Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Vision


A Cherub
             The party was in full swing. Martha listened with bored expression to Jill chattering about the Divine Comedy. Jill didn’t believe in God or devils or any of that stuff. Sipping her scotch, Martha let her eyes rove around the room interjecting interested Oh’s and Ah’s to Jill’s prattle. The door to the crowded apartment opened. Just before the hostess blocked Martha’s view, she saw Cecelia, an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. Surprised, Martha exchanged a quick glance of affection and delight with Cecelia, who had spotted her, but was already leaving after a short interchange with the hostess. Then the door shut. Martha regretted that her friend couldn’t stay. She wanted to be with her; she had so much to say.
            The short pleasurable surprise of seeing Cecelia reminded Martha of the time she’d seen the angel. He had come as if he were a familiar friend. She’d recognized what he was. She hadn’t thought angels were anything like those in children’s picture books. She wanted to talk to him too, but everything she wanted to say was said and answered in the glance he had exchanged with her. When he disappeared, she wished she could have gotten closer and said more. For a long while afterward, life seemed flat and empty, because she was missing something precious, like the friend who had just left.
            Jill was still running on about the Divine Comedy, as though she were trying to convince herself she didn’t believe it. Martha grimaced at Jill’s attitudes, and took another sip of scotch.

Monday, February 27, 2012

From the Dome—The Backyard Horse


 Introduction


Horses are dumb. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. My Shay is a smart young Arabian horse. She learns quickly and follows my every command . . .
until her instincts get in the way.

Yes, she’s caused me damage directly related to her natural penchant to run from danger. I’m reminded of the time she jumped back and broke me in three places. It happened when I threw the saddle on her back and started to mount. All I remember after that, from my vantage point sprawled in the dirt, was spotting her in the northeast corner of my property shaking like a leaf, the saddle halfway under her belly. You get the picture. When a thousand pound animal bunches its body to jump away from you in terror, it slams into your body first. I got it in the elbow, the wrist, and (of all things) the finger.

That wasn’t the first time Shay had given me body aches and it wouldn’t be the last. On this occasion, I learned that horses suck in air as you cinch up the saddle. Of course I knew this, but I had an ill fitting saddle that wobbled on Shay’s shoulders and in spite of having tightened the girth, it wasn’t enough to hold a heavyweight like me. (Darn, I’ve become that fat old lady on a horse). On a similar occasion I got the wind knocked out of me when the saddle strap on the off side of the horse broke free.

Such accidents are preventable. Had I pre-checked the equipment, rechecked the girth, and invested in a properly fitted saddle, I wouldn’t have had to whine to my doctor about deteriorating health. Truly, I was the dumb one. I knew how to control the animal from the saddle, but didn’t know why horses do some of the blasted things that cause pain. Though I was a new horse owner, I understood very little about the nature of the beast. And how could I? Riding stables commonly use even minded, older animals to school new riders. Used daily in training, these horses are unlikely to do the silly, dangerous things Shay has done.

Shay is a backyard horse. Like most home grown equines, she’d spent too many years in someone’s backyard stall doing nothing.  Occasional turn out, minimal handling and a little hay were her only life. For horses this spells disaster. Unlike the professional variety of horse that is carefully bred, well kept and constantly put to work, the backyard animal tends to be a mix of poor breeding, poor feeding, and bad manners. I’ve walked my neighborhood and have found backyard horse owners who say, “I can’t ride my animal. He’s impossibly wild” or “My horse’s feet have gone bad. I can’t take her out.” No wonder I think, shaking my head, one horse is dying to run free so it can work off pent up energy; and the other animal is grossly overweight and under shod.

Sad to say, many backyard horse keepers have become afraid of their animals because they treat them as pets. Lacking the tools needed to deal with these wonderful beasts of burden, they spoil a weighty animal prone to be unpredictable. Often, unscrupulous horse traders have dumped half-trained, sick, or problem animals on naive people who are ready to buy the first horse they fall in love with (usually the first one presented to them.) Yet, these horses can, given proper care and training, become winners in the show ring. That’s what I wanted for Shay. Here’s how I got there.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Rose Parade


 
 

“I don’t want to measure,” Inch protested.
“But that’s what inchworms do,” her exasperated sister raised her tiny forelegs for emphasis.
“I want to be a doctor,” the girl complained. She slipped along the marigold with her half inch body thinking only of helping others get well. She was so short she had to double all her measurements, and she didn’t like math.
“Doctors measure,” said Loopsy hoping to re-focus her youngest sister to the job. “They measure newborn babies, they measure blood pressure, and they measure bone growth . . .”
“But they make the sick well, and that’s what I want to do,” the girl put on a pouty grimace.
“Aren’t these marigolds sunny? Here’s one your size,” said Loopsy.
“We always measure marigolds,” Inch grumbled. “Can’t I do a rose?”
“You know roses are dangerous,” said the older taller inchworm.
“I promise I won’t prick myself on a thorn,” the little one begged. “They smell so pretty.”
The wiser girl gazed at her little sister, wrinkles of worry on her brow. It wasn’t the pokey thorns that gave her concern. She understood that gardeners pick roses, not marigolds. Seeing the fidgety child wait for an answer she said, “Well, alright; just this one time.”
Inch stretched out her body across the gap between the short marigolds and the tall roses forgetting that she didn’t like to measure. She grabbed a thorny branch with her forelegs and let her body bunch to latch on with her hind legs. Then she looped along the plant until a shadow fell across it. Loopsy screeched in fright, “Inch, come back!”
It was too late. The rose Inch was on swayed and snapped as the gardener picked it from the bush. She clung to it shaking fearfully. When all was quiet again she couldn’t see the marigolds, and she couldn’t see her sister. So she cried herself to sleep.
The sound of voices woke the little inchworm. It was bright, but not from the sun, and she rubbed her eyes trying to see better.
“Nice rose,” said a voice.
“Got it from the garden,” said another.
The third member of the Rotary Club rolled his eyes and said, “Let’s get down to business.”
Papers lay on the table. Inch stared down at them but couldn’t read.
“Listen,” said Max, the club president. “We have to come up with the best float for the Parade of Roses.”
“It’s too hard to compete,” objected Will.
Art doodled on his clip-board brainstorming, but his face looked blank. Inch stretched down for a better view. She lost her grip on the slippery vase and fell on the paper. Standing up on her hind legs she tried to reach the vase with its rose.  
“Will you look at this,” said Art, his voice up a notch with excitement. “What an idea!” He started to sketch frantically, while Inch tried to make her way back to the rose. As soon as he had finished three drawings of the inchworm, he passed them to the club members.
“I like this one,” said Willy, his eyes dreamy over the picture that showed a worm wearing a princess crown.
“No, no! We’ve got to have a doctor, said the club president. “We’re raising two million dollars to help the sick.”
Art sketched again, so fast his pencil almost broke. He passed the new drawing back to President Max who said, “I think it will work.” 
Inch, already half way up to the rose squealed with delight. A doctor, she thought. “I’ll be a doctor!” because she could see that the picture Arthur had drawn looked just like her, except she was wearing a lab coat, had a doctor’s mirror strapped on her head, and stethoscope hanging  around her neck.
The club members said, “This is good.” They got up as the president suggested a motto, “Inching along?” Grinning, he mumbled, “Meeting adjourned.”
Art took the rose from the vase. “I’ll take the worm back to the garden,” he said, making sure the tiny inchworm was hanging on tight. “This is no place for her.” Everyone agreed.
Before she knew it, Inch found herself hanging above a marigold. She reached out to latch on as Art’s shadow faded. A familiar voice called, “Inch, you’re back.”
“Loopsy!” Inch said. Her excitement bubbled over. “I’m going to be a doctor in the parade.”
Her sister shook her head in despair. The youngster just didn’t understand the importance of measuring. “I have an idea little one,” said Loopsy, “Let's build a cocoon.”
Inch wasn’t sure what a cocoon was, but Loopsy showed her how to spin it. It was so warm, all wrapped up, that she fell asleep. When she finally awoke from what seemed like months of sleep, she crawled out of her silky bed feeling different. Above her fluttered a lovely moth with stripes and speckles on its wings. Somehow she knew she looked the same. “Loopsy?” she whispered in awe.
“Come with me, little girl,” said the moth. “I have a surprise for you.”
Inch stretched out her new wings. The air caught her and she followed her sister rising above the trees and houses. As her wings got stronger, she looked down on a street full of people. Bands marched, children waved, and she wondered whether this could be the Rose Parade? 
“Look there,” said Loopsy, flying toward the winning float of the Princess Trophy. She pointed down at a twenty two foot inchworm that looked just like her sibling once had.
“Oh Loopsy,” the little geometer moth buzzed, “It’s me; it’s me, and I’m a doctor.”
Inch’s sister hugged her in the air, two moths in a joyful embrace. Together, they drifted down to rest among the float’s flowers as an announcer boomed the Rotary Club motto, “Inching Towards the End of Polio.”

Friday, February 24, 2012

Charles Messier and the Deep Sky





Charles Messier, 1790-1817, was a serious comet hunter. Intrigued by the night sky he particularly liked looking for things that moved. Early telescopes, though crude, had him bumping into objects that looked like comets but didn’t move. He noticed a few of them on contemporary catalogs of the sky. From his brother, Hyacinth, he learned administrative methods while recovering from a broken leg. The strict attention to detail required by his brother taught him valuable skills for observing and recording his finds. By 1774, at only 14 years of age, he found his first comet. Soon after, he began cataloging fixed objects which, at the time, could not be resolved beyond their comet-like appearance. With the available optics of the day, he created a list of 110 deep sky objects.

Thanks to Charles, recent astronomical adventures include the Messier Marathon which takes place every spring when all 110 objects can be hunted down in a given night. If you attempt the marathon household binoculars, a 7x50 or 10x50 will reward you with a look at 60 of those fuzzies (a 20x80 is needed for all 110). You won’t see details of the nebulae or galaxies, but some star clusters are resolvable. Messier himself used both a 2ft focal length refractor and a 4.5 ft focal length Newtonian telescope.

Deep sky objects fall into several categories according to astronomers. They are
            Nebulae
            Star Clusters
            Galaxies
Each category has its own sub-classifications:
Nebulae are diffuse, meaning spread out all over or planetary, round like a planet. They are also known as reflection or emission nebulae depending on light emitted from within the nebula, or reflected light from a nearby star.

            Clusters can be globular, grouped in a tight ball or open and spread out

Galaxies are spiral or irregular. Spiral and irregular galaxies house globular or open cluster in star forming regions.

Next week more on deep sky objects.