I Am Not Hamlet

Here's what I read at Trinity House Theatre this last weekend. An untitled essay, originally written for a memoir/travel writing grad class. Comments (critical especially) are welcome. I killed my cat for $140. That’s what the Michigan Humane Society charges to “put down,” “dispose of,” or “put to sleep,” an animal; choose your least offensive euphemism. Hermia suckered my wife, by meowing pitifully as only an orphaned kitten can, in our driveway three Mays earlier. I warned Anessa, “Are you really sure you want to take this cat in?” I’ve had cats in my life since the age of four, but I wasn’t sure my wife was ready for a sudden addition to our young marriage. “Yes. What else are we going to do with him? Her? This little cat?” We named the cat for the feisty, short lover in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, though some people thought the name came from Harry Potter, much to this English major’s chagrin. She was a good mouser, a good moler, also unfortunately a chipmunker and s...

I'm glad you asked. Lookee here. Also included in each cage is a can of sugar syrup that the bees feed on during travel. This can is probably 24 oz. or so, but I'm not sure if that's included in the weight. I believe 3 pounds of bees means somewhere between 10 and 15,000 bees. Here the cage is opened, and the can is removed, just prior to shaking them all out. Yes, I wrote "shaking." You shake the bees out, but their bodies have been sprayed down with my own sugar water concoction to limit the flying around. The queen cage is outside of the shipping cage sitting on top of the frames. It's the bee-covered shape with the white, plastic strap hanging off of it. Here's what it looks like after about 1/2 of the bees have been shaken out onto the open super. After a sweaty and nerve-wracking job (Crap! Are they going to be gentle or pissed when I shake them out?) here's the hive shut up tight with some grass plugging up the entrance to give them so...

Last Saturday was the second session of this Master Naturalist class that I'm taking (I realize I may sound like a professional student--wasn't there a Charles Baxter story about someone like that--studied Folke Greville, his girlfriend dumped him and he was in a car accident? but I'm not, I DO teach, ya know). Well, I attempt to, anyway. Digress, I do. I was falling asleep during the lecture, more from physical fatigue that boredom (there was a bit of that--SLIDES! actual slides on a manual projector!) Finally, we were walking through the woods to see what we could see. Our guide, a Ms. Dockeray, an octogenarian who had the energy of a pentagenarian, would loudly--and I do mean LOUDLY--"Ooooh!" everytime she spotted something she found interesting. Here are a few specimens that we saw at the Blandford Nature Center outside of Grand Rapids: First up, trout lily, a species I only discovered for myself last year. I believe this is bloodroot. So named for the bl...

Today in class, I overhead some of my charges discussing an upcoming birthday party. "We's goin' to the strip club. And if we can't get in, the strip club comin' to us." I reminded them that that wasn't all that appropriate for school. I was simultaneously thinking, "Oh God, these kids are so. . . confused." I don't know if she meant a male strip club or female strip club given how sexuality is so, shall we say fluid in these times, but either way. . . how is she thinking this is acceptable? If she's not merely bragging for her colleagues, is her mother involved in this? Is this done on the sly or is the mother there "to make sure no one gets hurt"? I can't see her pulling this off, she is far too immature and vacuous to convince anyone of being the age of majority, but still to even contemplate such an action. I truly grieve for the loss of her childhood.

This was a posting I created for Facebook, but given the nature of FB (and even this blog--ephemeral) I thought I'd repost it and add some commentary. I don't know that these are in any particular order and I also don't think that I am completely immune from the allure of some of them. Here's an easy one: SEX America is obsessed with sex (and yet, I'd wager so is every other nation on earth, they just don't have billions of dollars to spend on advertising, entertainment media, and pornography.) We're fairly gnostic about the whole thing. Some claim our bodies don't matter "It's only my body, it's not like that's my soul or anything!" We don't celebrate sex among the aged (unless you count the erectile dysfunction commercials) or the infirm. No, the only bodies we want to see naked are air-brushed, slicked-up, photo-shopped, and muscular and toned. I think we're scared of any other kind of body. Money Again, not someth...

I can compare partaking in my daughter's baptism today to only three other events in my life: my wedding, her birth, and my son's birth. There is a holy pride (if such a thing exists) bursting forth as she descends into Christ's death and rises up a new creation. The thing is a mystery--how it all works--and yet so tangible. The wet of water, the grasping of hands, the flame of lit candles. What a glorious day to be baptized! Easter 2009. He lives, not just in my heart, but by the power of the Holy Spirit is immanent in all of His creation. The sun was just a bit brighter and warmer today. The one disappointment? Entering the East side of the baptismal fount and exiting at the West. Ah, the joys of ahistorical Evangelicalism!

Here's an interesting talk about two of my favorite subjects: bees and native landscapes.