Mountains: Because They Are There - II

Writen by Joy Cagil

Mountains may be the waving of the earth’s crust to the rest of the heavens as if to say hello. Just like the waves, mountains can fold, fault, and become residual, and like Tsunamis, for miles and miles around, volcanoes blow up and drown everything in sight inside their ashes.

The majesty of the mountains has inspired myths to be created around them; Mount Meru in the center of the Himalayas was thought to be the axis of the universe as Mount Olympus was where Zeus resided. Hindus and Buddhists believed in the divinity of the mountains and assigned each one to be a home to a god.

As well as serving as residences to gods and being the sites of sacred revelations, mountains are also regarded as portals to the underworld. In Icelandic folklore, the Christian priests who took on the role of mythic heroes were able to open these portals. Mountains are also thought of being inhabited by supernatural beings, some of them demons, who send climbers to their deaths. Even today, some consider Mount Hood as the operating center of an alien race and Mount Shasta to be the home of an old race that dwelled in Atlantis. This may be because a mountain seems to have a personality.

A mountain can be fickle; a mountain has moods. One never knows when a temper tantrum will strike. A seemingly safe rock with holds, nicks and crannies for the mountaineering gear suddenly will turn slippery with ice; the overhangs on ridges will abruptly break apart sending down stones over once passable routes; a gray mysterious fog will stick to breathing passages; hail and lightning will batter the eyes, faces of everyone and anything else in sight; the word avalanche will make the climber tremble with fear, for it will maroon people and villages for days at an end.

“What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, and up, up it goes; yet, never grows?”

The answer to this riddle is a mountain. Yet, mountains do grow and move around with the help of earthquakes as plate tectonics dictate.

My farthest memories of mountains are of the Alps, though at first–not of snow and solitude–but of patchwork of fields surrounding quiet villages, small churches, simple doll houses shouldering steep roofs, freshly mowed hay draped in piles over cylindrical racks to dry and me, as a child, feeling like Heidi among the goats; then, also, the earth rising to the sun with a dynamic authority; steep, craggy, brown, black, and purple heights breaking the ground with touches of green toward the peaks; and pine forests at the skirts of the mountains.

Only later on, I finally witnessed the white caps, snowy shoulders, and white wondrous splendor of solitude during our early spring and late winter visits. Alps do not span a large area. They could fit inside two East Coast US states such as Virginia and Maryland, but as far as mountains go, Alps are rebellious, frozen, wild youngsters who haven’t lost their sharp edges. They are also the spoiled brats of history with riches of legend, romance, and majesty.

In a strange way, to live and work among the mountains offers a linkage to nature. If one has debts to be paid and a mortgage to be settled, mountains are around for comfort, encouraging the occupants on them to enjoy a hearth and home decorated with Alpine rose, edelweiss, gentian, and anything else that may grow at the foothills or inside the snow. A mountain dweller wakes up in the morning and lifts his eyes and soul to the primeval majesty of high peaks, to watch the plethora of green fir and to go after the timber to be gathered.

Wood is put to good use among the mountain people. Tools and utensils, carriages, carts, blades and axle for waterwheels, homes, sheds, weaving gear, cuckoo clocks, are usually made of wood.

The seasons on mountains do not depend on the time of the year as much as they do on the altitude. The higher one climbs the colder and the lonelier it gets. Soon, the tree line vanishes and rock, ice, and snow are left for the majestic mountains to hold their windy heads inside the clouds.

While most any place is losing its battle to an uncivilized civilization, inside and around Alpine forests, there are nature preserves where the flora and fauna remain undisturbed.

Each spring, people hike on or around the mountain valleys. They observe the treasury of insect and plant life and the roots of birch trees grab a boulder, listen to the warblers’ and finches’ songs mix in with the hoarse croak of the vultures, and once in a while, step aside to make way for a red deer and its fawn on a green meadow.

These delicate discoveries and the mountain’s dignity in solitude can provide a deep sense of content for anyone who sets his eyes on any mountain.

Joy Cagil is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Writers. Her education is in foreign languages and linguistics. Her portfolio can be found at http://www.Writing.Com/authors/joycag

Steamy Wisdom Served with a Side of Salt

Writen by Andy Alt

Not a day goes by when I don’t think a thought. I have something on my mind — I think it’s mold. I promise to avoid any rough cleaning agents, but I hope my thoughts are sufficiently abrasive to scrape it away.

Speaking of mold, it’s green I’m told, as green as the grass on my front lawn. It’s a pretty lawn, but in need of rain, to wash away the stain. The sunlight shines beautifully upon the grass, as it desperately prays for the caress of an early morning dew.

Mountain dew sits upon a mountain, but transforms to steam as the mountain realizes it’s not a mountain, but a live volcano. It erupts, and lava sears away the glorious taste and texture of a cold mountain dew. Only sugar remains, and ponders its lonely existence atop that hot and steamy volcano.

Volcanoes are great if you’re looking for land and currently drowning in an ocean. If you find yourself drowning in an ocean, it’s likely you’ll not be needing much financial advice. “Beware of sharks and lack of oxygen” is the only warning you’d receive from my lips. I’d rather not be present to give you advice, however, and I’d feel most fortunate to have a boat or other floatation device if I were on a severely large body of water.

Oceans have the distinguished reputation of being very wet and salty. This environment rarely creates a good opportunity to plant or grow a tree. If you’re thinking of not planting trees in the ocean, however, please reconsider: a person drowning in an ocean would be able to save himself by climbing to the top, and eating leaves until the Titanic arrives, which may be never.

During the interim, there’s always the hope that a shark will devour him, which allows an endangered species to expand and thrive. Once all species of sharks are no longer endangered, people who have always dreamed of owning a sea food restaurant will finally see their vision realized — especially if their vision showed an endangered species of shark on the menu, and the would-be owners were reluctantly shy about committing an illegal act.

Diwali Decorations

Writen by Rukmini Guggilla

There are a number of traditional decorative items that are employed during Deepavali in by Hindu to decorate their houses. Apart from bringing a new look to the houses, the decorations also bring a pleasant feeling of the festival. The decorations add to the joy of the occasion. Decoration is one of the many activities associated that mark the festival.

The first item of decoration is the string of mango leaves tied at the top of the main door to the house. Mango leaves are a symbol of newness. People tie the string early in the morning. Apart from the string of mango leaves, Torans or Door Hangings are decked on the main door to the house and the puja room (the room in which the deity is housed) where Goddess Lakshmi is worshipped. The Door Hangings are handmade and are ornamented with embroidery, bells, beads, shells, mirrors etc. Door Hangings or Torans are in vogue these days and make a decent decoration for Diwali.

The word Diwali is a modified form of the Sanskrit word ‘Deepavali’, which means a row of lamps. That is why the lamps are an inherent part of the festival. For Diwali, small oil lamps made of clay are lighted and arranged in rows. The lamps are made in different sizes and patterns, varying from the complex Rajasthani types to the plain earthen lamps of clay. The rows of lamps adorn the house on either side of the entrance. This arrangement is made to guide Goddess Lakshmi when she visits every house, right from the pompous palace to the humble hut. Lights also indicate the victory of light over darkness.

Aromatic candles are another decorative item for Diwali. They are available in many shapes and designs. Lighting candles and placing them in a glass pot full with water to float and decorating them with flower petals is an auspicious activity on Diwali day. Diwali lanterns and lamps are made in many shapes from different materials such as clay, glass, brass and marble. These Diwali decorations make a room aesthetically pleasant. Diwali lamps are marvelous gifts to order for self and near and dear. These lights hang from balconies, are wound around a tree or arranged as series of bulbs. They create an exciting atmosphere with their sparkling radiance.

Wall Hangings with the images of Lord Ganesha and Goddess Lakshmi are another popular Diwali decorative item. These hangings with the artistic and cultural touch are favored by people. Cloth panels with embroidery also form part of Deepavali decorations. Idols of Gods and Goddesses are an inherent part of this grand festival. Rangolis are another beautiful art form. Different patterns with innovative combinations adorn the entrances to houses with young girls competing to outdo each other. All the places will have a charged atmosphere during Diwali celebrations.

Too Much Thinking Syndrome

Writen by Leigh Anne Jasheway-Bryant

Too Much Thinking

Medical researchers have not yet identified it, but I’m sure I have a disease called Too Much Thinking Syndrome or TMTS. The symptoms are easy to identify: no matter what you’re doing, you’re thinking about something else. This explains why the clean dishes end up in the glove box of your car and you end up brushing your teeth with your husband’s anti-fungal foot cream.

Now before attribute these symptoms to plain ol’ memory loss, let me disagree wholeheartedly. Well, as wholeheartedly as someone can who is thinking about the Beatyberry shrub she needs to move from the west fence to the north fence before frost and whether she faxed in her estrogen patch prescription to the pharmacist or to her mother.

I can remember everything. It’s just that there’s too much everything to fit into one brain at the same time so it cycles through my gray matter. I can only think of the thing I need to be thinking of approximately every 7 days 13 hours 43 minutes and 12 seconds. Remember those old glass chambers they’d have on some game shows where the contestant would step in and they’d turn on a blast of air and the poor person inside would try to grab as much cash as she could. That’s what my brain is like most of the time. I keep grabbing for stuff, but the chance of getting that big payoff is tiny.

The final blow in my TMTS came yesterday when I was packing to go to a speaking gig in Palm Springs. I had everything ready. The presentation itself (always good to do that beforehand), the outfits, the Ziploc bags for my liquid hygiene items. I had even purchased a magazine at my grocery store to avoid paying extra at the airport for it. But one very important piece of currency had escaped by grasp. I hadn’t purchased the tickets. This is slightly a bigger deal than packing shoes that don’t match (been there, wore those).

Therein lies the true devastating nature of the disease. TMTS is random — it often affects the sufferer at such a minor level that she dismisses it as exhaustion or early-onset Alzheimer’s. It’s not until one of the large thoughts that should have been included in the mix 6 days and 12 hours ago in order to avoid a $2600 first class seat to a gig that only pays $2500 that she becomes aware of the gravity of her ailment.

When TMTS gets that severe, there really is only one cure. No Thinking Whatsoever or NTW. This can be accomplished by some through intense meditation, but I’ve found through experience that meditation causes my mind to seize up in fear and my inner thighs to seize up in pain. The best way for me to reach the nirvana of NTW is heavy drinking. And given the people at the bar tonight, I’d say we’re experiencing at epidemic of TMTS. When will the medical community give us the attention we deserve? When will I have time to move that shrub? Are those my tickets in your pocket or are you happy to see me?

Bartender, I’ll have another margarita.

Just Say "NO" To Dirty Humor!

Writen by Jerry Aragon

Here’s a $64,000 question for you: What is the difference, in effort and in time, does it take to tell a clean joke, as opposed to telling a dirty joke? There is none, as far as I’m concerned. So, why do people tell dirty jokes? The Internet is filled with them! Is it macho? Peer-pressure? Being manly? I don’t have the answer!

But in reality, it doesn’t matter! Psychologists can fill us up with forty and fifty dollar words that nobody understands, and dirty humor will still be around until the end of time. All we can do is to deal with it the best we can. There are always going to be the, “little minds of the world” around!

I’ve been in the humor business for over 40 years, and I can say that a person doesn’t have to be dirty to be funny! Jokester’s who resort to telling dirty jokes and using gross humor, may think they’re funny, but they’re not. They are only hurting themselves. They’re image and reputation are tarnished immediately…that’s if they care about image and reputation!

Any person who goes so low, as to tell you a dirty joke, or uses racial slurs of any kind…doesn’t have much or no respect you, in my view. So, why would you want a person like this around you? A delicate situation arises, when dirty humor comes into play in the work place. The dirty humor might be coming from your boss, and how do you handle it? He or she’s got the authority, and you don’t!

I’ll share a few things that I do, when an unwanted jokester comes into my life.

1) Tell the jokester, “I don’t appreciate your humor, or lack of it, and walk away! If it’s a fellow employee, who you have to tolerate, just try to ignore him.

2) If a person tells you a dirty joke, or uses dirty humor…DON’T ever smile or laugh! That way you can leave the jokester standing there waiting for the laugh that never comes. By doing this, the jokester may never return, because he did not get the laugh he was looking for in the first place.

3) One of the best tools to use for the jokester, is to say nothing at all. Remember, when your mother used to give you that COLD, HARD, PIERCING STARE when you did something wrong? I’ve seen plenty of those out of my mother. It is said that a picture is worth 1,000 words, so give the jokester a PICTURE of your best COLD, HARD, AND PIERCING STARE, which I think is sure to work.

4) If the jokester had told you a few clean jokes in the past and got your trust…but now he tells you a dirty joke…bust it up quickly! Don’t let him finish! Look at your watch…as how time has gotten away from you, and you have a meeting soon! By doing this, you have busted up the timing and delivery of the jokester, leaving him with his mouth open, as you tell him…see ya!

It’s too bad there’s a negative side of humor…but there is, and it will never go away. All of us have to tolerate people of bad behavior where ever we go. And, it’s not easy, especially if it’s a family member or a co-worker, etc. But, take a stand…be decisive…put the jokester in his place and you’ll feel better about yourself for doing so. You don’t need these type of people around you!

Embarrassing Moments Last Forever

Writen by Marge Holley

Is it possible to be embarrassed twenty years after the fact? I was cleaning out old boxes and found the autobiography that my middle daughter had written in the sixth grade. I call it the “expose.” She tells all. It could compete with “Mommy Dearest” if I were a dead movie star. On one page, my daughter spews, “My mom yells at my dad a lot unless she wants him to do something like take out the trash. Then she calls him handsome, good-looking or muscles.”

The more I read the more I sunk back into the corner of the attic, determined not to show my face around here again. How many people did the teacher share this with? The principal? The Health and Welfare authorities? There was also mention of the time that I locked the children in the backyard so that I could finish cleaning the house completely before they started messing it up again. It really wasn’t ten o’clock at night in a blizzard with no caps or boots or food. It was summer. Honest. They had a swing set, a sandbox, a playhouse and a picnic lunch. Of course it’s my word against theirs and there are five of them. Just send some food to the attic once in a while and pretend I’m that relative no one talks about. At least she received an “A” on the assignment. I’m sure that it was worth the humiliation. That teacher always gave me a strange look when the rest of my children reached her class.

Marge has written two humor books and is a library director in a small town in Southern Idaho. She writes a column in her local paper, The West End News, called “Excerpts from Granny’s Journal.” She can be reached at asccm@hotmail.com

Poor Rix’s Almanac 8-27-05

Writen by Rix Quinn

Hey, Poor Rix: What do you think about school food? - Former Student

Poor Rix ate lunch at a school last week, and really liked it. Who knew they could make a dessert out of corn chips?

Fact is, Poor Rix enjoyed everything about school, except for the “study” part. Lunch period was best the part of all.

One day I saw a dish labeled “Tuna Surprise.” “Why do you call it that?” I asked.

“Because,” said the cook, “we started out with a catfish. So if it tastes like a tuna, we’ll be surprised.”

Yeah, lunch was a scream back then. One time my friend Carl found two well-seasoned cockroaches in his green beans, and asked who’d be willing to eat them.

“I will,” said Dave, who was once elected class president by promising “no homework anymore.” But he didn’t clear this with the teachers, so we immediately impeached him.

Anyway, Dave downed both roaches, and bragged they tasted better than the beans. But he didn’t come to class the next day.

Another time we took a field trip to a neighboring school. At lunch, Carl chose the “mystery meat.”

“Outstanding,” he raved. “What is it?”

“Here’s a clue,” said our host. “Why do you think our team’s called the Buzzards?”

Poor Rix offers bad advice to good questions. E-mail him at rixquinn@charter.net

Rix’s book “Words That Stick” is available at http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1580085768/qid/

In-laws and Outlaws

Writen by Marge Holley

I decided to enclose a funny picture with my last letter to relatives in Arizona. It was a picture of me sweeping three inches of snow off of my car at seven a.m. so I could go to work. This should amuse my sister-in-law. “Who wants to move where it freezes every winter?” The answer, “My husband, your brother, the last great explorer but not the one scraping snow.” My sister-in-law writes, “It was really cold last night. It got down to 48 degrees.” Yeah, right. Bring out the long johns and thermal socks. She also writes, “What is this black ice that you mention? Is that some Northern term? Slide off the road? What? How?” Why do I write to her? She never liked me anyway. I married her baby brother. Just stole him away from the family. All six foot two helpless inches of him. “But,” I write, “Next month the ice will melt. Then we’ll have slush. After that our yard becomes The Big Muddy. Maybe I’ll skip the winter picture and send her a summer picture of flies, earwigs (she never heard of them either), wasps, spiders and me with my swatters and zappers. She is easily amused.

Believe it or not, my other sister-in-law is worse than the one I just mentioned. “When God gave out brains, she thought He said “trains and she missed hers” as the saying goes. One day I was helping her sort clothes. She threw a pair of pants in the discard pile. “This is no good. The button is missing,” she remarked nonchalantly while my mouth dropped open. When I recovered, I said, “Let me take them home, find a button and sew it on. Then my nephew can have his favorite pants to wear again.” She look very confused. Now I know where the expression “dumb as a post” comes from. Someone else knew my sister-in-law.

Marge has been writing all her life and just published two humor books. She writes a column for her local paper, The West End News, called “Excerpts from Granny’s Journal” and belongs to a writers group called The West End Misfits. She is the library director in a small town in the Northwest. You can email her at asccm@hotmail.com.