Cash is Not Trash

I've previously blogged about found items while running.  I've never found any cash, but have found plenty of rubber bungee cords, beer, and porn. 

Plus a humongous combination wrench (1 1/2" or maybe even 2"), found near the C + O Canal in MD, which I carried for over a mile, knowing I would give it to the maintenance guys at Fort Frederick State Park.  Turns out it actually belonged to one of the guys.

Anyway, here's an offbeat story in this general topic, courtesy of my brother out in northern CA:

A kind driver whose money fell to the ground while trying to donate it to a panhandler will not face a $344 littering citation. A Cleveland prosecutor decided that "Cash is Not Trash." This decision will be good news to all those who like money, or who value the giving and receiving of charitable donations. It also is heartening to see that common sense still has a place in the legal system.

Many communities, including Eureka and Arcata, California, are discussing or have enacted local ordinances to limit panhandling and to restrict the "Occupy" movement. Panhandling and "Occupy" are not the same, obviously, but both tend to ignite class conflict in the USA today. By now, we all have heard of the 1% versus the 99%. However, it seems unwise to use the legal system against lower socio-economic classes.

For a few citizens, cash is like trash, as in the phrase "disposable" income. But, for many Americans, "Cash is Not Trash," especially when you don't enough money for food, housing, clothes, and medical care. The courts are unlikely to sort out this discrepancy.

How To Talk to People Who Are In Wheelchairs

We who are able-bodied Ultrarunners should read this, just to keep us humble and not to take our strong legs for granted.

For life has a way of changing things, in a heartbeat.

Via Mike the Mad Biologist on 6 Aug 2012, who points us to M Monica:

How To Talk to People Who Are In Wheelchairs

One of the things I notice when I am in my wheelchair is that many adults have difficulty knowing exactly what to say or how to act with someone who is in a wheelchair. Sometimes I notice inadvertent, side-glances; people who don't glance directly at me, but will furtively look at me and then look away, as though they're afraid of being caught staring.

I think that it is important to note that while you may be curious, some good general tips are as follows:

She then lists 7 tips that are worth reading.  I was drawn to Tip 3, as Mister Tristan (the 4-year-old human being, not the blog) has expressed great curiosity whenever he sees a wheelchair:

Tip 3.  If you have small children, and they ask you something like, "Mamma, why is that girl in a wheelchair?" The best way to respond is probably to say something like "I don't know; let's ask her." I have heard parents hush children up with a "Stop it, that question isn't appropriate," or they may say, "We don't ask people those sorts of things. It's rude." Children have a natural curiosity about the way the world functions. They want to know. And by allowing them to approach and talk to me, you are increasing their tolerance and acceptance for people with disabilities. Plus, the majority of people in wheelchairs are happy to interact with curious children. They ask the questions that the majority of adults are thinking, but are afraid to ask.

All in all, a worthwhile read.

   

I Got Nuthin'...and Hiroshima

Dropped my minivan off at the garage for some work today and ran home, approximately 10 miles.  This is a run I have done numerous times before, but today was a debacle.

I managed some 6 miles before needing to walk a for stretch.  Then the walking breaks became more frequent as I struggled home.  It's a bad feeling to have nuthin', which is exactly what I had--or didn't have--today.

Hopefully tomorrow's run will be better.

Now's the part where I should segue and say, "And now on a lighter note...." but let's turn towards the darker side, shall we?

It was 67 years ago today that the U.S. dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, with the following result:

 [image credit Boston.com, here]

Targeted for military reasons and for its terrain (flat for easier assessment of the aftermath), Hiroshima was home to approximately 250,000 people at the time of the bombing. The U.S. B-29 Superfortress bomber "Enola Gay" took off from Tinian Island very early on the morning of August 6th, carrying a single 8,900 lb uranium bomb codenamed "Little Boy". At 8:15 am, Little Boy was dropped from 31,000 ft above the city, freefalling for 57 seconds while a complicated series of fuse triggers looked for a target height of 2,000 ft above the ground. At the moment of detonation, a small explosive initiated a super-critical mass in 141 lbs) of uranium. Of that, only 1.5 lbs underwent fission, and of that mass, only 600 milligrams was converted into energy - an explosive energy that seared everything within a few miles, flattened the city below with a massive shockwave, set off a raging firestorm and bathed every living thing in deadly radiation. Nearly 70,000 people are believed to have been killed immediately, with possibly another 70,000 survivors dying of injuries and radiation exposure by 1950.

My bad run doesn't seem so bad now.

 

Cats in Art: Children Playing With a Cat (Cassatt)

From my continuing weekly Sunday series of cats in art. I am using some ideas from the coffee table book, The Cat in Art, by Stefano Zuffi.

This post originally ran 15 Aug 2010, but I loved it so much that it deserved another posting. 

This is a perfect post for a lazy summer Sunday morning.

 

Children Playing with a Cat (may also be known as Sara Holding a Cat), Mary Cassatt, 1908. Image credit here (scroll down towards bottom). The site owner also comments:

Mary Cassatt was born in Allegheny City (Pittsburgh now), Pennsylvania but spent much of her working (painting) life in France. It was the time when Paris, France was the center of the Impressionist movement and it seems that she was inspired and motivated by the place and the people. She befriended some well known artists such as Edgar Degas and exhibited with the Impressionists.

Mary Cassatt's brother was better known than her during her life. He was Alexander J. Cassatt (1839 – 1906) the president of the Pennsylvania Railroad from 1899 to 1906. Although Mary Cassatt struggled to achieve recognition in her lifetime, particularly in the USA, her paintings are now very valuable, one being sold for $2.87m (2005).

These kids are richly blessed, to share space with a cat for eternity.

 

 

Tone Deaf, and Sexless

My local paper—the Chambersburg Public Opinion—had a good opinion piece on Thursday this week by Jason Stanford.

Concerning Mitt Romney’s recent European trip and the gaffes he committed, the one single action that tells anyone all they ever need to know about Romney is this one:

For my money Romney’s worst blunder was when he said he might not watch his wife’s dancing horse Rafalca compete in the Olympics.  “I have to tell you, this is Ann’s sport.  I’m not even sure which day the sport goes on.  She will get the chance to see it, I will not be watching the event,” said Romney. Translation, he’d rather be elected president than ever have sex with his wife again.

 

Cat Scabs

Here is a cat mystery.  And no, the topic of the post does not refer to substitute cats who come in as strike breakers when the regular cat pets are walking the picket line.  Please read on.

This cat, who we now call "ca Beere," is an indoor-outdoor cat (but always is in overnight):

Image credit Gary

The image above shows how ca Beere's ears get bitten by some unknown creature whenever she goes outside. At any given time she has several scabs on each of her ears.  If she remains indoors for a couple days the wounds, which are not particularly large or deep, heal up just fine.  So there is no indoor causation.

None of our other 4 cats is similarly affected, so the bride and I are totally baffled.  The only difference between ca Beere's habits and those of her feline brother and sisters is that ca Beere often catches and brings home short-tailed shrews (Blarina brevicauda), placing them triumphantly on the porch.  But she has no other wounds that might indicate a shrew fight, so my guess is some insect that bites her.

As for the cat's name, she is our daughter's and was originally named Bear.  But daughter always used a high-pitched voice when she talked to the cat, calling it "The Bear" but it actually sounded audibly and phonetically like "de Beere" as if the cat was some Dutch diamond magnate or something.

Anyway, when Mister Tristan, then the 2-year-old human being, not the blog, began to speak he could not say "de Beere" but rather called the cat "ca Beere."

So now it remains so.

Tales from the Perimeter: I Feel Better Than James Brown

Via YouTube:




Just got back from a run with my old noontime running buddies.  Now that I am retired I make it a point to join them about once a month for a run.

It was a time of catching up, of Olympics talk, of home improvements, of families.

And I gave each of the guys a gift: a DVD copy of Brokeback Mountain.  Some years ago when the bride and I saw the movie, I told the guys how much I liked it.  Ever afterwards, they teasingly busted me about gays every chance they got. And believe me, there were plenty of opportunities, as I always went out of my way to defend gay and lesbian rights.

So now they have their very own copy.  And I feel better than James Brown.

Olympic Swimmers...and Ultrarunning

These men and women (though some are but teenagers) are water equivalent of runners.  Some sprint, some do middle distance, and some--our kindred spirits--do long distances.

But the one thing the swimmers all have in common with each other, in sharp contrast to the stereotypical lean Ultrarunner, is that they are all shaped like seals.  Or maybe sea lions (I can never keep them straight).

Not that there's anything wrong with that.  Just an observation.

As for me, I have done lap training in pools for cross-training, and I'm a decent enough swimmer, but I Just. Don't Like. It.  At all.  There's no worse feeling in the world for me than being out of breath in the pool.  I liken it to waterboarding, if to which I were subjected I would sing like a canary before the first drop even hit.