Antelope Woman v. White Fang Draft 1 Oct 30

I found it interesting having these two Darwinist expositions, separated by a century, focusing my reading this month, amidst our survivalist experiences

Both books take a look at planetary life from hunter-gatherer perspectives: much Indian lore, much POV from animal eyes.

Each book treats time spans differently: Antelope has specific frames relating to US American Indian history – Fang is timeless, taking memory back to cave-man days, … and nights.

Each push separate themes.  Erdrich espouses mystical, spiritual connections between man and animal, in my opinion, drifting towards Voodoo witchcraft; Fang makes these connections genetically necessary, over a vast expanse of history. 

Each book is colorfully written, using descriptive techniques which, while thoroughly enjoyable and definitely making each author’s efforts prize-winning prose, also evokes the feeling that they are paid by the word.

A clear difference in their prose styles is that Louise tends to be cryptic, whenever she has the chance.  If she can obfuscate a situation, she does, creating as much chaos as she can for the reader, leaving as many possible interpretations of what is happening as there are people connected to the scene.  

Jack London on the other hand is a fledgling scientist, always searching for the easiest solution to explain what is happening.  Occam's razor before we knew what it was [13^th Century].

I would describe “White Fang” as a memoir of Fang’s life and adventures, with an omniscient narrator.  Antelope Woman is a spumoni novel told with a disjointed approach that borders on wacko.

Getting Out Day

Power back on this afternoon. Yeah!

First five things I did:

1.      Picked up and listened to my phone messages

2.     Turned on the computer and read Internet messages

3.      Made a pot of coffee

4.     Called around to assure people I was OK.

5.     Took a hot shower

Then I went shopping at Speer’s

a.)  Replenished cat food supply

b.)  Got some beets, carrots, and grapefruit

c.)   Paid full price for a filet mignon steak

d.)  and a nice bottle of Pinot

e.)  and an array of four deli salads

I would liken the adventure of the past four days,

   to being picked up on a bogus rap by the local police,

   on the Friday night just before a 3-day weekend [S-S-M);

   tossed in a cell – with no recourse until the following

   Tuesday court calendar when I would be and was set free.

 Sitting around with a few books to read, a portable transistor

   radio, a hunk of chicken meat cooked on Friday, that got

   worrisomely older every day I had another hunk; a tiger milk bar;

   plenty of water, but only one glass of wine a day.

I expended almost no energy, so I established my next level down’s

boundary level for weight.  I’d worked hard over the summer to

get down to 170 by my school reunion, and I got to the edge

of that last month when I was varying between 170-174.

My variance the past 2 days has been 166-168.

I don’t see how I could go lower – and anyway this is a fine weight for me.

Autumn Love Affairs

I can think of no one more amorous than my two, medium-sized, red butterflies that have hovered around my serenity garden all summer long.  They are almost inseparable.  Today when the male could not find the female for 30 seconds, he went crazy, and burnt up so much energy in his search that I feared he would die in the struggle.  But then she came from around the corner and they intertwined again in a dance of love.

With the many other things going on in the World, it is peaceful to watch the birds and the bees, enjoying their lives.  In a different day and age, my back garden would suffice for a third-grade class in biology, chemistry and physics, certainly social and political science.  Fairy tales capture many of the lessons, but a recent read of John Steinbeck’s, “Log of the Sea of Cortez”, reminded me of the value of tide-pooling (He cruised to Baja) and of the shared brotherhood (regardless of borders) of the acquisition of knowledge and scientific inquiry.

Where was I? (for the Earthquake)

 The simple, and unpleasant recollection was that I was at IBM in Endicott, and flew home to San Jose, to support a distraught English wife, who had probably, made up her mind, then and there, to never stay in such an unpredictable Country.

The more pleasant memory was of the year before, when I was staying, temporarily with my daughter, in South San Francisco, with her newborn baby, Stephanie.  Many barf-on-me-moments come to mind, as I fed and burped my first grand-daughter.

One thing that sticks, is that Halloween, 1988, when I visited my sister, and FORCED her out of her house, to join me in a walking tour of Willow Glen.

Halloween is a kid’s holiday [aren’t they all?]  I had just returned from a decade in England, where I watched the kids there, take to Halloween like a duck to water.  One of our best USA exports.  My energy at being back in home-Halloween-land was unstoppable, my sister couldn’t resist.

Amazingly, the naiveté of young children was contagious.  She had a great time.  We both did.  That was my most memorable Halloween, ever.

Pattie's New Adventure

On Mon, Oct 14, 2019 at 6:44 PM Peter Andrews <tuesdaypeter@gmail.com> wrote:

All was peaceful and quiet at Pattie's house,

 when Peter went off to a GJ meeting in Santa Rosa

   this afternoon at 2:30.

But before he returned at 6:00,

  Correy had come by and decided to stock the

    fireplace with wood from the backyard pile.

She hadn't been here in a week, and didn't know just how

   fast Pattie had become, and with such a passion to run

     free in the yard.

Before Correy knew it, Pattie was out in the yard,

  and couldn't be enticed to come back;  Correy even tried

    to feed her, but Pattie wasn't having any - she smelled birds.

When I arrived home, I searched high and low for twenty minutes, and given up,

 .  I was getting the LOST CAT sign ready

    when I looked out Pattie's favorite bathroom window

     one more time and saw my neighbor.

"Haven't seen my white kitty, have you?"

"Oh, she's right there, below you & me."

"You mean talking with that great big gray Tom?"

The Tom skulked away, slowly.

"I'll be right there - please keep talking to her"

Even I, had a hard time picking her up, to bring her back.

"We were just talking about things", she said.

I fed her immediately,

  and unfortunately, she ate heartily. *1 [see below]

Correy was long gone - in hiding, I suppose,

   in case I'm mad because I found her out

   or that I'm sad because I didn't find her at all.

All is forgiven, Correy

  This cat has a rising thirst for wide-open spaces,

  and we must all be ever-vigilant for another 10 days.

I've almost lost her out the doors three times this week

  and it's a real fight [tooth & nails], when she gets close.

I'm still frustrated at the clinic's poor coordination after the Doc said

  next week and the admin scheduler said No, two weeks.

*1 Note: She ate her tuna appetizer - licked the plate clean

               Then

                Did not come to Peter with a purring Thank You

                  for rescuing me, finding me, bringing me home,

                 But when straight to bed,

                    perchance to dream?

*2 Note:  Half an hour later, she's back for more.

                    "No more wet food , Pattie, but here are the

                       kibbles you like"

                   She drinks water and eats at the kibbles,

                    at first eyeing me like I'm a hated predator

                     [eyes up - eyes down - at every bite - up - down]

                     finally , she makes a power move,

                      Turns 180 degrees, butt to me, and continues eating,

                        "I DO NOT FEAR YOU  -  I do what I wish".

              and she retires to bed, yet again, by herself.

The Ministry of Utmost Happiness

I regretfully chastised one of my fellow book-clubbers here for not sticking with this tome of quasi-memoir.  I foolishly bragged that this mish-mosh of gibberish was post-modern literary style, and would soon clarify, like a sixty-year-old Margaux.  I was dead wrong.

Much more like my neighbor’s backyard red, aging doesn’t improve its taste.  Arundhati Roy apparently did not invest her initial fame and fortune into improving her literary skill, but rather, sowed her wild oats gathering stories from far and wide throughout INDIA.  Nothing wrong with that, she earned the time to search for truth.  I always ask the question, though, why did this author write this book?  A lot of effort to complete authoring a book, but easier after you’ve got a Booker Award.  So, was it for money; rekindling the fame-name; or a story that burned to be written? 

Well, it certainly wasn’t the latter, big story.  I can picture the scene in her publisher’s office.  “George, I’ve made you millions and I need an advance.” Hati, it’s been twenty years – a whole new generation, and they don’t know your name.  What are you working on these days?”  “George, I’ve been writing all along – I have file cabinets full of characters, scenes, scraps of stories.”  “Hati, put it all together, I’ll advance you $1,000 a page.” 

And so, we wound up with 441 pages of the toilet flush from Hati Roy’s commode.  She’s got the potential to be a great author, and certainly the creds to be a good one now.  But that isn’t her life’s goal.  She’s spent the past twenty years pursuing her life’s goal.  She’s done a pretty good job of it.  Hasn’t been killed but hasn’t completed her time on Earth.

Why are WE here?  We’re here to support her crusade for change in INDIA.  To re-supply her with money to continue her good works.  That’s it.

Obviously, the Library management and the Foundation bought into this appeal.

To go into any of the “normal” novel-style analysis, like for instance,

   Do we discuss motive and influences behind?

     “Anjum, who now lives in Delhi in a tin shack she has built”

Is a waste of time because they all disappear,

  Since this is more vignettes of a memoir of Hati’s youth.

Maybe this prose is closer to poetry, a series of pleasant (although sometimes not),

    but comforting phrases   -   that give us hope.

Why Do Female Cats Need Hysterectomies?

Why not tubes tied?

Or IUDs?

Or pills?

Or Why not fix all male cats? Numerous methods.

I take Peppermint Pattie to the nice Vet in Occidental next Wednesday for spaying.

Wiki and the internet avoid the above alternate solutions to unwanted children.