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Summer Re-run: Weaving Peace Instead of Waging War

09-Aug-08

(It’s summer and I’m busy so here’s a little number from 3/3/08 about a subject that’s been on my mind a lot lately.)

Who doesn’t remember Sparta and Athens, those city states which were so easy to study because they were direct opposites. Well, at least they were the way history was taught in the early sixties when we labored over dioramas of burly athletes trouncing skinny guys in togas. I remember that we touched lightly on Aristophanes and his plays, including Lysistrata. If I recall correctly, we had an unmarried, rather prim and proper teacher that year and she was so vague about the whole thing, that I came away with the feeling that Lysistrata and the women of Athens had quit cooking supper for their husbands, thus bringing about an almost-immediate end to the Peloponnesian War. I remember thinking, “Wow, those Greek guys really liked their chow!”

Later, during a Women’s Studies course at a local college, I discovered that food wasn’t the main course of the Athenian womens’ strike, nor was the play without controversy in other areas. For instance, there was much debate in class over whether Aristophanes really meant to portray Lysistrata as the strong, organized woman that she comes through as in the play. Women were considered very weak vessels, indeed, in Greece at the time, especially when it came to controlling their appetites for drinking and sex, so Lysistrata, who keeps to her plan no matter what, isn’t your normal Greek woman as portrayed by male writers of Aristophanes’ era.

Maybe because I’ve had a fever for the last week, the story of Lysistrata has been on my mind. It could also be because I’ve been knitting socks with some particularly soft, beautifully colored yarn, which reminds me of weaving, which was an activity that permeated Athens and figured largely in the play. Whether Aristophanes meant to lampoon women or not, he makes it clear that he sees women as very different from men, as they go about weaving “the fabric of life”, both literally and figuratively. Weaving was both the center of Athenian life, and at the same time, it was seen as women’s work, humdrum and everyday, unlike the serious work of men which was war, making laws and running the Athenian corner of the world.

I’m no Lysistrata, but I’m as fed up with war as she was. Since I was born in 1951, there has been almost no time when this country hasn’t been fighting someone, somewhere. The Second World War ended in 1945 and the Korean War (or police action if you prefer) started in 1950 and lasted two years. For the next ten years, we were gradually becoming embroiled in Vietnam, although most of it was behind the scenes. How many people knew that America was paying for most of the war throughout the 50’s? Or that we’d had advisors there since 1950 and were the major arms supplier to the French and South Vietnamese? Ironically, most of the American advisors thought the French had almost no chance of success, according to documents that have since come to light, but that didn’t stop us from selling them arms and training them.

After Vietnam, there were a lot of covert actions aimed at people we didn’t like, so that we could install puppets we did like until they got uppity. I’ve lost count of how many people we’ve installed and uninstalled like software on a laptop. Then there was Desert Storm, Operation Iraqi Freedom and our little sortie into Afghanistan to find what’s his name, although we’re not so hot to find him anymore for some reason. (Maybe because we can’t and he doesn’t have any oil?)

It’s not just America either. Here’s a nifty link that can help keep you up at night counting wars instead of sheep. The History Guy knows what’s going on in the world and so will you after you visit his site. It’s depressing, but we need to know this stuff and we need to teach our kids about it, so that maybe they won’t be as naive as the average citizen who thinks that we went into Iraq to find those Weapons of Mass Destruction we heard so much about five years ago. Or to get rid of Saddam Hussein, who was only there because we put him there. (I love the photo of Donald Rumsfeld shaking Saddam Hussein’s hand in 1983. He was probably grinning because of the money we were going to make for selling him weapons of mass destruction.)

Of course, if you really want to keep yourself up at night, you could go to a site like www.oilempire.us. This is one of those sites where you almost have to put on your tinfoil hat before you sign on, but the longer you read it, the more it starts to seem less like a paranoid’s screenplay for a self-published novel and more like something you read in the New York Times the other day.

(I just know I’m going to hear from Roger on this one, but I had to include the link so you can decide for yourselves whether it’s all something that snopes debunked last week or maybe a little bit of truthiness is hidden inside the twisted skeins of yarns about the “shadow government” and “peak oil”.)

So we’re back to yarn and weaving and Lysistrata and her campaign to end the war. If you’d like to get involved in some of this peace work, you can go to The Lysistrata Project and look into the myriad ways that women and men all over the world are waging peace. I love the humor section, myself. Ol’ Aristophanes had a pretty good sense of humor for an old Greek guy who lived when women were probably considered about one step up from pond scum - except when they were goddesses, which I’ve never been able to figure out.

I don’t see war ending anytime soon no matter how hard we work at it, but once in awhile, I do idly wonder what would happen if every male over the age of 10 was magically transported to another planet for a week. I love the males in my family and none of them is at war at the moment. I know that not all women are peaceful and some of them would just as soon fight as the male of the species.

However, I don’t believe that AS many of them are war-like, or as ready to put their energy, their time or their children and loved ones at risk as the average male is. We’re too busy weaving together the strands of life to support and nurture our families. War makes big holes in the fabric of our lives and no matter how we try to repair them, life just isn’t the same. We have to ask ourselves who benefits from war? Not the average person whose life is completely disrupted and sometimes lost.

Nope, it’s the people who sell the arms, the oil, the tanks and the uniforms. They’re the only people who win when they manipulate the rest of us into going to war. And it’s about time that we smartened up, realized it and made sure that our kids realize it before another generation gets sucked into endless war.

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If You Took All the Reticulated Pythons in Maine and Laid Them End to End…

30-Jul-08

Okay, why is this happening? In the space of a week, two 9′ long reticulated pythons were found in different parts of Maine. One was in a washer in Southern Maine. One was found a few days later under a truck in Central Maine. What in the Sam Hill is going on here?

Reticulated Pythons are NOT indigenous to Maine. Heck, they’re not even indigenous to the US, although they’re turning up in Florida the way tornadoes are turning up in NH this summer. Some experts estimate that there are upward of 30,000 in Florida, with a concentration in the Everglades. That sounds really scary to me. I mean, alligators are bad enough, but these are snakes that can swallow a cow.

Last time I looked -I believe it was when swimsuit season started - I was about the size of a smallish Holstein. This is scary stuff, folks. I mean, there aren’t even supposed to be any poisonous snakes in Maine, so we Mainers have been lulled into a false sense of security vis-a-vis giant snakes.

I’m not afraid of snakes on the whole. I grew up in RI where the only bothersome snakes were water moccasins which can deliver a painful bite and a small dose of poison. If you’re past the toddler stage, you have little to fear from a water moccasin. Oh sure, once in a long while an Eastern Diamondback or Timber Rattler slithered over the border from CT, but they were few and far between and we didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about them while we were blueberrying or camping in the woods.

I never thought about snakes at all, until I moved to Texas when I was in my twenties. I shared a cinder block house with two other women who seemed to be out most of the time. They were also slobs, so I was the one who usually brought the trash out to the small one-car garage where we stored it until we put it out at the curb on trash day.

One day, after one of my roommates had regaled us with a particularly blood-curdling story about a man who got bitten by a rattler in his carport, I chanced to take the garbage out to the garage. The bag was heavy and the trash can was full, so I kind of balanced it on the other bags in the can and headed for the door. That’s when I heard the snake.

Anyone who has ever heard a heavy snake slither over a concrete floor is familiar with the sound I heard. It was so patently the sound of scales scraping over rough concrete that I froze in my tracks. The sound was between me and the door. The only other door - the overhead one - didn’t go up unless you hit the switch that was also on the other side of the sound. I was trapped.

I thought of all the movies I’d seen where an unsuspecting victim got struck by a lightning fast rattlesnake’s fangs and wished I didn’t have quite so vivid an imagination. I also wished that I’d stayed in New England where snakes had the decency to hibernate in the colder months. This was December, but this rattlesnake evidently had no regard for seasons. It was slithering around with wild abandon in spite of the 50-ish temperatures.

As quietly as I could, I inched over toward the door, hoping that the snake wouldn’t hear me. I couldn’t remember if snakes have acute hearing or lousy hearing. I was kicking myself for not paying more attention to those Nature Specials on PBS. Just as I inched another inch closer, the slithering sound came again. I froze.

It was a long night. I inched. The slithery sound came again. It seemed almost as if it was choreographed for heaven’s sake. Every time I moved, the sound followed. In spite of my fear, I was getting really p.o.’d and ready to make a dash for it. Finally, that’s exactly what I did.

I reached the door and just as I did, there was a giant slithery sound, as if a bag of sand had been tipped upside down and emptied into a trash bag. Suddenly, I realized that this is exactly what had happened. The slithery sound I’d been hearing all along was cat litter sliding down inside the trash bag I’d deposited in the can. My snake was kitty litter.

Luckily, no one had witnessed the ignominious scenario in the garage. My roommates hadn’t returned when I went back into the house and I never told them about my “rattlesnake” incident. I think about it though whenever I hear about a giant snake. I wonder if the snake is real or just so much cat litter. In the case of the reticulated pythons, they’re real.

I am not encouraged by the fact that reticulated pythons lay over 100 eggs. I AM encouraged by the fact that the eggs and the young are fodder for many animals including hawks, eagles, larger carnivores and monitor lizards. (We don’t have monitor lizards in Maine, but what with Global Warming, I’m sure that will change over time.)

If, Gentle Reader, you have a reticulated python that has gotten a little too big for comfort, please deliver it to a zoo and not to Maine. Maine is not a good habitat for reticulated pythons, no matter what you’ve heard on the ‘Net. Maine IS a good place for moose if your moose has gotten too big for your backyard, which can happen to anyone.

In closing, I’d like to recommend that people stop buying snakes to impress other people. Use your brains, folks. Large snakes get larger and then where are you? You have to sleep sometime and they’re really good at getting the top off their cage. Leave the pythons and boas and anacondas where they belong and adopt a local garter snake or make toad houses in your garden. Trust me, it’s a lot easier on the ol’ nerves and the environment too.

Cloudy With a Chance of Pigs

23-Jul-08

One of the wonderful things about living in this hellhole lovely state of Maine is that we hardly ever get the extreme weather so prevalent in the rest of the US. Hurricanes we got, but they give us plenty of warning and by the time they’ve navigated the whole length of the Eastern seaboard they’re usually pretty pooped out. Even if they aren’t, we’ve had time to board up the windows, take in the chickens and buy every roll of toilet paper and loaf of bread on the shelves of every convenience store in the state. (Why do people do that when a storm is predicted? Do they think they’ll need more toilet paper? I don’t get the connection, myself.)

Anyhow, outside of the occasional hurricane and a blizzard or two in the winter, extreme weather leaves us alone and concentrates on the population centers of the midwest and south where it can really get itself on CNN and the Weather Channel. The only time we see Jim Cantore is when he’s standing in front of Maine on the weather map and pointing to California or New York. All of the weather mavens seem to be just tall enough to obscure Maine with their heads. Why is this?

I guess I should say that extreme weather HAS left us alone in the past, because apparently it’s just realized that we’re here and is starting to flex its muscles with a few preliminary mini-tornadoes. (We had one a while ago that tipped over a bike and damaged our neighbor’s garden shed. True, the shed was one of those cheap metal ones that shakes when you blow on your soup to cool it off, but still.) No doubt, it’ll find out that working up to a real tornado isn’t as easy in mountainous Maine as it is on the plains of Kansas, but it’s giving it a shot.

Yesterday’s Bangor Daily News reported on one such incident up in Aroostook County. I read it and knew that I had a blog post. It seems that there was a sudden windstorm, with hail, that blew in a straight line through the Happy Corner Rd community. Residents there said that the storm emerged from Baxter State Park via the north side of Mount Katahdin. Unlike most Baxter Park tourists, it didn’t just toss a beer can in the ditch as it left, but instead let loose with a barrage of hail, thunder and lightning. Then the wind picked up. Literally.

It picked up two 150 lb pigs and a 50 lb Gordon Setter. The paper doesn’t say whether the pigs survived, but the dog managed to run back to its owner, after “swimming through the air” two-and-a-half feet off the ground for 50 to 60 ft. The dog’s name is Delaney, rather than Toto, by the way.

The dog owner, Sean Kelley, says it was “a tense 15 to 20 minutes” as the storm concentrated all of its energy on the small area of Happy Corner Rd (wonder if they’ll rename it?). “Delaney got blown through the air; plus, this was true - pigs could fly,” he said. Not content with juggling next fall’s bacon and hams, the storm also destroyed gardens and reduced Kelley’s pumpkin crop to green goo.

The forecast for our area today is for thunderstorms, possibly severe. I’m in the cellar, because that’s where my office is. The dog is lying on the couch and the cats are upstairs in varying postures of laziness after being out all night dodging the coyotes we heard howling in the backyard around midnight. Two of them are suspiciously rounder than usual which leads me to think that a couple of rabbits don’t have to worry about tornadoes picking them up anymore.

We don’t have a pig to our name or any other livestock, so the only thing we have to remember to bring in before long is the deck furniture. Our garden doesn’t include pumpkins, but we do have some small tomatoes that wouldn’t survive a hailstorm, so I hope we don’t have a “Happy Corner Rd” experience. I’ll keep you posted.

Oh, and if there was anything you said you’d do “when pigs fly”, you’d better do it.