow this crew as they wander around searching for fruit of a different nature. They interact in much the same way as a modern group would react to a loss of somethiof prime import but with not much clue of how to restore it. Finally off in the distance they notice smoke-- a sign of their elusive goal. They head gingerly in that direction, not knowing who they may encounter. They find that the smoke comes from a campfire of a group of cannibals preparing to have a feast.
The intended dinner, is tied up nearby. One of the dinner party already is missing an arm and it is shown being turned on the fire. Fumbling with their language, the band of searchers concoct a plan to steal fire and in the process, free the human cattle. As fate has it, one of the freed bunch demonstrates how to use flint to make fire. Besides this their teacher, a female, shows them new techniques of human fire making. Up till then our band enjoyed animal type sex, but now they were shown lovemaking. They proceed back to their tribe with much booty. This small aside, may or may not have been realistic, but I enjoyed it showed how in many ways sparks can turn to flame. The acting was elemental, but good in that all that transpired happened without a word off English, yet I felt I had good grasp of the story. Well done.
©
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Bellows
In an oxygen rich atmosphere, materials that are only glowing or smoldering will suddenly burst into flame. An example was provided by my friend Chris who persisted in smoking cigarettes despite being hooked up to pure oxygen that compensated for lung congestion caused by advanced stage lung cancer. She usually remembered to remove the oxygen tube from her nose when she was going to light up. Some times she forgot. Once sitting with her, I witnessed her pull a lit cigarette to her face. As it got near it turned into a flaming torch. She got it away quickly and dowsed it in an ashtray. Burn marks on her clothing and bedding, attested that many attempts likely occurred. Luckily, her quick reflexes prevailed and got the burning faggot moved away from its catalyst.
In more controlled fashion, oxygen is fanned into embers to try and increase the burn. As a youngster, I remember bending near a budding fire. It usually required pressing a cheek near the ground and blowing sideways at mostly glowing cinders that lacked flames. It took a special knack to direct a stream of breath at the base, so that smoke did not blow back at my face. It also helped to control the jet so that is was lasting and steady. If administered properly, flames would pick up, Once established, I could back away and the fire would draw air to itself.
In this small way, I was using my lungs as a bellows.
The same effect can be produced to enhance the burn of a fire. Forcing air at a fire increases the burn rate and thereby the heat. One time I lived in a house that relied on a wood stove for heat. My job was to tend the fire. We had a tool that consisted of a long metal tube. At one end was a mouthpiece similar to that found on a wind instrument. The other end had a pointed nozzle that had two small holes side by side. This tool could be placed into the fire and by blowing on the mouthpiece a steady stream of air could be directed to a precise spot in the fire. I experimented with directed a sustained blast of air at the most internal part of the blaze. It was easy to detect I was making an incredible hot spot. I further experimented with placing bits of metal in a crucible in this hot spot. I was able to bring the temperature up to a point that metals I played with glowed red and became plastic and pliable. I was discovering the elements of forging.
Mechanical devices came to be used for the same effect. These could maintain an even steady stream of air at a fire and did not have to pause for inhalations and catching breath. They could work steady. Old-time forges had such a device and it consisted of an air bladder that when expanded sucked in air. When it was collapsed, air was forced out of a nozzle at the fire. Usually, an apprentice operated this device, pumping it up and down, while the master worked at the fire end handling red hot metal pieces. This is another form of bellows. The root of this word means blast bag. Furnaces that had similar devices were called blast furnaces. This is where fires were brought up to such heat that hard metals such as iron and steel could be melted and forged.
In a forging experiment, I devised a means to turn a used washing machine pump motor into a blower. Through a set of pipes I directed a slow steady stream of air at a coal fire, I had set up in an old tractor rim. The air would blow up through the pile of coals, setting them to a good glow. From the side I could place metals and crucibles in the coals. This produced a steady hot fire without the need to have someone constantly at work pumping an airbag up and down.
The last form of bellows I witnessed is that one found in nature. This is when a fresh breeze springs up while a fire is going outdoors. Here a strong wind acts counter productive to creating a hot fire, since it has more of a dispersing effect and can blow the fire out. But when the breeze is slow and steady it creates a blast furnace effect. Such fires have been known to melt metals and glass, at temperatures far exceeding those capable of being produced in ordinary wood fires. Again, it is the air blast that makes the difference. By working with fire in these conditions, I began to see why ancients regarded fire as a magical and transformational element.
In more controlled fashion, oxygen is fanned into embers to try and increase the burn. As a youngster, I remember bending near a budding fire. It usually required pressing a cheek near the ground and blowing sideways at mostly glowing cinders that lacked flames. It took a special knack to direct a stream of breath at the base, so that smoke did not blow back at my face. It also helped to control the jet so that is was lasting and steady. If administered properly, flames would pick up, Once established, I could back away and the fire would draw air to itself.
In this small way, I was using my lungs as a bellows.
The same effect can be produced to enhance the burn of a fire. Forcing air at a fire increases the burn rate and thereby the heat. One time I lived in a house that relied on a wood stove for heat. My job was to tend the fire. We had a tool that consisted of a long metal tube. At one end was a mouthpiece similar to that found on a wind instrument. The other end had a pointed nozzle that had two small holes side by side. This tool could be placed into the fire and by blowing on the mouthpiece a steady stream of air could be directed to a precise spot in the fire. I experimented with directed a sustained blast of air at the most internal part of the blaze. It was easy to detect I was making an incredible hot spot. I further experimented with placing bits of metal in a crucible in this hot spot. I was able to bring the temperature up to a point that metals I played with glowed red and became plastic and pliable. I was discovering the elements of forging.
Mechanical devices came to be used for the same effect. These could maintain an even steady stream of air at a fire and did not have to pause for inhalations and catching breath. They could work steady. Old-time forges had such a device and it consisted of an air bladder that when expanded sucked in air. When it was collapsed, air was forced out of a nozzle at the fire. Usually, an apprentice operated this device, pumping it up and down, while the master worked at the fire end handling red hot metal pieces. This is another form of bellows. The root of this word means blast bag. Furnaces that had similar devices were called blast furnaces. This is where fires were brought up to such heat that hard metals such as iron and steel could be melted and forged.
In a forging experiment, I devised a means to turn a used washing machine pump motor into a blower. Through a set of pipes I directed a slow steady stream of air at a coal fire, I had set up in an old tractor rim. The air would blow up through the pile of coals, setting them to a good glow. From the side I could place metals and crucibles in the coals. This produced a steady hot fire without the need to have someone constantly at work pumping an airbag up and down.
The last form of bellows I witnessed is that one found in nature. This is when a fresh breeze springs up while a fire is going outdoors. Here a strong wind acts counter productive to creating a hot fire, since it has more of a dispersing effect and can blow the fire out. But when the breeze is slow and steady it creates a blast furnace effect. Such fires have been known to melt metals and glass, at temperatures far exceeding those capable of being produced in ordinary wood fires. Again, it is the air blast that makes the difference. By working with fire in these conditions, I began to see why ancients regarded fire as a magical and transformational element.
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About Me, Part One
- Baba Rob
- Rock Balancing: The Beginning. What began as a journal of my travels took a hiatus when I began to settle in Ithaca NY. In the meantime, I took up the practice of setting rocks to balance. I returned to my blog to begin recording this story
Carry wood
33 years later