If you ever get the chance…

… So, today, I spent some time at a tidal estuary, just at the turning of the high tide, in winter. My goodness, what a wonderful thing. Ice and snow covered everything, but (this being an estuary) none of it was what you might think of as solid. You could hear the water draining through the layer of snow, and every few minutes the ice would settle, as the stream slowly lowered. You could hear the trickling of water through snow, hear the shifting of ice, hear a waterfall, upstream and out of sight… You could hear seagulls arguing, and unseen songbirds making their presence known. A hawk kept silent watch on a dead tree, then disappeared while your back was turned. Canada geese kept flying, looking for open water.

Come spring, long-legged waders will show up, but this will be a very different sort of magic. The murmur of water moving through snow and ice, the desultory shifting of bathtub-sized floes, the whispering of the waterfall a hundred yards upstream, the sounds you can hear in the absence of the louder birds, waves, cars, boats, and people…

Spring will be beautiful, but it won’t be Winter. And Winter is beautiful. And if you ever get the chance to visit a tidal estuary in winter, and just hang around for an hour or two or three or four, my goodness you should do it. And if not, you can hang around a park, or a field, or a lake or river, or pretty much anywhere, for a few hours in the middle of winter. It’s a whole different world, and it is amazing.

Beats the hell out of staying indoors and watching television. So go. Take a break from all that other stuff, and just watch some birds for a while.

It is soooo worth it.

Poison In The Water (Repost)

There was poison in the water
And it wasn’t fit to drink;
So we got ourselves together
And we had a little think…

We were told to “just ignore it”
We were told “it’s not so bad”
We were told that sanitation
Was a silly, passing fad

We could just avoid the fountain
We could just avoid the taps,
And the problem would resolve itself
Eventually, perhaps

There are sensible precautions—
Keep your mouth shut as you shower;
If you’re feeling really thirsty,
Maybe boil it for an hour

There are antidotes available
Or so, at least, we’re told,
But they’re getting hard to find these days
And some are rather old

If we get our act together,
We can do it! I can tell…

…And it won’t disturb the fellows
Who are shitting in the well.

Yeah, normally I wait a bit longer before reposting things, or at least until it’s appropriate again. Sadly, I am coming around to the opinion that this particular issue never goes away. I’ve been reading CNN’s comments again, and may have to stop. [I wrote, and deleted, the particulars of today’s stories, but frankly it doesn’t matter–it’s everywhere.]

If Only…

If she puts up a fight…

If only she wouldn’t have struggled
If only she wouldn’t have fought
If only she hadn’t defended herself
If she’d just given up, as she ought

If she does not…

If only she’d put up a struggle
If only she’d put up a fight
She should have defended her honor
Allowing them just wasn’t right

Seems every choice she has is wrong. What about…

If only they hadn’t attacked her
If only they’d just let her be
If women were simply respected
She’d be living, and they might be free

Cuttlecap tip to Greta Christina, and of course to Taslima

So Long As The World Is Ending…

It’s ok. We all know atheists have nothing to live for, anyway.

I found this verse while looking for something else. I had completely forgotten writing it, so I’m reposting it, on the chance that you have completely forgotten reading it. It was based on a comment overheard, about how “atheists have nothing to live for”. I tried my best to put myself in the position of someone who actually believes that…

You’ve nothing to live for, my atheist friend–
No hell or no heaven, to fall or ascend
When your time on this planet has come to an end
No reason at all to go on

If heaven and god are the myths you report
And you vow to be clear-eyed and not to distort,
Then life, as you know, is remarkably short
And nothing at all once it’s gone

You must be disheartened! I cannot conceive
The depression of people who do not believe
Where worm-food’s the most they can hope to achieve
And death is an ending, outright.

No cloud-covered heaven, its streets paved with gold
Where everyone’s happy, and no one grows old
The story that innocent children are told
To keep them from crying at night

No future past death; just the here and the now
Just the days and the nights that your life will allow
You could try to extend them, but no one knows how
No hope for a shot at hereafter

Just puppies, and babies, and flowers, and fun
Rainbows, and kisses, and seashells, and sun
Elephants, penguins, and whales by the ton
And giggles and childish laughter

Just cities that sparkle by day and by night
Forests and fields that may stretch out of sight
Eagles and airplanes and seagulls in flight
And water or wine in your cup

If you’re lucky, there’s children, and laughter, and tears
A chance to re-live all your heartaches and fears
Through their eyes—but it’s only for so many years
So you might as well just hang it up

No halo or harp-strings—and surely no wings
Just real-world delights, but no heavenly things
There’s music, but not from an angel who sings
Just your daughter, who plays you her song

No stuff to have faith in, just stuff you can see
No reason to hope or to wish it could be—
This view is pathetic, I think you’ll agree
Or maybe… just maybe… I’m wrong

If all that we have—all that life consists of
Is the love of our families and friends—just that love
With no hell down below, and no heaven above
Is that an intolerable end?

Suppose that this lifetime is all that we get
No heaven’s reward, and no hell for a threat
(And we’re not Blaise Pascal, and just placing a bet)
Should I pity my atheist friend?

There’s reason for pity; I’m wasting my time
Which from his point of view, is a horrible crime
If we get but one life, then I worry that I’m
Being foolish by waiting for more

The years, days, and seconds, they fly by so fast
Each heartbeat, one more that is now in the past
One life to be lived, and you know it won’t last…
So live it—cos that’s what it’s for!

Continuing That Thought…

My last post drew some wonderful comments, and prompted me to do a bit of whatever the cephalopod equivalent of navel-gazing is. Looking through some old posts, old comments, old links, and thinking of some recent funerals, got me wondering what sort of funeral I would want for myself. I used to have plans, actually, that included a Dixieland style jazz band and a party… but that was decades ago. After PZ posted it a while ago, I have Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Dirge Without Music” tacked up on my office wall–I found it comforting at the time, but I don’t know if it sounds right for my own funeral. I know that more than one person has requested to use one of my verses for their own memorials (one has recorded himself reading it, just for the occasion), so I’ll repost it here, and ask (in part because I have not decided, and I am looking for ideas–no rush, mind you!) what sort of readings, music, naked dancing, etc., you are mulling over for when your time comes.

The verse that some have chosen to accompany their memorial:

When we are dead, we’ll feed the worms
And other stuff that writhes and squirms
And if you cannot come to terms
With that—well, use your head!
There are no ifs nor ands nor buts:
Bacteria within our guts
Will start to eat us; that is what’s
In store, once we are dead.

Yes, life is short and full of toil,
And when we’ve shuffled off this coil
Our carcasses will start to spoil—
There’s nothing wrong with that.
Our share of fish or pigs or cows,
And all the chicken time allows,
Is done. It’s only fair that now’s
The worms’ turn to get fat.

Should we die young, or old and gray,
The laws of nature we’ll obey
And spend our heat in mere decay,
Replenishing the Earth;
“Three score and twelve” may be our years
For love and laughter, hope and fears
And then—mere smoke—life disappears;
No heaven, no rebirth.

And with no heaven up above
Nor hell we ought be frightened of
It’s best we fill our lives with love,
With learning, and with fun!
Don’t waste a lifetime while you wait
For halo, wings, and pearly gate—
This is your life, so get it straight:
You only get the one!

I’ll have no moment lost to prayer,
To cleanse my soul and thus prepare
For passage to… THERE’S NOTHING THERE!
Those moments, all, are wasted!
I’m only here a little time
Before it’s bugs and worms and slime;
I’ll eat and drink my life so I’m
Delicious when I’m tasted!

What are *your* plans?
HumanCondition

No Atheists At Memorials For Children?

The Los Angeles Times is running an interesting opinion piece, tying the memorial for the Newtown victims with church-state separation issues (among other things). It’s worth reading, and worth commenting on. They 1) note the ecumenical nature of the service, 2) assert that a non-religious memorial would have been somehow incomplete and off-putting, and 3) note the lack of complaint by atheist groups about the inclusion of religious text at a memorial held at a secular school. It’s as if they are surprised that atheist groups haven’t reacted to this funeral like, say, the Westboro Baptist Church has. (The WBC is not mentioned in the story.)

I was moved to comment at the LA Times site:

A few years ago, my atheist brother died; his atheist children and atheist siblings, myself included, were offended by, but did not object to, blatantly religious elements at his memorial. I could have gone on at length about how my brother’s good works grew from his atheism, from his understanding that he, not some god, was the power that could make the world better for the children he loved. That his actions, not prayers, made a difference.
His friends and neighbors knew he was an atheist, but not everyone did, and (it is the dominant, privileged culture, after all) christian messages were featured by many of the speakers. From the perspective of my brother’s children, this was inappropriate. I agree. But it would also have been inappropriate for us to choose that moment to make a stand. There was something far more important happening–we were comforting one another, knowing we would never see my brother, their father, again.
The fact that there are no explicitly atheistic elements at a funeral does not mean there are no atheists there. It does not mean that atheists don’t find some of the religious messages inappropriate. We (I speak for myself, at least) recognize that this is how the religious grieve. We let them, as we wish they would let us. It would be nice if my own funeral were non-theistic… but at that point, I won’t be able to control what happens.

What are your own thoughts? I was limited at the Times by character count, and perhaps by the need to speak to a different audience than reads here. Feel free to respond, both here and there.

So He Carved A Pentagram Into His 6-Yr-Old Son’s Back…

12-12-12 is a holy day—
I’ll only be getting just one.
I think I shall mark it my own, special way…
By carving it into my son.

A pentagram, carved in my 6-year old’s back
Is a symbol he’ll carry for life!
And no, it’s not really some deadly attack
Like you’ll hear from my son, or my wife.

It’s a beautiful emblem—the history’s clear
For anyone willing to delve
Now my son will forever remember this year
And the holy day, 12-12-12!

Wait… what? According to Reuters…

A Texas man told authorities he carved a pentagram into the back of his 6-year-old son “because it is a holy day” in reference to the numerical date of 12-12-12, police said.

It’s a short story–go read the whole thing (same link as above). I’ll wait.

.
.
.

Yeah, I didn’t make it up.

Y’know, 12-12 is a special day for me. Not because of any numerology, but because it’s Cuttleson’s birthday. He’s nearly half my age, and catching up fast!

But y’know… I have never had the urge to mark this special day–or any special day–by carving a design on his back with a box-cutter.

I am torn between setting several search tools to keep me up to date on this story, and never wanting to read another word about it ever again.

Gift-Giving, And Much More.

Ok, first a couple of things to get out of the way. One–got an announcement from the EvolveFish people that their stuff is on sale. I get no money from them at all, but I must say I am biased toward a couple of things on their site. Two–I wouldn’t say this at all, cuttlefish that I am, except that I noticed a commenter discovering just today that there is, in fact a volume of Cuttlefish verse available in both dead-tree and e-versions of some sort. And there are also cool things to wear and drink from. Not the same things, but… Anyway, those are found in the Cuttlestuff link.

But that’s not the purpose of this post.

There are many things I would give if I could… but can’t. There are actually very few things I want or need. Cuttlefamily is healthy (well, have chronic diseases that are well controlled by modern medicine), not in debt (not quite, anyway), happy (that one has no disclaimer), and far more fortunate than we have any right to be (chronic disease and all). Mind you, extended Cuttlefamily is not doing so well, which is a mixed thing–you see, many of them have lived long enough to be dying of cancer, which means a pretty good run at life so far (each life has some tragedies, but this is not the time for that).

I would give health. But I cannot. I would give travel, but I cannot afford that, and travel is a luxury. I would give things that no one can give… And for that, I consider myself extraordinarily fortunate. For my people, I don’t need to give food (but I will, some, but not because these items are needed, but because they are wanted–this makes all the difference in the world). I don’t need to give rent money, or an only pair of shoes without holes, or warmth. I can’t give a pancreas, or I would.

What do I want? Damn, isn’t that a fine question? I don’t have to ask “what do I need?. I want time. No one can give me that–especially in my size or style. I want hugs, and I’ll get them. That’s pretty much it. I begin to understand Dumbledore’s fondness for wool socks.

Mind you, if Nikon or Montblanc wanted me to write reviews of cameras, lenses, and fountain pens, in iambic pentameter, I could write you a list that would make your head spin. But just saying that… noting that such incredible luxury is what I think of, instead of fixing this car (the “new” one is 12+ years old, but it’s in good shape), or that furnace (new burner in 2 years ago, so we’re good) or that window (replaced 4 years ago)… Damn. I am the luckiest Cuttlefish on the planet.

So… comment thread…. what do you want to give, that you cannot? What do you want, that cannot be given? Do you consider yourself fortunate? (and no, I will not ask anyone if they have been naughty or nice. None of any of our damn business.)

It Was The Church

I was going to write a long diatribe… but honestly, the simple story is more moving than any framing I could possibly give it. I am late to the table when it comes to this story. But, frankly, to let that stop me from saying something would be wrong. People should be stopping each other on the street to tell one another this is wrong. Which, in some places… they are. And, no, it isn’t even close to an over-reaction.

When a tragically dying fetus was threatening the life
Of Rick Santorum’s wife

They performed what, without the Catholic church’s (and the Santorum family’s) quite understandable contortion
Was an abortion

Which saved the life of the mother.
You might have thought that the lessons learned from this incident might perhaps be applied to another.

But not so much.
Because the Catholic Church, in Ireland and around the world, is out of touch.

And when they feel the absolute control they exert over their subjects start to slip
They tighten their grip

So yes, when Savita died—died!—because a hospital refused to perform a routine but life-saving procedure in deference to religious proscriptions, a decision which should, now and forever, be for the hospital an unending source of shame
And you’re wondering who to blame

You don’t have far to search—
It was the church.

Romney Really Expected To Win; Here’s The Good News

If you can’t see the scope of your trouble
Then the silly mistakes more than double
So expect to be mocked
When your whole world is rocked
Cos you lived your campaign in a bubble

Hey, it happened to Dukakis, too. People (candidates, staffers, even embedded journalists) who get their information from within the protective bubble of the campaign, are subject to an echo chamber of information; if the accepted fiction is that their candidate is ahead (and that these particular issues are foremost in voters’ minds, and that undisclosed polls show a tsunami of support just beginning to unleash its effects….or fill in whatever narrative you like), the availability heuristic kicks in and we believe the message we can most easily bring to mind. And then, of course, confirmation bias kicks in, and we seek out the things that support our preconceived notions.

It’s really no wonder the numbers wonks were so roundly derided in the weeks prior to the election. Everything human about us works against them.

Fortunately, we have learned to accommodate for our humanity. The scaffolds, the external supports, of science, of critical thinking, of statistical methodologies and representative sampling, the combative interactions within the scientific community itself, all of these are tools we have stumbled upon that help us to overcome our evolved biases. We use them, frankly, not because we see their inherent superiority (a good many can’t tell you how we choose an alpha level, but do so competently on a regular basis; at a more abstract level, more people “believe in” evolution or relativity than understand them) but because they work.

In this election, paying attention to numbers… worked. And Obama did a much better job of paying attention to numbers than did Romney. The “ground game” in the final weeks was, for Romney, the tried and true method of the past. For Obama, it was the experimentally verified wave of the future. Use what has been shown to work; don’t use what has been shown to be ineffective. Take data on everything.

I am hopeful that this election changed some things it was not designed to change. Yes, we chose a president, and other officials, but I suspect this is the beginning of the end for the traditional campaign, and the beginning of a data-driven future. And, frankly, a data-driven future should show different issues come to the fore, issues no longer mandated by archaic religious systems or philosophical positions far removed from reality.

This would be good news indeed.