― Søren Kierkegaard

There’s a look on Titanescu’s face that sometimes brings to mind a tortured but not defeated soul. Perhaps a Russian writer after ten  winters in a gulag, lasting twelve months each.

The enigma of cats, who do not judge but reflect: a throw back without absorption, and a convoluted intro to three shots I took at the Strybing arboretum.  I really liked them, which is what I want to share…

Rippling leaves

Land and sky with water in between

Green, blue and black

“It’s out of control, and it’s coming your way. You got about fifteen minutes.”

Titan: “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
Tito: “Sigh… That’s not the line…”

Gasp! It’s so hot in here!

The fire claims its first elderly victim…

Titan: “пожилых людей? Я раздавить тебя!”

Okay, break everyone… The director of photography needs to point out that in order to get the “performers” in position, a laser pointer had to be used for their mark, and that even then, they would get distracted by the caw of a bird or the ludic possibilities of a speck of dust, because they have the attention span of a herd of gnats…

I’m just saying, it’s frustrating…

“The sprinkler valve’s stuck!”

How are they gonna get explosives up there?

Tito: “Oh they’ll find some dumb son of a bitch to bring it up.”
Jenny: “Hey..!”
Titan: “гогот! гогот! гогот!“

That, unfortunately, is about as much thespian dedication the director could muster from all three, so let’s cut to the obligatory love scene at the end…

“Well, I always wanted to die in bed…Purr… Purr…”

….Annnnd, CUT.

The butterfly counts not months,
but in moments and has time enough. ~Author Unknown~

The Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park has a lovely exhibit of called Butterflies and Blooms. The exhibit will run until October 20, 2013.

Yesterday, we made the first of several trips to see the butterflies.

Julia Heliconian by Lastech

Zebra Longwing by Lastech

The exhibit is a pretty neat way of welcoming a long awaited Spring, which also coincides with Titanescu’s birthday. Well, his “scientific” estimate of a birthday anyway.

The underside of a Zebra Longwing by Rudha-an

Marshal Titanescu, Герой Советского Союза, well into retirement after a lifetime of service of the people followed by twenty (cat) years in the Gulag, would probably not be bothered by butterflies alighting on his Hero’s cranium or arthritic haunches.

He’d sleep through that.

Cabbage White and Zebra Longwing by Rudha-an

Zebra Longwing by Rudha-an

Tito and Jenny are another matter, but neither was there to wreck the exhibit room in carnivorous pursuits.

Monarch on a fountain by Rudha-an

The Butterflies exhibit is housed in the West wing of the Conservatory, where most exhibits are set up. You enter in the same way as you enter a server room, through heavy clear plastic curtains.

When ready to leave, it is best to have someone check that you have not picked up any hitch hikers, as Butterflies will sometimes settle on you…

Queen on purple flower by Rudha-an

Suspended netting is strung along the rafters to keep the Butterflies from disappearing into inaccessible recesses. There are many species of flowers, as well as water sources for the Butterflies’ sustenance and visitors’ viewing pleasure.

Photo by Lastech

I am the Batman by Lastech

The air is noticeably warm and humid but circulates adequately for maybe a dozen people. It’s best to pace yourself through the room as Butterflies will sometimes land on the most succulent visitors…

It thought she was a shrub by Lastech

Queen Butterfly on Rudha-an’s shoe

Ah. The sweet nectar of shoe leather…

Common Buckeye by Lastech

Most of the Butterflies were very accomodating models, remaining still long enough to take several shots with a variety of settings. This one above is a close up, the Butterfly was well up high on the netting by the ceiling.

Julia’s feast by Lastech

The next few photos show them in various stages of nourishment and need no commentary, until we get to…. Wait for it…

Cabbage White by Lastech

… Wait for it…

Julia Heliconian by Rudha-an

… Wait for it…

Giant Cloudless Sulphur on gazania by Rudha-an

… Almost there…

Julia Heliconian

…. Yes. Butterfly pr0n!

Mating Monarchs by Lastech

As I said, it was warm in there, and then it got hot… These two were doing “the beast with four wings” while humming some Al Green…

Mating Julia Heliconians by Lastech

.. And others were probably fantasizing of a little inter-species Ooo-la-la…

They’re ‘go’ all over the place so fast, Scotty’s not sure if she’ll hold, Captain…. Roll back the clock a few hours, sometime after midnight. Titanescu was on the bed as usual, but this time on my side. That makes me toss and turn and generally screws up my sleep, but hey, what we wouldn’t do for our furballs, eh?

It must have bothered him at one point because he slapped a paw firmly on my leg and held it there for half a minute as if to say “Достаточно двигались!” (something like ‘enough moving about’ I think)

I figure he had the same look as the other day. You have to wonder, even as they do their little feed-me dance on the kitchen floor, exactly who’s the pet around here?

Tito: Belly rub?

Miss Jenny: Here birdie birdie birdie

Titanescu: да, поскольку на самом деле я собственными совместного

Titanescu has paws of Russian bear

He is generally cranky, and can go from 0 to Pissy in less than two seconds but he kept staring at the window with a look that said: “Твою мать!”

And I made the mistake to reach out to pet him on the head.

It was like a scene from a bar fight: he spun round to stare at my outstretched hand with a pissed off look and smacked it with an audible “whap!”

Sounded like a handful of putty thrown hard against a wall, no sh*t. It echoed through the room.

Unfortunately for Rhuda-an, he was sitting on her chest as she started laughing.

When Titanescu gets mad, everyone needs to be real quiet for a while. Those guffaws pissed him off all the more and he snapped his jaws at her hand before rearing his head back, mouth wide open in the longest hiss I’ve heard since 1979, exhaling a cloud of fetid fish breath at her.
His lips curled, some spittle blew forth, some just dribbled out and it lasted so long he almost coughed at the end… Right in her face.

Because we couldn’t stop laughing uncontrollably, he jumped off and ambled into the kitchen with his weird walk, ankles together, feet kicking outward.

We followed him in there, but there’s one more thing about the old coot: when you piss him off, he shuns you. He turns his back to you and will ignore you completely. A little bit like this:

It took him maybe another 20 minutes to cool down enough that he could come back and be with us…

…and we love him.

The Colorado Desert is a part of the larger Sonoran Desert

My home area of Imperial County is located in the southeast part of California along the Mexican border. Most of the county is below sea level. In the summer, the temperatures are high and rainfall is minimal. Most of you non desert folk have read (or heard) about how the desert is hot in the daytime and cold at night. That’s not true where I’m from. The summer lows might drop to the 90s (32c) and many times won’t drop below 100 (37c). The summer highs exceed 110 (43c) on a regular basis and in August and September, the humidity can be stifling. The economy is based on agriculture and many winter veggies are grown there. The summer is too hot for most crops, so the primary planting season starts in September and ends in April/May.

I went home last month and the highs were already reaching 100 (37c). Dad and I went for our desert ride very early in the morning as a result. We began our journey just east of the farmland near the small town of Holtville.

Freshly baled hay with the Laguna Mountains in the background

In our little corner of the world, the Creosote bush reigns supreme. Creosote, while not very pretty, is a fascinating plant. From the link above…

Vegetative reproduction: Creosote bush achieves its status as one of the most stable members of desert communities by cloning. When drought is extreme, old branches and roots of creosote bush die back. When rains return, branches are replaced by sprouts originating near the outside of the root crown. Creosote bush clones gradually expand to form rings many meters in diameter. Creosote bush may occasionally sprout from its root crown after disturbance.

Because of this form of reproduction, it’s very long lived. Again, from the above link…

Creosote bush is known to attain ages of several thousand years; some creosote bush clones may be the earth’s oldest living organisms. The age of the largest clone in Johnson Valley, California, is estimated at 9,400 years. The average estimated longevity of creosote bush may be about 900 years.

Creosote bush

Following well worn trails, Dad wanted to show me something that he only discovered in the last couple of years.

This pond is probably the result of the Easter Sunday Earthquake of 2010

I’m not a geologist and I couldn’t find anything online that mentioned the ponds. As far as we know, they didn’t exist prior to the 2010 Earthquake. Artesian waters are more common than realized and the nearby town of Holtville has more than one. A shifting of the earth has been known to cause the water to flow to the surface.

Regardless of how they got there, they were pleasant to see. The next time I visit, they may be gone.

Migrating shorebirds were feeding

Desert pond with Creosote bush on the left

The pond looked like a blue jewel

The Creosote bush is home to many critters. Kangaroo rats and desert kit foxes make their home in the roots. I saw plenty of wildlife while I was there, but they all moved way to fast to get a photo. I saw black-tailed jackrabbits, chipmunks, and some VERY fast lizards. While I didn’t get any pics of the critters, I did get pics of the evidence they left behind.

Trail left by an insect that travels under the sand

The odd vertical tracks are from a sidewinder

This is a regular critter highway

While I was taking the above photos, I spied this little fuzzy critter. She’s called a velvet ant, but she’s not an ant. She’s a flightless wasp and she packs a mean sting. Her white hairs make her look like the seed of a Creosote bush.

Velvet ant

Here is the view from the hill where I took the above photos. It’s called Deer Peak. It’s not high, but given how flat the rest of the area is, it’s a landmark. Weenie Bake Hill is another landmark to the south.

Looking east toward the Algodones Dunes aka Glamis with the Chocolate Mountains in the rear

Deer Peak

We continued east until we came upon the old Coachella canal. It was replaced more than 20 years ago. We dropped down to the bottom and went south for a bit.

Old Coachella Canal

We were chugging along at about 20 mph (32 kph) when all of a sudden dad made a sudden turn and stop. He might be 84, but there’s nothing wrong with his eyesight. He managed to avoid running over an extremely rare plant as they are very small and blend in with the sand. In all of his years in the Valley, he had only seen them once before. They are one of the most unusual wildflowers I have ever seen. They are called Sand Food. The visible portion is only the flower. The plant is underground. The link has pictures of the underground portion of the plant which is just as strange as its flower. It derived its name from its use as food by the Native Americans.

Sand Food (pholisma sonorae)

I took this photo with a dime to show how small this flower is

Shortly after seeing those magnificent little flowers, we had lunch and headed back to the truck. The rest of the journey was uneventful as it was getting pretty warm and even the lizards had gone into hiding.

The trail

There were many forks in that trail and I couldn’t help but wonder about where they lead. I spent my life travelling with dad and wondering where another road went. Sometimes we found out and other times we didn’t. I still have that bug and I’ve infected Lastech. Now we go out riding and wondering where the roads go. We make a point of finding out when we can and going back later if necessary.

Most people are familiar with Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” and the famous last stanza about taking the road less traveled by. The first stanza is the one that speaks for me.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

 

Chew, hug and toss ‘em. This last time, of course, she farted when I reached down to pet her…

Gimme some…

Mousy! I LOVE Mousy!

Om-nom-nom-nom

INTENSE NOM

Annnd… Mellowing out….

Everything is illuminated

Jenny makes a good effort of it, especially when I pet her. Hers linger like fog in an old horror flick. Me, I like to wait until an unsuspecting victim forces me to let them under the covers…

Wasn’t me..!

Tito usually jumps a few inches in surprise, then blinks it away…

My eyes are watering!

And Titanescu holds his nose best he can, plotting revenge by not burying his turds next time… “Băși!”

Man, oh man!

Men (and women) do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

My dad, for one,  has never lost his joy of playtime. He’s had to adjust a bit over the years and his toys have changed, but he still finds time to play. I had that confirmed when I went back home to the desert for a visit recently.

The Sonoran Desert in Southern California

Growing up with mom and dad was an adventure. We were poor, but there was always food on the table by the time I came along. Vacations always involved camping and exploring the Western half of the U.S. We didn’t just camp, we learned the geography, geology and history of every place we went. Dad taught us to be curious. We also had plenty of time for play. Once, dad sat and whittled a water wheel out of scrap firewood. It stood about 10 inches high and when we set it up in the nearby stream, it worked well. When I was 5 years old we backpacked over Kearsarge Pass in the Sierra Mountains. I carried my own pack.

Dad also put his hiking stamina to good use back home in the desert. He and a few others founded a desert rescue unit and  he learned how to track. He is one of the best trackers I’ve ever seen.

Now, he can barely walk. Due to a congenital defect, he no longer has any cartilage in his ankles. He still walks, but slowly and painfully. He uses crutches at all times (no wheelchair or scooter). Does this slow him down? Only when he’s walking. He still has toys to play with.

Mom and Dad have put 3633 miles on this quad

Yes, he and mom go riding together now on the two-seater. He has made changes to the quad and added areas for storing food, water and emergency equipment. In addition, he improved the handles and footrest for the back seat rider. He also put in a bracket to hold his crutches. Wait! This is the desert. That means lots of sand. How does he walk in the desert with crutches?

My dad, the master tinkerer.

Yep, my dad found a way. He tinkered in the garage until he created his crutch shoes. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Did I mention that dad likes his toys? Yep, the quad is adorned with toys.

Dad’s toys

The garden has toys. The house has toys. They are hiding in a gazillion places. Before they closed the bookstore, it was decorated in toys.

Front and back of the tree cat. Those are birdies hanging from the tail.

More toys. The last time it snowed back home was in 1932.

Bunnies and ostrich eggs

As you can see, my dad still loves to play…even at the age of 84. While my dad would never use a four letter word, he would laugh derisively at anyone telling him he needed to age gracefully. I hope to age just as gracefully as my dad.

The ’70s… Roller skating, creepy-crawlers, bean bag chairs, disco balls, and of course, Earth Day… “Food of the gods” is pure 1970′s grade fun which wonderfully makes no sense whatsoever.

Loosely inspired by part of an H.G. Wells story, “food of the gods” begins with a cautionary monologue by the protagonist, Morgan (Marjoe Gortner), about the wrongs done by man against nature: “just let man continue to pollute the way he is, and nature will rebel”, his pop used to say…

Nature packs a punch

Marjoe Gortner has an interesting real-life story, and is a familiar face to those who grew up watching television in the ’70s and ’80s. Gortner was then a sort of proto-Hasselhoff whose career thankfully survived “Starcrash“. A competent actor, surrounded here by other familiar talents: Ida Lupino, Jon Cypher and Ralph Meeker.

Morgan, the all-American hero, is a pro-football player… Along with team mate Davis (Chuck Courtney) and pal Brian (Cypher), he drives up North to a remote island off the Canadian coast for some R&R, stag hunting on horseback. Riding well ahead and out of sight of the others, Davis promptly runs into a swarm of giant wasps who turn him into a swollen yellow, purple dead mess. Trivial perhaps, but Courtney was a Nazi brown shirt on Star Trek episode “patterns of force” once. As Davis in “food of the gods”, he got his chance to wear a red shirt (jacket actually) getting whacked right out the gate…

Red jacket. Check.

Looking for help at a nearby farm, Morgan enters the barn and is savagely attacked by a giant rooster looking like a huge red rubber testicle with a beak. After a couple of grunts and some bok-bok-bockoks, Morgan dispatches the monstrosity with a pitch fork. Stumbling outside and gasping for air, he meets Mrs. Skinner (Lupino) pointing a shotgun at him. Morgan: “where the hell did you get those goddamn chickens?!?”

Turns out Mrs. Skinner’s a bit of a religious nut. Her husband’s out trying to make a deal in the city, selling a milky substance oozing out of their backyard, sort of like congealed mayonnaise, which makes animals who eat it become huge. As in super-steroid huge and super-enraged as well…

Thems angry rats

Back home, with little time to mourn, Morgan decides this aggression will not stand and convinces Brian to return to the island to blow up the wasps’ nest. Or something…  Up North, meanwhile,  greedy industrialist Bensington (Ralph Meeker) and his scientist-assistant Lorna (Pamela Franklin) come looking for the Skinner farm to option this food of the gods stuff.

Mister and miss oblivious drive by the wreckage of Mr. Skinner’s VW strewn with body parts left behind by giant rats without even noticing the carnage. Several bad decisions later, they find themselves trapped at the Skinner farm, along with a couple of stranded campers.

Luckily, Morgan and Brian drive up in their Jeep, loaded with shotguns and ammo. You may at this point play the “food of the gods” drinking game: have a shot for every time a rat gets hit with a paintball in slow motion.

You won’t remember the end of the movie, but then, neither will you question where did Morgan learn to make pipe-bombs and Molotov cocktails, or why is there a dam on an island (?!?) Perhaps you’ll laugh at Ida Lupino’s death scene if you see it as a twist on “Ratatouille” (in which the restaurant owner was also named Skinner)…

“Food of the gods” is a fun example of eco-exploitation-horror, and gets four jellybeans….