Four days ago, Sunday morning, when they were counting up the elephants at the Wild Animal Park they came up one extra.
A tiny baby elephant had been born the night before.
Those visitors (to what has sadly been renamed the San Diego Zoo's Safari Park) present that morning were treated to the sight of a fuzzy-legged little pachyderm standing below his mother's breast.
Standing.
He was standing on his first morning of life. Standing and walking.
When's the last time anyone saw a human baby standing up, even within the first week?
This reminds me of another thing I don't like about babies.
They're lazy.
Of course someone tells me that this is by design, and the only reason baby elephants choose to stand right away is that their mommies don't have arms with which to pick up and hold their babies.
That's their opinion.
[Human] babies are lazy.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Only Six Pounds
Generally speaking, I don't care for babies.
They leak. They squeak. They can suddenly smell bad. They're selfish.
True, I was once a baby. However I gave it up as soon as possible.
I don't like babies.
Now I do like people. Grown people. Two people who are friends (I'll call them "Eric" and "Suzanne" since those are their real names) recently experienced a nine-month pregnancy which resulted in the birth of a baby.
Wesley Ericson Harris was born around 4:00am in the morning on Friday November 19, 2010.
The next evening, on Saturday the 20th, Wendy and I went for a visit at Sharp's Mary Birch Hospital for Women.
It was nice to see our friends, and though they both looked quite tired, they were also radiating obvious inner joy.
When Suzanne offered to let Wendy hold the infant, now a day and three quarters old, I thought it was cute and snapped a few photographs.
After I handed him back over to his father Eric, my arms suddenly began to ache, since I'd been holding him so long.
They leak. They squeak. They can suddenly smell bad. They're selfish.
True, I was once a baby. However I gave it up as soon as possible.
I don't like babies.
Now I do like people. Grown people. Two people who are friends (I'll call them "Eric" and "Suzanne" since those are their real names) recently experienced a nine-month pregnancy which resulted in the birth of a baby.
Wesley Ericson Harris was born around 4:00am in the morning on Friday November 19, 2010.
The next evening, on Saturday the 20th, Wendy and I went for a visit at Sharp's Mary Birch Hospital for Women.
It was nice to see our friends, and though they both looked quite tired, they were also radiating obvious inner joy.
When Suzanne offered to let Wendy hold the infant, now a day and three quarters old, I thought it was cute and snapped a few photographs.
Then Wendy asked if I wanted to hold Wesley.
Now I haven't held a baby for as long as I can remember. Logic tells me that I probably held my baby sister when I was about about 5 years old. However, I don't remember it, and any other babies held were quickly returned so that the awkwardness would end.
Of course I said yes. I said out loud that it had been a long time, and I wasn't all that skilled at "baby holding".
"I know I'm supposed to support the head", I offered.
Suzanne, the mother, simply said "yes, support the head, and just don't drop him".
Wendy handed me Wesley in a slow motion exchange, our arms momentarily enmeshed.
The first thought I had: he's so light! Compared to the last living thing I cradled in my arms, a full grown cat, this little tiny human was nearly weightless! (Later Wendy told me that he weighs only 6 pounds).
Wesley's eyes were closed as he slept soundly, but from time to time I could see them rolling about beneath his eyelids. His face changed expression every few minutes. A couple of times his entire body jumped like people sometimes do when they're falling asleep.
My heart began to melt onto the floor.
You know... as I type this blog entry, I realize that what I'm about to type has been said again and again throughout history. People hold babies... their hearts melt all over the floor. I guess I'm just saying that it happened to me.
After I handed him back over to his father Eric, my arms suddenly began to ache, since I'd been holding him so long.
That Saturday night was one of the most unforgettable in my life. It was a privilege (thanks Mom Suzanne and Dad Eric for letting me hold Son Wesley) and a very moving experience.
I love babies!
ps:
Holding a cat is nice, too,
but nice in a substantially
different way than holding
a human baby is nice
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Dear Mister President
Dear President Obama,
After only two months of working in an office, I have come to recognize a threat to our economy and wanted to alert you as soon as possible.
We are wasting millions of gallons of ink, toner and electricity by needlessly including the following phrase in our emails and printed correspondence:
Please let me know if you have any questions.
Sometimes this sentence appears in a slightly different form:
If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me.
Mister President, can you please enact legislation to annihilate this saying in all its variations from the English language?
Not only will this save the country billions of dollars in resources, it will also serve to remove one more source of annoyance as I go about my work day.
Your citizen,
Steve
ps. For the benefit of some of the more dimwitted members of Congress, you might point out that these words, though unspoken, are always implied. If ever there is an exception, then the following phrase could be used freely:
Don't ask me any questions about this.
or
No further questions at this time.
Thank you.
After only two months of working in an office, I have come to recognize a threat to our economy and wanted to alert you as soon as possible.
We are wasting millions of gallons of ink, toner and electricity by needlessly including the following phrase in our emails and printed correspondence:
Please let me know if you have any questions.
Sometimes this sentence appears in a slightly different form:
If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me.
Mister President, can you please enact legislation to annihilate this saying in all its variations from the English language?
Not only will this save the country billions of dollars in resources, it will also serve to remove one more source of annoyance as I go about my work day.
Your citizen,
Steve
ps. For the benefit of some of the more dimwitted members of Congress, you might point out that these words, though unspoken, are always implied. If ever there is an exception, then the following phrase could be used freely:
Don't ask me any questions about this.
or
No further questions at this time.
Thank you.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Why He Loves the Ministry
Actually, he very much dislikes the ministry.
This morning, when the radio began to play its random wake up song, he hit the snooze button. He would have loved to keep on sleeping.
When he was single, more often than not that's what he would do. He's lucky now, because he's married, and his wife is getting up for the ministry, so that helps him to rise as well.
When he lived at home, sharing a room with his brother, they'd often make plans the night before to work together. Which was invariably a guarantee that they'd both sleep in, waiting for the other to rouse them out of bed, which neither would do.
It became a joke. "Wanna work together in service tomorrow?" "Sure!" "Guaranteed sleep-in".
He doesn't like bothering people, knocking, uninvited at the doors of strangers.
A love for people, he does not have.
Of course he goes because he loves his God who asked him to do this. He really does love the people he preaches to, I suppose. He wouldn't want them to lose out on what's being offered.
There's pleasure, too, when people listen. Or when people express their own appreciation about God and the Bible. And when they're friendly and not rude.
Mostly, though, he'd rather not be there.
Today, however, he met Chief Easton.
Chief Easton made his day.
Now he realizes why he loves the ministry. Because, as it turns out, he really does love people.
Along with his partner, he approached the door. A bumper sticker on the back of the truck parked in the driveway looked familiar:
USS Liberty - ship torpedoed 1967 by Israeli forces
He remembered talking to this gentleman, who was a survivor of the Liberty tragedy. It had probably been a couple of years. Maybe three. So when the door opened, he used it on the woman who answered.
"He's right here," she said, and went off to get him.
There was the sound of voices and grumbling from inside.
Then he came. The retired Navy man.
Our brother mentioned that they'd spoken years ago, and that he remembered the bumper sticker.
Then he made his offer, the Awake! on "Who Can You Trust?"
The householder wasn't having any of it. Not interested in religion. His body language said "thanks but no thanks" and he began to turn away.
So the Witness abandoned the magazine and turned back to the bumper sticker.
"What happened again, on the Liberty?"
Long story condensed: The USS Liberty was not a battle ship, but basically a spy ship. The Israelis torpedoed it and many lives were lost. President Johnson, in 1967, seemed behind the cover up in the media. It was hushed up by the government.
The man seemed to enjoy describing this major, unforgettable event in his life. The brother definitely enjoyed listening because to him it was a fascinating story.
"What's your name?"
"Al" said the man, as he shook hands with Brother Hates People and his partner.
"What did they call you in the Navy?"
He laughed, and said "Most people called me Chief Easton".
And the conversation went on. Chief Easton volunteered that after the Navy he worked as a "saturation diver".
That's when divers compress and spend a week or more in deep water, living in a pressurized underwater capsule. He described being about 900 feet down and pressurized to 400 LBS per square inch.
"You could wave your hand in front of you and feel the air, thick just like water," he said.
It took him and his fellow divers a week to gradually decompress and resurface.
"It gave me new respect for those who are incarcerated in prison," Chief Easton said, "especially those who don't belong there."
The brother mentioned the miners in Chile who were just rescued, and Chief Easton agreed.
"They're all being pretty tight-lipped about what happened down there," Al said. "I suspect they all may be in it together to try and get a book deal or a movie deal."
"One of them was one of Jehovah's Witnesses, so I hope he might tell his story to the Awake! magazine," said the brother.
They once again shook hands and parted ways.
Yes, he hates getting up and going out, but meeting people like Chief Easton makes it all seem worthwhile.
This morning, when the radio began to play its random wake up song, he hit the snooze button. He would have loved to keep on sleeping.
When he was single, more often than not that's what he would do. He's lucky now, because he's married, and his wife is getting up for the ministry, so that helps him to rise as well.
When he lived at home, sharing a room with his brother, they'd often make plans the night before to work together. Which was invariably a guarantee that they'd both sleep in, waiting for the other to rouse them out of bed, which neither would do.
It became a joke. "Wanna work together in service tomorrow?" "Sure!" "Guaranteed sleep-in".
He doesn't like bothering people, knocking, uninvited at the doors of strangers.
A love for people, he does not have.
Of course he goes because he loves his God who asked him to do this. He really does love the people he preaches to, I suppose. He wouldn't want them to lose out on what's being offered.
There's pleasure, too, when people listen. Or when people express their own appreciation about God and the Bible. And when they're friendly and not rude.
Mostly, though, he'd rather not be there.
Today, however, he met Chief Easton.
Chief Easton made his day.
Now he realizes why he loves the ministry. Because, as it turns out, he really does love people.
Along with his partner, he approached the door. A bumper sticker on the back of the truck parked in the driveway looked familiar:
USS Liberty - ship torpedoed 1967 by Israeli forces
He remembered talking to this gentleman, who was a survivor of the Liberty tragedy. It had probably been a couple of years. Maybe three. So when the door opened, he used it on the woman who answered.
"He's right here," she said, and went off to get him.
There was the sound of voices and grumbling from inside.
Then he came. The retired Navy man.
Our brother mentioned that they'd spoken years ago, and that he remembered the bumper sticker.
Then he made his offer, the Awake! on "Who Can You Trust?"
The householder wasn't having any of it. Not interested in religion. His body language said "thanks but no thanks" and he began to turn away.
So the Witness abandoned the magazine and turned back to the bumper sticker.
"What happened again, on the Liberty?"
Long story condensed: The USS Liberty was not a battle ship, but basically a spy ship. The Israelis torpedoed it and many lives were lost. President Johnson, in 1967, seemed behind the cover up in the media. It was hushed up by the government.
The man seemed to enjoy describing this major, unforgettable event in his life. The brother definitely enjoyed listening because to him it was a fascinating story.
"What's your name?"
"Al" said the man, as he shook hands with Brother Hates People and his partner.
"What did they call you in the Navy?"
He laughed, and said "Most people called me Chief Easton".
And the conversation went on. Chief Easton volunteered that after the Navy he worked as a "saturation diver".
That's when divers compress and spend a week or more in deep water, living in a pressurized underwater capsule. He described being about 900 feet down and pressurized to 400 LBS per square inch.
"You could wave your hand in front of you and feel the air, thick just like water," he said.
It took him and his fellow divers a week to gradually decompress and resurface.
"It gave me new respect for those who are incarcerated in prison," Chief Easton said, "especially those who don't belong there."
The brother mentioned the miners in Chile who were just rescued, and Chief Easton agreed.
"They're all being pretty tight-lipped about what happened down there," Al said. "I suspect they all may be in it together to try and get a book deal or a movie deal."
"One of them was one of Jehovah's Witnesses, so I hope he might tell his story to the Awake! magazine," said the brother.
They once again shook hands and parted ways.
Yes, he hates getting up and going out, but meeting people like Chief Easton makes it all seem worthwhile.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Murphy's
This post is dedicated to Murphy's stout.
I don't often drink the vile watery sludge known as Guinness.
That is because there's a tasty alternative, now widely available.
~
Or perhaps instead I should say:
I don't often drink the poisonous effluent known as Guinness, but when I do, please roundhouse kick it out of my hand and offer me a Murphy's instead.
~
Really, though, to be positive, which is the goal of this blog, I should rather simply say:
Try a Murphy's... it will be delicious!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Bless Me Not
Dear Everyone in the World:
Please stop saying "bless you" every time I sneeze.
First of all, I'm embarrassed that I sneezed. Then you have to go and emphasize it.
Secondly, why are you saying it? Simply because you'd heard others say it? Was the name of your childhood doctor Pavlov?
To "bless me" after I sneeze is completely illogical.
The first time you said it, it was sort of interesting.
"Why say," I thought to myself, "that person is using a quaint medieval expression!"
However, after that, it just got to be incredibly annoying. It continues to be annoying.
Please stop it.
Of course there is one exception.
If ever I hear you or anyone else commit audible flatulance, I will respond with "bless you".
Simply for comic effect.
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
Please stop saying "bless you" every time I sneeze.
First of all, I'm embarrassed that I sneezed. Then you have to go and emphasize it.
Secondly, why are you saying it? Simply because you'd heard others say it? Was the name of your childhood doctor Pavlov?
To "bless me" after I sneeze is completely illogical.
The first time you said it, it was sort of interesting.
"Why say," I thought to myself, "that person is using a quaint medieval expression!"
However, after that, it just got to be incredibly annoying. It continues to be annoying.
Please stop it.
Of course there is one exception.
If ever I hear you or anyone else commit audible flatulance, I will respond with "bless you".
Simply for comic effect.
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Winged Princess
The car had needed washing for several days, so tonight, despite feeling tired and exhausted, I decided to just go for it.
The rinsing and washing part never takes long. It's the towel drying that's time-consuming. Or rather, the "diaper-drying".
The evening had fallen and it was getting a little too dark for proper spot-free drying. At least it was better than attempting to wash this big black boy in the blazing sun.
Suddenly I saw a faint "X" shape on the side of the car. My swirling diaper stopped short of wiping out the shape... which had a little wiggling three-dimensional "something" at the center. Something like an insect's body.
It was some sort of winged creature who had suffered the misfortune of somehow landing upside down on the wet surface of our automobile. Each of the four wings was stuck as if with wet plaster to the black surface.
In my heart I felt something. Compassion. Pity with a desire to help. It was literally a physical feeling. Something like a tingle in the upper center of my abdomen.
This little lady was wiggling her body and pedaling her feet like mad in at attempt to free herself. The futility of her efforts was clear to me. Surface tension, for the tiny, can be a [censored].
Was she doomed? What to do?
I dropped my towels over the back of a chair and ran into the house. In the kitchen I saw a long sharp bread knife. That should do... I grabbed it, and ran back outside to the car.
Once again facing my little struggling beauty, I gently moved the blade beneath one of her wet, stuck wings. Once released from the molecular bond of the water against the paint of the car, it quickly popped up. Then another wing. Now her body was at more of a 45-degree angle. She continued to wiggle and flail her legs.
The knife worked its way under her final two wings. As it did so, she found the edge of the blade with her reach, and suddenly she grabbed it. There! She was now free from the car, and standing on the edge of the blade. Her wings flapped with a blur, drying in preparation for what was hoped to be her restored freedom of flight.
Walking quickly into the light of a nearby outdoor lamp, I took a closer look.
What??? I suddenly recognized "what" she was. A termite. A winged termite.
I hate termites! These destructive creatures once ate Popeye the Sailor's house right down to the ground!
Normally I kill any termites I see near our apartment, either inside or out. At our old apartment house in La Mesa, we once had to spend a night at a motel while our abode was tented to be rid of these vile villains. Damn them. Damn them all!
A tree in our back yard has been infiltrated by termites, and nearly eaten out hollow. Death to all termites!
Yet, here she was, my little winged princess, flapping her wings at the edge of my knife. How I'd felt for her a few moments ago, fearing that whoever she was, her days of winged freedom might permanently be over with.
And now...
The emotions of compassion and appreciation for life, no matter how small, won out.
I flicked the knife to knock her off the blade, and watched her flutter away. Toward our apartment.
To continue on whatever life path she chose to follow from then on.
I know she probably has no appreciation for what I did for her. No capacity for gratitude.
Yet she and I have something in common.
We both possess a gift which we neither asked for nor could ever provide for ourselves.
Life.
Winged princess, let us enjoy life as we have been given it.
The rinsing and washing part never takes long. It's the towel drying that's time-consuming. Or rather, the "diaper-drying".
The evening had fallen and it was getting a little too dark for proper spot-free drying. At least it was better than attempting to wash this big black boy in the blazing sun.
Suddenly I saw a faint "X" shape on the side of the car. My swirling diaper stopped short of wiping out the shape... which had a little wiggling three-dimensional "something" at the center. Something like an insect's body.
It was some sort of winged creature who had suffered the misfortune of somehow landing upside down on the wet surface of our automobile. Each of the four wings was stuck as if with wet plaster to the black surface.
In my heart I felt something. Compassion. Pity with a desire to help. It was literally a physical feeling. Something like a tingle in the upper center of my abdomen.
This little lady was wiggling her body and pedaling her feet like mad in at attempt to free herself. The futility of her efforts was clear to me. Surface tension, for the tiny, can be a [censored].
Was she doomed? What to do?
I dropped my towels over the back of a chair and ran into the house. In the kitchen I saw a long sharp bread knife. That should do... I grabbed it, and ran back outside to the car.
Once again facing my little struggling beauty, I gently moved the blade beneath one of her wet, stuck wings. Once released from the molecular bond of the water against the paint of the car, it quickly popped up. Then another wing. Now her body was at more of a 45-degree angle. She continued to wiggle and flail her legs.
The knife worked its way under her final two wings. As it did so, she found the edge of the blade with her reach, and suddenly she grabbed it. There! She was now free from the car, and standing on the edge of the blade. Her wings flapped with a blur, drying in preparation for what was hoped to be her restored freedom of flight.
Walking quickly into the light of a nearby outdoor lamp, I took a closer look.
What??? I suddenly recognized "what" she was. A termite. A winged termite.
I hate termites! These destructive creatures once ate Popeye the Sailor's house right down to the ground!
Normally I kill any termites I see near our apartment, either inside or out. At our old apartment house in La Mesa, we once had to spend a night at a motel while our abode was tented to be rid of these vile villains. Damn them. Damn them all!
A tree in our back yard has been infiltrated by termites, and nearly eaten out hollow. Death to all termites!
Yet, here she was, my little winged princess, flapping her wings at the edge of my knife. How I'd felt for her a few moments ago, fearing that whoever she was, her days of winged freedom might permanently be over with.
And now...
The emotions of compassion and appreciation for life, no matter how small, won out.
I flicked the knife to knock her off the blade, and watched her flutter away. Toward our apartment.
To continue on whatever life path she chose to follow from then on.
I know she probably has no appreciation for what I did for her. No capacity for gratitude.
Yet she and I have something in common.
We both possess a gift which we neither asked for nor could ever provide for ourselves.
Life.
Winged princess, let us enjoy life as we have been given it.
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