Degupdate: Snugglebeasties and DIY

Slowly, the reality of having degus is getting us. No matter how much you read, it’s never going to come close. First of all, the two remaining degus have completely different characters. Candy will come to my hand as soon as I open the door and see if there’s a treat for her. I think before long she’ll ride on our shoulders.

©Giliell, all rights reserved

As a result, Estelle is often missing out on the best treats. She still vanishes either inside the house or behind it and will not move any closer to us. Best we managed so far is that she no longer whistles in panic all the time. I try to place the treat near her while Candy is nibbling hers so she can get her nut as well.

©Giliell, all rights reserved

©Giliell, all rights reserved

It’s not like I’m worried about her. She’s obviously growing and in good shape, her fur is shiny and silky, and when I sit down and just watch from a distance, she is active and interacting with Candy.

©Giliell, all rights reserved The picture quality is sadly very bad as there wasn’t much light.

I love watching them. I just sit in an armchair for 15 minutes and watch them “talk” to each other, take a sand bath, or try to destroy Degustan. It’s so relaxing. It also makes me think of Caine a lot and her ratitude.

But talking about the reality: The People Who Tell You About Degus insisted that you can let them run in your room for an hour every day. After the two escapes by Estelle and the one by Candy it’s become clear that this is not an option. The room has way too many places where a degu can vanish and even possibly hurt herself. Also capturing them before they’re totally tame would always mean extreme amounts of stress for the degus, not to mention the risk of being savaged by degu teeth. But there’s also useful ideas on the internet and one lady just built a barrier to give them a bigger run but also protect the room.

©Giliell, all rights reserved

It’s foldable and can be put away when not needed, but I’ll need to do something about the light.

Oh,a nd since the temperatures are getting lower, I bought them a “snuggle safe” heating pad. It gets heated in the microwave and then keeps the warmth for several hours. I much prefer that to a heating lamp, especially over night or when we’re not home. The degus absolutely love it and I can only recommend it if your pet could do with a how water bottle occasionally.

©Giliell, all rights reserved

A Corvid at work

Something new from Avalus,

Then there was a crow, trying to open a walnut. I first took the photos and then a short film. And then my battery died the very moment the crow had enough of my staring.

© Avalus, all rights reserved

© Avalus, all rights reserved

© Avalus, all rights reserved

And now, Avalus’ little movie. There’s a bit of wind noise, so you may want to turn our volume down.

 

Jack’s Walk

Jack and I haven’t been to the park for a while, so we thought we’d take a stroll around the duck pond today. We went expecting our usual quiet, contemplative walk but found a dusty, noisy construction site instead. The city has finally decided to fix the small concrete bridge that links the park across Cedar Creek, and the sound of heavy machinery and jackhammering filled the park. The construction also meant that Jack and I had to content ourselves with half of the duckpond, so we chose the east side because there’s less goose poop. We went slowly to accommodate Jack’s stiffening hips and shoulders, but he was full of curiosity, and his nose didn’t stop. Every fallen leaf was thoroughly assessed, and as we moved along, Jack would look up and bark harmlessly at the geese. It was more “Hello!” than “Hey, you!” and the geese knew it, and didn’t flinch. Despite the noise and gloomy skies, we enjoyed the outing and lingered by the pond while discussing the coming winter. Jack has been asking for an electric blanket, and his argument is sound, so I’m going to order one for him as a surprise. Maybe he’ll let me share it now and then. But the winter is still off on the horizon, and for today we’ll just occupy this moment of colourful, beautiful fall.

The Art of …

… maps, by Harold Fisk

Meander map of the Mississippi, 1944, by Harold Fisk, cartographer and geologist, image via The Public Domain Review

This map is one of a series made to highlight the changes in the flood plain of the Mississippi River. The maps were drawn using information from 1944 and old records from 1765, 1820 and 1880.

All of these alterations, both human and nonhuman, can be seen in Fisk’s wonderfully detailed, wonderfully vibrant maps — further evidence that the Mississippi, as Mark Twain put it, is not at all “a commonplace river, but on the contrary is in all ways remarkable”.

The full story is at The Public Domain Review

Finally I got Something Done

The original plan was to make ordinary knives, no fancy stuff, no distractions, just to build up some stock for sale when the bureaucracy here finally gets its act together. But I did not stick to that plan too well. First I got distracted several times making new tools, then two knives came out so nice that I thought it a shame to not make sheaths for them that are just a little fancy. But after two months, I have finally finished four pieces.

Today I was trying to take pictures, with very varying success. For reasons that I do not understand, I get usually the best results with reddish/magenta cloth background.

Here are the four knives, details, and some talk about each piece are below the fold.

© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.

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Lost Identities: How White Supremacy Maintains itself

As we all know, whiteness is a social construct (because everything is, duh). It is not a concept that has been clear and stable from the dawn of time. Actually, it is even a fairly recent concept as they go, yet it is still one people have naturalised quickly. Naturalising means that people believe that something is not socially constructed but a direct reflection of the natural world, with sex being another prominent one. Because of course you can see the difference between me and Beyoncé, right?

Whiteness as a concept cannot be separated from white supremacy as it is and was tied to it from birth. The only reason to define someone’s “race” via genotype is to establish differences and hierarchies. But since “race” is of course not a natural phenomenon we merely seek to describe, it’s always been in trouble. There is no logic to it, just power, and that power has developed several strategies to maintain itself. One pretty obvious one is including groups that had previously been excluded. You can see that pretty well in how, for example, folks of Irish or Italian descent were included into the “white” category in the USA: give them a stake in white supremacy, use them as a shield against accusations of racism. See, the Irish were discriminated against as well, they overcame it, if black people are still suffering it’s because there’s actually something wrong with black people.

Another way is by folding individual people into the group, erasing their identities and heritage. They can only gain the status of “white” by denying that they were ever anything else.Wait a generation or two and nobody knows anymore that you have indeed ancestors who were not considered white.

My own family history is such an example. I am white, of German heritage, for all purposes of the law and society. My last name, passed down from my paternal grandpa literally means “person from a very boring village 20km from the place I live now”. But my paternal grandma already spoils the picture, as she grew up as a member of the German settlers in the Ukraine. After the war she was considered a “dirty Russian”, my dad had kids bully him, and they did everything to hide that “dirty family secret”. Me? I just noticed that grandma had a different accent than the rest of the family. To me, any part of that heritage and identity has been lost. My cousin’s father in law, who is a hobby genealogist researched grandma’s family and I learned more about them from his essay than from my family. The Russian German families who arrived in the 90s were pretty quickly folded into the “white” category because they are needed to uphold white supremacy against the growing Muslim community and Muslim refugees. Same with Italians. In my childhood, prejudice against Italian immigrants was on par with prejudice against Turkish immigrants, but this has shifted dramatically.

On my mother’s side it becomes even more extreme. Her grandmother’s family used to be Sinti or Roma. I suspect Sinti, because they are more likely to settle and integrate into the community at the price of giving up their identity, but I have no clue. All the family ever knew is that they were G***. They didn’t even have a name for their heritage anymore beyond the slur used by white people around them. All we can trace back is the family name that is of Hindu origin.

None of that makes me not white. I don’t claim membership of the communities. It’s not a quest to seek faux oppression because some of my ancestors had to pay a heavy price for me to be considered white and gaining white privilege (see “my great-great-great-great grandmother was a Cherokee princess, that makes me so spiritual and also you cannot call me racist”). It’s an acknowledgement of their histories. It’s an acknowledgement of how white supremacy works in subtle ways, making sure that people don’t show solidarity with each other, because they’re fighting to be included in the dominant category. It’s an acknowledgement of loss. It’s also an acknowledgement of how these very stories can once again be used to dismiss systemic racism in favour of individual accounts of success and failure.

Jack’s Walk

© Voyager, all rights reserved

It’s been another beautiful day around here, and Jack and I spent most of it outdoors again. We started the day with a bit of gardening and then spent the afternoon taking a slow walk in the woods. Mr. V joined us, and it turned into a pleasant family outing, taking in the best of the season and meandering our way home down a few country roads. I had to stop and say hi to this small herd, who were quietly cutting the grass in this home’s front yard. They were friendly and curious and not at all bothered by Jack’s excited calls of ‘Hello, I’m Jack. What’s your name?”

The cows made me think about ice cream, so we stopped at Dairy Queen on the way home, and we had ice cream before dinner. Which is meatloaf. Don’t tell the cows.

© Voyager, all rights reserved

Autumn in a Flower Patch

I have tried to plant some strawflowers this year and I am going to make an even bigger patch next year. They are beautiful and butterflies and bees simply love them to bits. I have several red admirals there during a sunny day.

There are ten pictures, so nine are below the fold. Do you recognize the bee mimicking hoverfly?

© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.

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