Hi everyone,
I wanted to apologize for being MIA on last Friday's posts and for being so late with this week's blog entry. I am in no way trying to make excuses, but the 3rd marking period ended for me last week and I got confused by what I had done for this class, and what I had done for work, and what I still had left to do. I only realized today that I had missed the week. I'm going to try to catch myself up tonight with the posts on Moodle, and I appreciate your understanding.
Hope all of your papers are going great!
-B
Thursday, March 29, 2012
BLOG PROMPT #5
My brother had a telescope when we were little, along with circular star charts in folds of rectangular paper, an oblong hole cut into it to mimic the odd shape of the sky at night. I would play with it, spinning the star chart through the hole, watching the sky change on the paper before me, never making the connection to the actual night sky.
I loved stargazing, never cared much for finding constellations, enjoyed watching the Pleiades meteor shower with friends. I took an astronomy class to become closer to the sky, like I might study colors to understand da Vinci. I learned that telescopes use two lenses, and I was able to see the rings of a tiny, tiny Jupiter through them.
The sky is constant, in that it is always changing, but will always come back to what it was. I'm not the first to notice this and not the last to romanticize it, but there is comfort there, knowing that someone can change and still be the same at the end of it all.
With the sky, there is no way for me to accidentally step into its territory and frighten it, or disturb its habitat beyond repair. No one complains about space garbage or makes me feel guilty for not conserving the stardust.
The night sky is a study in extremes--planets cooking in the day, planets freezing at night, stars so far away we don't even have numbers to represent the distance, but moons so small they can fit between two pinched fingers.
I like the sky because it is up there. I can see it, and it can be beautiful, but it cannot directly interact with me and I cannot change it. It is inevitable and no amount of effort or lack thereof on my part will stop it. There is no pressure on me. There is nothing and no one compelling me to do anything and the sky doesn't ask me to participate. There's a lot of possibility out there, but it isn't possibility I have to act on or take hold of or grab before it disappears.
I find the few touchstones I know--Orion, the Moon, maybe a Dipper if I'm desperate--and that is all that is required of me. The sky doesn't care that I cannot name all of the stars. They'll burn without all that.
I loved stargazing, never cared much for finding constellations, enjoyed watching the Pleiades meteor shower with friends. I took an astronomy class to become closer to the sky, like I might study colors to understand da Vinci. I learned that telescopes use two lenses, and I was able to see the rings of a tiny, tiny Jupiter through them.
The sky is constant, in that it is always changing, but will always come back to what it was. I'm not the first to notice this and not the last to romanticize it, but there is comfort there, knowing that someone can change and still be the same at the end of it all.
With the sky, there is no way for me to accidentally step into its territory and frighten it, or disturb its habitat beyond repair. No one complains about space garbage or makes me feel guilty for not conserving the stardust.
The night sky is a study in extremes--planets cooking in the day, planets freezing at night, stars so far away we don't even have numbers to represent the distance, but moons so small they can fit between two pinched fingers.
I like the sky because it is up there. I can see it, and it can be beautiful, but it cannot directly interact with me and I cannot change it. It is inevitable and no amount of effort or lack thereof on my part will stop it. There is no pressure on me. There is nothing and no one compelling me to do anything and the sky doesn't ask me to participate. There's a lot of possibility out there, but it isn't possibility I have to act on or take hold of or grab before it disappears.
I find the few touchstones I know--Orion, the Moon, maybe a Dipper if I'm desperate--and that is all that is required of me. The sky doesn't care that I cannot name all of the stars. They'll burn without all that.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Place Entry #5: The Grass is Always Greener
I've become the kind of person that is obsessed with grass.
We've had a lot of awfully nice weather this week. And in this very nice weather, I've found that my grass is patchy. As I stepped out into my back yard today, I saw just how high some of the grass was. Sadie darted out between my feet, and some of the longer stalks came up to her shoulder. Granted, she's only 11 inches tall. She seemed startled by the grass, walking gingerly around the yard, and hopping over a big patch like she was jumping a fence. She ran back inside and I couldn't persuade her to come back out.
The ground is soft and slightly wet, like a damp sponge that had been left on top of the dryer, or in the sun on a window sill. There is a small clump of purple flowery-type things growing over by my fence. As I walk to the middle of my yard, I brush through the grass and little things fly up. I cannot tell if they are bugs or pollen, and I've decided I don't want to know. The rabbit that lives in the bushes on the edge of the property is preparing to run, and I wish Sadie were here to run after it, because Sadie could use the run and there's no danger of her catching it.
My backyard is uneven, I decide. The bits against my house and back porch are higher than the middle of the yard, which often turns into a mini-lake / swamp area during rain. They are the parts that got mowed the least last year, because my mower kept dying. The yard slopes down again on the sides, and there is a tree that is really green because all of the water runs right to its roots. This unevenness is accentuated by my uneven grass. The parts in the swamp aren't growing at all, which at first confuses me, but then I figure they just get drowned out by all the water. The area around the bushes at the property line are eaten down each day by the rabbit, so there are just a few big tufts of thick grass there.
As I've been walking Sadie, I've been paying attention to the grass. This is suburbia, or as close to it as Dover gets, and lawns are a big deal. When my dad was down last weekend, we walked Sadie through the neighborhood. He lamented that no one here cares about their grass. There are brown patches in almost every yard. I pointed out that we were just starting spring, and people weren't really thinking about grass yet. He said, "Well, yeah, sure..." and I got the idea that he thinks we should all always be thinking about our grass, as though it is a symbol of how much you care for your neighborhood.
I am overly worried about my yard. My neighbors on both sides have very nice green yards, with grass that, if not perfectly mowed, is at least at a respectable height. My yard, while not completely sticking out, could quickly become the eyesore of the corner. I measure my house against the abandoned house down the street. I have more tufts of thick green than they do, although theirs is generally less groomed.
It bothers me that I am the kind of person who worries about grass. I had neighbors in high school who planted wildflowers for their front lawn, and never had to worry about mowing it, except for a tiny swath of grass they left in the middle and called the "Art Highway" in honor of the path my brother would take to their front door. These people certainly didn't worry about grass, and they turned out alright.
As I sit here, I wonder how it is that lawns became the way in which we present ourselves to society. I can see from my back yard a nicely manicured lawn with a cute Adirondack chair and a planter in the front yard, and of course that is appealing and welcoming, but it's also silly because I never see anyone sitting in the chair and it will just get all gross when it rains. Behind me, in the house with the dogs that never stop barking, the yard in fenced in and looks like it is mostly dying grass and dirt from the dogs running outside all of the time. That does give a different vibe, I guess.
I've been wanting to hold off on mowing, but I don't think I can anymore. Soon it will be obvious where the property lines are based on the height of the grass. I haven't heard anyone else mow yet, and I don't want the neighborhood to wonder why I am mowing so early in the season. At the same time, I'd hate for them to wonder why the heck my grass is so long.
I guess I'd better go move the newspaper from the front yard first...
We've had a lot of awfully nice weather this week. And in this very nice weather, I've found that my grass is patchy. As I stepped out into my back yard today, I saw just how high some of the grass was. Sadie darted out between my feet, and some of the longer stalks came up to her shoulder. Granted, she's only 11 inches tall. She seemed startled by the grass, walking gingerly around the yard, and hopping over a big patch like she was jumping a fence. She ran back inside and I couldn't persuade her to come back out.
The ground is soft and slightly wet, like a damp sponge that had been left on top of the dryer, or in the sun on a window sill. There is a small clump of purple flowery-type things growing over by my fence. As I walk to the middle of my yard, I brush through the grass and little things fly up. I cannot tell if they are bugs or pollen, and I've decided I don't want to know. The rabbit that lives in the bushes on the edge of the property is preparing to run, and I wish Sadie were here to run after it, because Sadie could use the run and there's no danger of her catching it.
My backyard is uneven, I decide. The bits against my house and back porch are higher than the middle of the yard, which often turns into a mini-lake / swamp area during rain. They are the parts that got mowed the least last year, because my mower kept dying. The yard slopes down again on the sides, and there is a tree that is really green because all of the water runs right to its roots. This unevenness is accentuated by my uneven grass. The parts in the swamp aren't growing at all, which at first confuses me, but then I figure they just get drowned out by all the water. The area around the bushes at the property line are eaten down each day by the rabbit, so there are just a few big tufts of thick grass there.
As I've been walking Sadie, I've been paying attention to the grass. This is suburbia, or as close to it as Dover gets, and lawns are a big deal. When my dad was down last weekend, we walked Sadie through the neighborhood. He lamented that no one here cares about their grass. There are brown patches in almost every yard. I pointed out that we were just starting spring, and people weren't really thinking about grass yet. He said, "Well, yeah, sure..." and I got the idea that he thinks we should all always be thinking about our grass, as though it is a symbol of how much you care for your neighborhood.
I am overly worried about my yard. My neighbors on both sides have very nice green yards, with grass that, if not perfectly mowed, is at least at a respectable height. My yard, while not completely sticking out, could quickly become the eyesore of the corner. I measure my house against the abandoned house down the street. I have more tufts of thick green than they do, although theirs is generally less groomed.
It bothers me that I am the kind of person who worries about grass. I had neighbors in high school who planted wildflowers for their front lawn, and never had to worry about mowing it, except for a tiny swath of grass they left in the middle and called the "Art Highway" in honor of the path my brother would take to their front door. These people certainly didn't worry about grass, and they turned out alright.
As I sit here, I wonder how it is that lawns became the way in which we present ourselves to society. I can see from my back yard a nicely manicured lawn with a cute Adirondack chair and a planter in the front yard, and of course that is appealing and welcoming, but it's also silly because I never see anyone sitting in the chair and it will just get all gross when it rains. Behind me, in the house with the dogs that never stop barking, the yard in fenced in and looks like it is mostly dying grass and dirt from the dogs running outside all of the time. That does give a different vibe, I guess.
I've been wanting to hold off on mowing, but I don't think I can anymore. Soon it will be obvious where the property lines are based on the height of the grass. I haven't heard anyone else mow yet, and I don't want the neighborhood to wonder why I am mowing so early in the season. At the same time, I'd hate for them to wonder why the heck my grass is so long.
I guess I'd better go move the newspaper from the front yard first...
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Blog Prompt #4
Dover is right in the middle of the state; one of the biggest problems in the area (that I know of, and that are talked of a lot) is the zoning laws. A lot of people around here have goats and chickens, but live in residential areas (I wrote about this before, being at a friend's house and having the chickens and goats on their back porch while we partied inside). Within the state, very little comes up when I ask google to find me "Delaware environmental concerns." A lot of topics give me a plethora of reading (remember my Nemesis? TONS of pages on the Camelback Cricket!) Cape Henlopen State Park is having a controlled burn to reinvigorate the area, ecologically speaking, and make it less likely to have an out-of-control wildfire. Because we are about an hour from the beach, beach issues pop up a lot. There are concerns about the rise in the sea level, and the problems with the quality of water being dumped into the Chesapeake Bay area, and there have been some (two, maybe?) public forums on the overall plan for a "pollution diet" (their words!) for the Bay.
Honestly, though, I consider myself a bit of news junkie, and the environment never seems to come up. I listen to local News radio every day in the morning and evening, I'm constantly on the internet news sites, and there isn't much there to hear--nothing being reported, anyway. I wonder if it is because so many people turn off when they hear something about the environment, or if there really isn't anything to tell (which I doubt). Is it just that murders and politics and business is more sexy to news media?
And maybe that's part of the problem with environmentalism: the public perception. Environmentalist reporting seems to come into two camps: crazy militant or crazy. I saw an article where some group was freaking out at a car company for using "The Lorax" characters to advertise their "green" car (I'm not sure if it was electric or hybrid). The group was very upset that the car company would use The Lorax to sell an SUV, because clearly cars hurt the environment. They're lashing out at advertising. I know more about that than I do about my own environment. If someone where to start writing about the issues with the Chesapeake Bay watershed, would anyone even want to listen? Or would it just be written off as people complaining, causing a panic, bothering the public with ridiculous little problems that don't actually matter in the grand scheme of things?
I guess what's I'm actually writing about then: the lack of quality information on the subject, and the lack of a quality audience to listen. I don't know that's it possible to reach a new audience here, and I speak from my own experience. I've read the stuff I'm supposed to for this class, but I haven't really enjoyed it. I wouldn't have picked up any of it if I hadn't been assigned it. Yes, it's all very good writing. But even after reading it--especially Terry Tempest Williams--I do not know that I'd be able to write it, or even want to. I feel like anyone who would want to read it would already be a convert; I'd be preaching to the choir. And maybe that's why I don't seem to find much with a basic search.
Honestly, though, I consider myself a bit of news junkie, and the environment never seems to come up. I listen to local News radio every day in the morning and evening, I'm constantly on the internet news sites, and there isn't much there to hear--nothing being reported, anyway. I wonder if it is because so many people turn off when they hear something about the environment, or if there really isn't anything to tell (which I doubt). Is it just that murders and politics and business is more sexy to news media?
And maybe that's part of the problem with environmentalism: the public perception. Environmentalist reporting seems to come into two camps: crazy militant or crazy. I saw an article where some group was freaking out at a car company for using "The Lorax" characters to advertise their "green" car (I'm not sure if it was electric or hybrid). The group was very upset that the car company would use The Lorax to sell an SUV, because clearly cars hurt the environment. They're lashing out at advertising. I know more about that than I do about my own environment. If someone where to start writing about the issues with the Chesapeake Bay watershed, would anyone even want to listen? Or would it just be written off as people complaining, causing a panic, bothering the public with ridiculous little problems that don't actually matter in the grand scheme of things?
I guess what's I'm actually writing about then: the lack of quality information on the subject, and the lack of a quality audience to listen. I don't know that's it possible to reach a new audience here, and I speak from my own experience. I've read the stuff I'm supposed to for this class, but I haven't really enjoyed it. I wouldn't have picked up any of it if I hadn't been assigned it. Yes, it's all very good writing. But even after reading it--especially Terry Tempest Williams--I do not know that I'd be able to write it, or even want to. I feel like anyone who would want to read it would already be a convert; I'd be preaching to the choir. And maybe that's why I don't seem to find much with a basic search.
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