Spider Web Talk

It is a scientific fact that when insects get caught in the spider's web, they do not expire (I try not to use the words "die" or get "killed") immediately.  They struggle for quite a bit, which gets them into more trouble. Web entanglement is bound to increase.  The spider detects the commotion more readily. The best strategy for the hapless prey is to keep still and not move at all, if the aim is to not alert the spider.  For sure, the poor insect will live a little bit longer but its fate is sealed. 

Then, entomologists (those who first matriculated in medical schools then switched majors when the sight of blood became  psychologically discouraging at continuing with a medical career and to their great astonishment, these young students realized insects don't shed blood, so they went on to become entomologists) found out through meticulous observation with the aid of highly sophisticated recording devices that they can eavesdrop on what was going on, in terms of what exchanges occurred between prey and predator within the confines of a web.  By the way, you just read one of the longest number of words within a parenthesis ever written in the annals of English literature.

Here is a recording of  conversations on the spider web.  By the way,  long before the world wide web, so much conversation had really gone on the spider web that goes back some 380 million years ago, long before the dinosaurs bi-pedaled their way into a 160 million year domination of all living things on this earth.

Transcripts of these recordings are archived in some undisclosed location. I just happen to have access to a few of them.

Darwin's bark spider (Caerostris Darwinic) is an orb-weaver spider that produces the largest known orb webs, ranging from 900 to 28,000 square centimeters (140 to 4,340 sq in).  

CD (short for Caerostris Darwin) figured in a lot of these conversations.

Incident 1.  CD and the fly

CD: What have I got there?

Fly: Please. I made a mistake. But if you let me go I can lead others to come here. Fat ones too. You eat me and that's all you will get.  You see, as you begin to devour me, I would exude an abundant amount of anti-pheromones that will keep other flies away.

CD: You piqued my curiosity.  Indeed, you do. The word "devour" sounds awfully barbaric.  I seldom hear that. First of all, I and other species like me do not devour, if I understand what you meant. We are sophisticated diners, if you must know. We dine slowly and passionately.

Fly: Please let me go?

CD: Well, I might.  You're a fly.  I, for one, have always wanted to be a "fly on the wall", get that? So I can eavesdrop on human conversations. Tell me one good one and I might just let you go.

Fly: Once, I was on a wall of the apartment of one journalist.  He was talking on the phone. I assumed it was another journalist on the other line. He told the other person that he had come upon one crucial piece of information from a retired employee at the NSA.

CD: Wait! NSA, is it the same one I am thinking?

Fly: The very same on - National Security Agency - yes sir.

CD: Go on.

Fly: I can only hear one side of the conversation.  The reporter was telling the other that he had uncovered the truth about what really happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963.

CD: You mean ..

Fly: Yes. The reporter said he possessed documents to prove  that there was a second assassin involved in the shooting. There were two rifles with identical ballistics signatures ..

CD: Stop, stop! Since you can only hear one side, you obviously did not hear the laughter at the other end.  No, that story is preposterous. Tell me a better one.  You found me in a good mood, so you get another chance.

Fly: What about a  story from one of my great, great ancestors? 

CD: It had better be good.

Fly: One of my great, great ancestors was on the Berlin Wall.

CD: Oh my! But go on.

Fly:  He told this story about being on the Wall and he heard these two East Berlin guards talking.  One guard said, "Why are these people going over, and it goes only one way.  Everyone is escaping from our side but no one is sneaking in?"  The other guard said, "Shush. Keep your voice down". The first guard said, "No, really, why?"  The second guard asked, "What are you saying, telling me about this?" The first guard replied, "Why don't we go over ourselves?  I heard a lot of good stories. Great stories really, compared to what you and I get to tell our families and friends". The second guard replied, "Okay, we still have two hours before shift change. Do you have a handkerchief? Put it at the end of your rifle.  I'll do the same and let's go together". My great, great grandfather said that was the beginning of the toppling down of the wall".

CD: That is about as lame a story that I've ever heard. Well, I have my appetite back. I'm sorry but I need my snack now.

Fly: Wait, wait!

CD: You want me to believe that your great, great ancestor was in Berlin.  How did you get here?  How did your ancestors get here?  Rubbish!

Fly: How did the brown rat or the common Norway rat make it here? How did the fire ants from South America make the few-thousand-mile journey here?  How is it that the Komodo dragon made it to Indonesia from Australia?  By the way, Australians have not shown any gratitude for the Komodo dragon's decision to leave and settle where they are now.

CD: Nope, your stories have not convinced me to set you free.

Fly: Okay, I guess this one secret I know will die with me. Go ahead.  Devour me at will.

CD: What secret?

Fly: I will die with it. I am no longer scared.  It is a worthy sacrifice to save the other flies.  It's okay. 

CD: Okay, okay. Tell me this so-called secret and I will let you go.

Fly: You see those two praying mantises by that branch up there? They're hatching up a plan on a safe way to get you to be their next snack.

CD: Not only do I not believe you, they will not dare. Just like you, my web will be their doom.

Fly: Okay, you won't want to hear their plan.  I am ready. Go ahead. I don't care.

CD: What is their plan?

Fly: I accept my fate.  I will die anyway.  I will tell you if only for this reason. I hate those praying mantises more than I do you. 

CD: Why?

Fly: You wait patiently until one of my kind and many others make a mistake. They pay for that mistake. I am about to pay mine.  The praying mantis hunts us with the ferocity of a merciless predator. With you, we pay the price for our carelessness.

CD: Now, you're talking.  Go ahead, tell me their plan.

Fly: You are sitting at the center of your web, like being at the center of a bull's eye.  One mantis will fly below your web. Using just the tip of its one claw, it will pull down on the web and release it abruptly.  You will be catapulted like a stone into the air.  The other mantis will snatch you on the fly. That's one cruel way to use the common expression, "on the fly", got it?

CD: That is not funny but it is the first sensible thing you said.  Okay, I will appear to those brutes up there to move you to the edge of my web without letting on that I am moving away from the center of my  web to spoil their plan.  Keep still as I move you over.

Fly: You better hurry.  They're about to make a move.  I have better eyesight than you, so trust me.

CD: Okay, you're free to go.

Incident 2: Praying Mantis (PM) 1 and 2

PM1: I didn't know spiders taste so delicious.  I've never had one before.

PM2: What I want to know is what possessed it to move away from the center of its web. It must know that there is no way we can get to them if they remain at the center.

PM1: Yeah, not a single one of us dares to pluck them from the center of the web.  The risk is too high.  I still, for the life of me, don't understand why it moved to the edge by that one little twig.

PM2: Easy picking, I'll have to say.  By the way, why did it let the fly go? It's driving me bananas trying to understand that.

PM1: Yeah, I've never caught a fly. With their thousand eyes and ability to change direction, I don't even try to catch a fly on the fly. Get that? I thought I'd never get to use that expression.

PM2. Okay, we're done here.  I wish I can talk to that fly.

Just below under a leaf, the fly was listening to the two praying mantises as they ate and talked.   The entomologists concluded that the reason insects are the ultimate survivors is best exemplified by their abilities to adapt.  Humans will never be able to control them.  Ants and termites are great examples but let us not forget flies and mosquitoes. What about some of their weirdest methods of adaptation?  

The caterpillar, for example, has one of the wildest life cycles and eating habits. It will munch on leaves, gain weight, envelope itself in a cocoon, come out, sprout wings, fly and go on to change its diet into dining on nectar.  The mayfly will live for years, sometimes longer than a decade as an underwater predator.  Then one day, they will sprout wings, fly out of the water, find a mate, but live as aerial insets for just that one day and die.  But not before the females hatch their eggs by the water.  The cycle begins again. The larvae will live underwater as a predator.  How wild is that?

Insects. Should we get it past  their ability to talk among themselves?

I must refer the reader to the hyena for an answer when asked about the veracity of his story, who yelled back, "What is it you want?  A story or a debate?"

What Happens Next?

Of all the questions we pose for ourselves or those we ask of others - where, what, when, how, for example - are almost always straightforward; however, "what happens next" is the only one filled with anticipation, suspense,  and often a cloud of mystery. 

An infant is easily bored once any new stimuli gets old because from the moment the baby is used to experiencing new information often, his or her brain braces for what is new all the time. Long before the baby understands what is past and present, he or she is somehow more stimulated by what is about to happen, oblivious to the other tenses of time. That is why peek-a-boo is one of their easiest sources of amusement.  

We get to adulthood and "what happens next" remains one of the most interesting questions we ask  even in instances when we kind of know what is next.  That is because we are never sure until it happens. Yet, we are also somehow pulled into believing in the certainty of fate even when we believe that we are capable of free will.  How is that?

The French has a phrase, "fait accompli".

Fait accompli, pronounced "fate uh-COM-plee," describes something that has already happened, or been done and cannot be changed; presumably irreversible. 

As word origins go, fait is not the root word for faith. Neither for fate. But they all seem to be correlated with each other.  That is perhaps because faith is about believing in something without a need for proof while fate always connotes as something that cannot be changed. 

But what about free will? 

Well, by each definition of the word and word phrase, fate and free will are made mutually exclusive of each other.  That is the quandary we face - the futility of not being able to do anything outside of the script that is written for each of us or the risk and uncertainty one faces for  the potential for misdirection or misstep as a result of free will.

Now, I think there is a way. It would first mean that we must believe that fate and free will though both can be true are not necessarily exclusive of each other.  Bear with me.

Fate - the script  for each individual is a draft written at birth, a function of the circumstances of who the parents are, that include their social status and origin. Free will is the ability of the individual, over time and through determined and unrelenting effort, to rewrite the script. 

I wrote on July 24, 2018, "...It would be Curling" as a metaphor for life after the Olympic winter sport curling. We are familiar with the images of the sport where one player releases the stone forward along the ice where two teammates sweep ahead of the sliding stone to influence and change its direction towards the target. 

I wrote then:

Imagine, we are the stones traveling along the path of life. Whatever our stations in life, privileged by birth, or plagued by misfortunes of destitution and abject poverty, we are all equally driven by desire to get somewhere - a target position of more wealth and prestige or merely a place a little more comfortable or a little less wanting of the basic necessities of life, and perhaps a yearning for just a little bit more than what we have now. Whatever the place we dream about, the path may not always be smooth. It could be a little rough for some, more pebbly or discouragingly rocky for others. Just as in the sport, there are "ice technicians" sprinkling layers of obstacles in our path. The ice technicians could be other people not wanting us to succeed or circumstances we find ourselves in, that we need to overcome. But we were not to be deterred from reaching the place...

...If we're fortunate to reach that place, we look back and realized that as we sled through much of the journey, someone or many others had swept the ice in front of us.  Parents were the first sweepers in front of their children's path for years before sons and daughters realize the amount of energy, worry and anguish it took to get those brooms working. What little they know about how frantic at times their parents had to sweep in front, sometimes hollering and screaming (as what happens in the sport of  curling), because they didn't want them to go astray of that "5-meter-wide-lane" and target. There are two sweepers in curling, one to each side of the stone. A single sweeper faces the daunting task of single parenting. Doing the sweeping from either side of the stone is twice as hard and the rare but laudable successes of single parents deserve twice the acclaim. 

And so we read stories like that of Booker T. Washington and so many others who rose above the circumstances they were born in.  They successfully re-wrote the script written for them.  Of course, there seems to be as many stories of many who were born in the midst of the upper social status and circumstances who managed to squander untold opportunities by rewriting the script written for them in the penmanship of a downward spiral.

Those are what  I call up-scripting and down-scripting (terms I created) the drafts (fates) written for every individual. It is akin to each of us being handed a script at birth and along the way we manage to make changes here and there and with the help of sweepers (again, like in curling) in front of us and the power of our own free will, the draft is re-written. We managed with our free will the ability to determine, "What Happens Next" at each page of the draft.

This is perhaps a simplified view, even naive, but if we rely on fate and fate alone, the air of resignation would seem palpable as to make any of our efforts to be for naught. A life that cannot rise above the futility of a "fait accompli" would indeed not be worth striving for.

This is a micro look into the life of an individual but what about in the macro world of accidents, catastrophic disasters, wars, world events beyond our control, etc.?  What do we make of that? That will be for another musing.  Meanwhile, I leave the reader with this: In the scale of the entire universe, where even our entire solar system where a million earths would fit inside our sun, the entire patch of where we are is lost in the glare of the entire galaxy; our galaxy a medium size patch in a trillion patches that make up one incomprehensibly massive world only a Divine Creator can conceive.

The reader may want to read "..It Must Be Curling" for additional insight into fate and free will (and know a little bit more about the Olympic sport of curling (copy link below into your search bar and click):

 https://abreloth.blogspot.com/2018/07/it-would-be-curling.html

Idling

From the Cambridge dictionary:

Idling definition: 1. present participle of idle 2. If an engine or machine idles, it runs slowly but does not move ..

From Merriam-Webster:

Idling can mean not being occupied or employed...

It is interesting, of course, that we commonly associate idling with machines not running at their maximum capacity or potential usefulness to do work and similarly when we think of our brain as in idling mode we are thinking of the not so flattering attributes associated with idle minds.

We've heard the expression, "An idle mind is the devil's workshop' and someone actually came up with twelve reasons why. I won't list all but some of them range from breeding ground  for negative thoughts to weakened self discipline and productivity to procrastination to disconnection from purpose and passion, etc. 

However, idle minds have proven to be the birthplace of some of the best transformational ideas and inventions ever produced by the human mind. That is because some thinkers and philosophers have argued that moments of idleness can be highly productive, leading to creativity, introspection, and even problem-solving.

"In his “Pensées,” Blaise Pascal famously stated, “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” Pascal suggests that idleness, far from being unproductive, can lead to a deeper understanding of oneself and the world."  Pascal was a French mathematician, physicist, philosopher, all rolled into one. He pioneered probability theories, principles in fluid pressure but a proponent of the philosophy of religion and faith as well.

Albert Einstein's famous thought experiments have become his laboratories for his ideas on relativity and gravitation,  E=mc², the atomic bomb, etc. that gained him Time's "Man of the Century' accolade. He was famously idling his time, looking at the window washers outside his office building when he did his thought experiment on gravity.  Likewise, it could only have been through thought experiments when he imagined what the world would look like if he was streaming alongside or at the tip of a light beam.  No laboratory could replicate such a wild experiment but it was those thought experiments that were at the backbone of his ideas and theories that some took decades to be proven right when measurement technology  finally caught up.

Schrodinger followed with his thought experiment on a cat being both alive and dead as a witty but meaningful interpretation of modern quantum physics. As a result we are now aware of Schrodinger's cat although no actual cat was actually exposed to the danger of cyanide gas. Truth be told, there was no such cat, let alone being dead or alive.  But quantum physics is real.

Another thing that is real is that ordinary mortals like you and me not only will benefit from the idling of the mind, if we choose to be aware of them, or take the time to purposely set our mind to do exactly that - have the mind run on idle over one particular idea or thought.  The benefits we get will be infinitesimally negligible compared to those extraordinary folks mentioned above but in our own confined existence, we may find that indeed we may reap some rewards - miniscule that they are but rewarding just the same.

It was Sept. 10, 2014 when I first posted the very first musing of The Idle Mind and it was about, Mt. Rushmore and Chief Crazy Horse Monuments. 330 musings hence is when I realized the idle mind was rather busy, if we go by the number of days that have elapsed - 3,740 days. On average one musing every 11 days. They were not all great and there were some good ones, if I go by readership tally.  By geographic reach - readers from different countries - the landscape is sparse, considering the number of laptops, desktops and cell phones out there - but it is still something to ponder that someone can be instantaneously reached to share one's thoughts and sentiments considering that it took ten centuries since Johannes Gutenberg invented the first printing press for this to be possible.  My only regret is that it is not shared with some of my favorite folks - the Masai cattle herders in the Kalahari and those from the inner jungles of the Amazon rainforest, and a few others.

Then I must ponder this: The Idle Mind is being read when folks have some idle time to spare during one of their idle moments when there was nothing on TV or as a way to while away a few minutes when the mind is on low RPM - the mind, like an engine, that runs slowly but does not move, by Cambridge dictionary definition, above.

But you know what, idle time for the mind is not only beneficial but perhaps it is a requirement. Our brain seems to want to be kept busy. Is that perhaps why we dream? Dreams are the brain's calisthenics or stretching exercises, isn't that what some experts say?  Apparently, left on its own as we rest physically and even physiologically, the brain has a way to exercise itself and gets busy coming up with all kinds of crazy stories. Then, adding mild torture to the whole thing, it actually makes us remember some of the wackiest scenarios in our dreams only a prankster is capable of achieving.  Of course, in some cases the brain goes overboard and wakes us up with a nightmare.

When we care only to rest our mind, it does not only go into idling but it makes sure we are a participant - willingly or not. Indeed, idling is  a slow idyllic moving stream.  Once that stream becomes a screaming rapid or a waterfall, the mind is no longer idling.  So, we need to take advantage of our idle mind because often that is when clarity is achievable. No wonder, some of our best moments at finally achieving that aha! moment is when we were quietly pondering something in isolation (you solitarily and pondering one problem at a time isolated from others).

In my woodworking hobby, most of the solutions or ideas I have for a project  do not occur in the workshop but somewhere else and when my mind is idly whiling away seemingly unconnected moments. Woodsmith magazine had published five of those woodworking tips that I've come up with and is about to publish another one. They are all simple tips but somewhere out there some woodworker has benefited from it. If nothing else the editors of the magazine somehow thought they were useful tips.

I struggled on this one project until that one aha! moment when I found a way to actually put this one together from eight separate parts without using glue or screws, yet for them to be rigidly held together tightly and snugly. I began the project but scrapped the whole thing for a few days until one day I sketched one idea out of the blue and voila, there it was from one idle moment.

 

How I made these knife stands reliably indestructible despite the seemingly fragile assembly only came about after a few failed trials; then from one idle moment later came the idea of construction never tried before.

Infinitesimally small ideas made possible only during idle moments of the mind brought on by a slow moving stream and not by a rapid hair-pulling rapidity of a quest for a solution. 

When idling we are urged to pay attention and make note of the slow moving stream of consciousness and taking care not to be distracted by thoughts that are circling around the periphery to disrupt and blur the solution or inspiration that one is looking for. Care not to make the idle mind the devil's workshop of distraction. This is the biggest challenge but not an insurmountable one.

And always remember, the idle mind should be a companion best allowed to tag along especially during moments of isolation.

Is There Such A Thing as Perfect?

What about flawless? And, isn't near perfect good enough? "It depends", would seem like the perfect answer to the question.

Or, we can settle with, "I strive towards perfection; until then I'm okay with being adorably incredible, in the meantime".

Before we get into finding the pathways to perfection, we actually have examples where perfection may have already been attained.  With some caveats, of course.

There is perfect pitch in the world of music or musicality. But it is an ability individually defined from one musical talent to another. A perfect game in baseball is  a no hit, no run game but achieving it is as varied as the ridges on different fingerprints. Is a 6-0, 6-0 tennis victory a perfect rout?  It depends because the winner could have been a college varsity player beating a junior high school champion. Ball bearings need to be perfectly manufactured for machines to run perfectly, but are they?  Let's go somewhere else, shall we?

In mathematics, 6 is a perfect number. You see, 1+2+3 = 6, is perfect because it is equal to the sum of all its proper positive divisors, namely 1, 2, and 3. You'd think that it should be common, but it's not. After the first four perfect ones, it gets rarer than observing a supernova.

1+2+3=6; 1+2+4+7+14=28; followed by the next perfect number 496, then 8128 (by the fourth, all the divisors are too lengthy to write them all down). For a very long time only the first four perfect numbers were known to the early Greeks since Euclid (the father of geometry) from 300 B.C.  That is because the next three perfect numbers are: 33,550,336; 8,589,869,056; and 137,438,691,328.  Imagine coming up with all their divisors (and adding them!}  By the time we get to the 31st perfect number, we get an astounding number of digits.

31st perfect number is 278327...880128  has a total of 130,100 digits !!

Perfect, nevertheless. It must be noted that the reason that after the 4th perfect number  modern computers with plenty of computing power were needed to calculate and enumerate the digits, based on an algorithm. 

And curiously, each perfect number ends with either a 6 or an 8 (even numbers, both).  The sixth perfect number notably ends with a 6. Biblically, we note that God created the universe in 6 days - the lowest perfect number - because that was all the Creator needed.  Numerologists point to the fact that the moon revolves around the earth in 28 days (just a coincidence, of course).  Yet, the typical workweek has 6 days, then we rest and repeat the cycle all over again. Unless you are like so many others, retired like me who now has time to ponder perfect numbers that for all intents and purposes mean little or nothing.  Or, do they? At least now you know what a perfect number is.  Good, because in our normal everyday world, that is about as good as we can get to anything that is perfect. Naturally, we don't just want to settle with that. 

Now, back to the real world. What about a perfect marriage?  Not in the real world, a skeptic might say.

Let's see .. if no one admits to be perfect, any pairing between two imperfect people will often bring about imperfect marriages, right?  But how about this? Shouldn't two half perfect people who marry each other be the proverbial perfect whole? Well, the problem is finding the two "right"  perfect halves to meet. In a small city of 150,000 people, the probability is low; out of almost 8 billion people from around the world the two halves ever meeting can be infinitesimally low in probability. However, this has not been a cause for discouragement because there are those who claim to have found their soul mates - thus scaling the height of positive thinking. Or, have they?

One estimate - I don't know how, but we leave it to the statisticians - there are 115,000 weddings everyday around the world. In the U.S. alone 2.1 million get married each year. Let us not spoil it by asking, "how many get divorced each year". Or, how many of the 2.1 million are for the second or third time; or, how many are trying to get in the Guinness Book of World Records for most number of  trips to the altar or justice of the peace.  

A perfect marriage depends on who is defining it. Someone claimed a mathematical definition: The strength and bliss of every marriage between two people is inversely proportional to the number of years the couple have been together.   Put another way, the longer that couples have been married the less likely  a marital Nirvana can occur.  Now, that is where the depth of negative thinking has sunk.  But no, we ought not agree with that. There were and still are marriages, though not exactly made in heaven, that sparkle like starlight in the night sky. 

What about a perfect life? I say that a perfect life is the sum of all the overwhelming number of perfect days over imperfect ones. We have to admit that we go through life made up of good days and not so good ones. The idea being that our definition of what is perfect or imperfect is wholly our own. Not by anyone defining it for us. What is humanly possible, short of achieving Nirvana (whatever that means, although I've mentioned it twice now in this musing) is the potential for our ability to amass an overwhelming number of good days over not-so-good ones.  

It was not a good day over two years ago when my wife was diagnosed with Parkinson's. Before that we've had innumerable good days that far exceeded the not so good days then. If we begin another count after the diagnosis, I will have to say that good days still continue to outnumber the not so good ones. And, this is important because no matter how small good things occur for as long as there are an overwhelming number of them over the not-so-good ones, the count is  valid and it is a beautiful thing to behold. How so?

Each morning I wake up and get out of bed. It counts as a good day. The aroma of a freshly brewed coffee and listening to soft morning music as I crack an egg over a skillet, or hear the crackling of bacon, or washing blueberries over a strainer, or preparing slices of papaya, comprise  tiny perfect moments. Moments later when I nudge my wife and she is ready to get up on her own and do her morning routine before coming out to the breakfast table count as the morning's perfect blessings while syrup over French toast and whatever the fruit of the day is  make up the preamble for a good day. For over two years now I make it a point to do this routine if only to get her day to start right; and mine too.

When I make the bed like she used to do thousands of times during her "able days" that is a perfect moment. When breakfast is finished I'd put one lubricating drop into each of her eyes that helps prevent dry eyes. Compression socks for both legs follow but I make it a ritual to powder her feet and massage both legs before putting the socks on. Morning rituals that they are, each counts as a good moment both for her and me.  These are simple, uncomplicated moments. We do these things because that's how days are supposed to be filled with - lots of simple but good moments.

It is a perfect moment that even with Parkinson's my wife still takes care of making sure her medications are well laid out for each day, including the ones that I have to take myself. It is a perfect day when the printer works so she can print out every financial record. It is a good moment that she still balances our checkbook and make sure all the charges and bills are in perfect order.

If we can manage to view life this way  and keep in mind the idea of perfect numbers (above) - the sum of their positive integer-divisors - we realize that good days are not rare but quite numerous if we take the time to notice.

Today snow had fallen over Texas. This event and the freezing temperatures are rare indeed. It is a good day because we have water and heat and are comfortable indoors.  Together with the multitude of people yesterday,  I was one among them at the grocery store to prepare because to go out and drive today would be one foolish bad day. It was a good day then and even better today to be preparing corned beef for soup and having something to grill indoors. Little things like these will make the tally sheet lopsidedly in favor of good over bad things.  Come to think of it, there is not a bad thing so far.  Did I just answer the question, "Is There Such A Thing as Perfect?"

Each of the trillions of perfect individual snowflakes made our backyard a rare scene of winter wonderland.

The front of our house carpeted with perfect snow.

This mourning dove is having a perfect moment at the bird feeder in our backyard.

So did this cardinal, one of many morning visitors to make one freezing morning to be made up of many perfect moments for these creatures.

So, you see it does not require a lot to make our day to be filled with simple, perfect moments like these.

Come To Think Of It ,,

At one time or another the reader has used this idiomatic expression, a phrase we use  when suddenly we remember something to add to an ongoing subject of conversation.  It would be awkward to begin a sentence out of the blue, so to speak, if one were not trying to segue with a current topic. And just like that we are introduced to another idiomatic expression; first used by a columnist in The Spectator, a London paper, in 1879. The writer made reference to a rare event and completely unexpected, like a lightning bolt occurring out of a clear blue sky.  And so we've managed to segue one idiomatic expression to another in one paragraph.  But wait. How do we pronounce segue? Seg-way is how it is pronounced and often some folks actually spell segue as "segway" but that would be incorrect.  However, 'Segway' is a proper noun (with S in upper case) that refers to a U.S. made self-balancing motorized vehicle on two wheels. Pronunciation and spelling notwithstanding, segue has Italian origin which refers to how movements in music would transition from one mood to the next.  Now you know.  It too is a way to connect the image of the brain above to the subject "Come to think of it".

You see, you were able to follow, that for non-English readers would look to be like seemingly jumbled characters, and put context to them because your brain - the seat of human thought - makes it possible for you to comprehend the whole paragraph in so little time that gives us all the impression of a lightning speed process by which we are able to discern the meaning to both written and spoken words; even more incredible for the latter, which makes instantaneous vocal conversation possible.

For centuries, from the moment scholars and linguists started to conceptualize our ability to use both vocal and written language to communicate, we marveled at the capability of human thought and the incredible speed by which the brain is able to process information. Now, come to think of it, how fast is human thought? 

Two researchers at Caltech claim to have quantified how fast we "think". Well, as a result of their study, relative to today's technology, human thought is molasses-slow at 10 bits per second when compared to the average of the slowest download speed in computer processing of 93 megabits per second (Mbps).  That is in millions of bits per second.  I just signed up to a new internet service provider recently when a fiber optics company just finished laying down fiber optic cables in our neighborhood for a stupefying 5 Gigabits per second  of download speed (in billion bits per second).

Wait, wait for just one long minute.  What are we talking about here? We read that in computing, your laptop or desktop computer and cell phones transmit information digitally - namely the digits of zeroes and ones, representing the switching of electric current from on and off. In other words, for analogy, zero and one are words if they were  written down on paper, on and off or as yes and no if they were spoken. Is that how close we can get for an analogy?

A bit, in computer speak, is either a one or zero, an on or off. So 10 bits per second is fast enough. As in the expression, in the blink of an eye, which is fast, we cannot blink  ten times in a second, therefore 10 bits per second is quite fast, by that comparison. Of course, we are talking apples and oranges. Now you know where this is going. It is another come to think of it moment.  It is apples and oranges because we are now talking about muscle reflexes involved in blinking  as opposed to our thought processes. When you are able to pull away your finger instantaneously from a hot stove at lightning speed, it was not via a thought process that saved your day from a serious injury but by some autonomous reflex that your brain is responsible for.

According to the researchers, 10 bits per second is fast enough for our survival as a species. So, why do we need 1 or for that matter a 5 Gig download capability with our computing and streaming services? Is it our impatient nature? Perhaps. Or, or is it because we are merely instinctively programmed to be attracted to the next shiny object. Some behaviorists think that is exactly what explains our attraction and fascination with gold and diamonds - shiny objects. It is neither here nor there, I think. But then I am not a behaviorist.  

Moving on, the researchers are puzzled by this phenomenon: "Our brains are constantly bombarded with sensory data at an incredible rate, estimated to be 109 bits per second, and yet our conscious thoughts process information at a far slower rate".

Apparently, even though information from our visual cortex (from what we "see") to our neocortex, we (our brain) ignore a lot of that data and we focus only on a sliver of data we deem important. That reminds me of the lyrics from "Some Enchanted Evening" (from the Broadway musical, South Pacific):

"Some enchanted evening

Someone may be laughing,

You may hear her laughing

Across a crowded room

And night after night,

As strange as it seems

The sound of her laughter

Will sing in your dreams.

Who can explain it?"

Who can tell you why?

Fools give you reasons,

Wise men never try.

Emile, the character who sung it, exhibited nothing more than someone who is able to ignore all the extra information that was streaming through his neocortex in that crowded room, except for the one - a stranger - who captivated his attention, from across the room.

Now, you see how "come to think of it" would segue itself into almost anything our thought processes will take us?  

Then we hear "come to think of it" moments that are clearly off-tangent. This will definitely be off-tangent but it came right out of the blue.  See!?

In my oil business days from almost two decades ago, cpg meant nothing more than "cents per gallon". Now in upper case, CPG is Canada, Panama, Greenland.  See? Current events, but not to have politics intrude in the conversation, the news cycle inevitably makes our thought processes go whichever way, either inevitably or consciously, that we allow it to occur. 

So, come to think of it, the U.S. purchased the lower Mississippi basin, that is now Louisiana, from Napoleon Bonaparte's French empire in 1803. Sixty four years later, in 1867, Russia sold Alaska to the U.S. Then in 1917, for 25 million dollars in gold, the same USA bought  three islands, now known as the U.S. Virgin Islands, from Denmark.

You see, how this segues into what sounded like an incredulously silly idea of the U.S. buying the largest island in the world - Greenland? 'Come to think of it', why is it called Greenland when it is mostly white ten months of the year? Supposedly, it was called that to encourage adventurous Danes to migrate and develop the island. Apparently, even up to this day, the enticement did not work so well because for its size there are only no more than 57,000 Greenlanders who live there - a mix of Danes and Inuit. The latter, who do not want to be called Eskimos are actually related to the Alaska indigenous population - in physical appearance and similarity in language.

The big island is now front and center, not just for the potential opening bid by the newly elected U.S. President, but because of its oil and rare earth mineral deposits. 

But what about Canada and Panama? In the case of the northern neighbor, there really is not a visibly demarcated border. There is no language barrier either, except for those Canadians from Montreal and Quebec who to this day insist on speaking French.  Come to think of it, Louisiana has pockets of folks who speak Cajun, a kind of French derived dialect that those from Quebec and Montreal look down upon.  But Come to think of it, Cajun actually comes from the language spoken by citizens of Acadia, Canada that used to be a French colony way back when. Many Acadians from way back when did migrate to Louisiana when it was still a French territory. As much as the Cajun dialect is derided  by those from Quebec and Montreal, Parisians or French language purists in France don't look too kindly at how French Canadian is spoken either. Come to think of it, the British think the same way about American English. From My Fair Lady, Henry Higgins  said this about the English language, "In America, they haven't used it for years".

Come to think of it, why can't Canada join in and we call the entire region, "The United States of Northern America - USNA.  There would be a slight problem because USNA is already taken, as in United States Naval Academy (Annapolis).  No problem, it can easily be changed to USNAA. As a bonus, Canadian bacon will be called ham.  Oh, come to think of it, there will be no need for Niagara Falls to have a Canadian or U.S. side.

Imagine that, Northern America's gross domestic product (GDP) combined will outshine the entire commercial galaxy that for now is being contested by China.  As a combined geographic and military whole, the US, Canada and Greenland combined, will be something to behold, especially if the Panama Canal comes with the entire package - completing the acronym CPG as one grand acquisition.

A man, a plan, a canal – Panama - is one of those clever palindromes and a great symbol for how ships go back and forth through this grand waterway.  Come to think of it, although the Panamanian official currency is called a balboa (PAB), the country does not print it, instead it uses the U.S. dollar as its legal tender.  For currency exchange purposes, a balboa is equivalent to one U.S. dollar.  It is something to think about.

I can segue to so many more but come to think of it, I cannot ask for any more of the reader's time. I just hope I have provided you with a bit more to think about. 

 

Spider Talk 2

A little more than seven years ago, Oct. 25, 2017, I published a transcript of an actual conversation between two spiders from two different species in, "Spider Talk". They were Pholcus phalangioides and Argiope trifasciata.

This time, for identification purposes, we call them  Pholcus phalangioides 2 and Argiope trifasciata 2. Of course, both are many generations removed from 2017, and the venue of their conversation is much different.  Where their ancestors met regularly at a basement of one human host, named Steve, these two met on the invitation by Pholcus phalangioides 2 - the resident spider, at the wine cellar of a luxurious home in a very affluent neighborhood. 

Just as it was seven years ago, I still cannot reveal how I came across this transcript. 

Argiope trifasciata 2: Wow, thank you for inviting me over. This is an impressive basement.

Pholcus phalangioides 2:  This is not a basement. It's a 2000 square foot wine cellar, temperature and humidity controlled. It's a bit too chilly for me but just outside the door is a storage room. It is  damp all the time and dark and dusty. There is plenty of food there for me. I still have to hunt for them, of course.

Argiope trifasciata 2: What can you tell me about the homeowner?.

Pholcus phalangioides 2:  The husband is whom I am familiar with. His wife rarely ventures down here and the three children, never. The husband's name is Clarendon who fancies himself an oenophile, (a fancier name for a wine aficionado). A frequent visitor - a sommelier (an elevated rank bestowed to a head wine steward) - comes by almost every Monday evening, which happens to be his day off  at the city's fanciest French restaurant. He calls himself,  Benoît. His real name is Carlos. He once mentioned to Clarendon that his assumed  French name sounds more impressive when he introduces himself to the customers and emphasizing that his name is pronounced, Behn-nwa. Now, I have doubts too about the name Clarendon. The husband speaks with a British or Australian accent but more on that later.

Argiope trifasciata 2:You know all of these, how?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: I can tell you are not as evolved as I am.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Please, just tell me. My brain may not be as sophisticated as yours but I'm sensitive whenever someone brings it up.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: So sorry, I didn't mean to be insulting.  You are my guest, after all.

Argiope trifasciata 2: It's all right, please go on.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Oftentimes I take it for granted that my species, particularly, or rather specifically, the genes through my family tree,  had the good fortune of hitting the evolutionary jackpot. Look at my eight eyes. Behind them is a brain that can process light and sound discreetly like no other creature can and a memory and computing power that rivals a Cray computer. Brains of migrating birds can detect earth's magnetic field which guides them through a three thousand mile trip and back. Even monarch butterflies have uncanny senses in their simple brains that make their annual migration a walk in the park. In my case, I happen to have neurons on my entire body from my thorax even down to my hairy legs that make my computing power extraordinarily all encompassing. The only other creature with neurons running through their legs, or rather their tentacles, are octopuses. And, of course, I can regrow my legs. As a spider you must know that too.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Okay, I believe you. I have no way of contradicting you. I'm just a guest who has no idea what a Cray is, so please go on.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: The homeowner and his frequent guest, more often than not, let more wine get into their heads, if you know what I mean. Often, they forget to pretend anymore and that's when I realized Clarendon is neither British nor Australian. Benoit, I already told you he is really Carlos. I then deduced that he is either from Argentina or Venezuela - his diction, though refined, is far from Castilian to be a Spaniard. I have to conclude that he entered the country illegally years ago.  Clarendon, I know was just a third rate Shakespearean actor wannabe.

Argiope trifasciata 2: They're both up to no good, is that what you're telling me?

Pholcus phalangioides 2:They were both up to no good.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Wait, I may not be sophisticated but I know my tenses.  You said, "they were", as in the past tense.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Yes, you heard correctly. What I'm about to tell you will be hard for you to comprehend, so listen carefully.  I invited you here because I needed to tell another spider.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Wait, you have not been sipping droplets of their red wine, have you?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: No.  Just listen, please.  No more interruptions.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Go on, please.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Four weeks ago I heard Clarendon tell Benoit that he was being blackmailed. A fellow actor named Wilfred from way back when  chanced upon him as he was leaving the same fancy restaurant where Benoit worked. You see, Clarendon's wife, her whole family actually, is the one with the money. Clarendon oiled his way to the family, particularly the father - an avid patron to the arts and major donor. Clarendon did ingratiate with the wealthy family to near perfection.  The actor, Wilfred, threatened to expose Clarendon's past.

Argiope trifasciata 2: I hate to ask again, you know this, how?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: You are interrupting again. When they're both here, drinking and talking, I can't help but overhear entire conversations. If you still don't know it by now, I have total recall. Coupled with a flawless deductive ability that would make Sherlock Holmes envious, if he were real.

Argiope trifasciata 2: I don't know who Sherlock Holmes is, but okay.  Please continue.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: You see, Clarendon, though a mediocre Shakespearean actor, was much too clever at creating a story that convinced his wife, her dad, the entire family, of his extraordinary linkage to British royalty via a connection to some obscure Australian lineage. He married her and her money twelve years ago. 

Argiope trifasciata 2:  Wow. So, if he's exposed he will lose everything.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Well, he lost it alright. I'm getting ahead of myself here.  You keep interrupting, that is why.

Argiope trifasciata 2: I'm zipping it.

Pholcus phalangioides 2:Clarendon and Benoit hatched a plan two weeks ago. Clarendon was to invite the blackmailer, Wilfred, to his home. He timed it for last night, a Monday. His wife and three children had left Sunday afternoon for the ancestral estate where the entire clan on her dad's side was going to spend the entire week hunting, horseback riding, water sports and stuff. Clarendon - on the pretext of finishing up some business - was going to follow on Tuesday, that's today.

Argiope trifasciata 2: He's still here, isn't he?

Pholcus phalangioides 2:Why can't you just let me finish?

Argiope trifasciata 2: Sorry.

Pholcus phalangioides 2:Since the day I heard their plan, I stopped eating, which meant no hunting for food to conserve my venom. By limiting my water intake and keeping still for hours at a time, I increased the potency of my venom and had enough of it to paralyze an adult elephant.

Argiope trifasciata 2: What?  Oh, I don't want to hear anymore. No, please stop.  This is not real.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Listen, just listen. Please! Clarendon told Wilfred that he had little cash at this time but he has vintage wines that are worth a fortune in his wine cellar that a few bottles from his collection can easily be turned into hard cash. Wine collectors will be happy to pay good, real money for just a handful of the precious vintages. Wilfred can pick up the wine and some cash, Clarendon asked him to come over.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Yeah, really?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: It was nine o'clock last night when Wilfred showed up. Clarendon took him to the wine cellar while Benoit hid in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Clarendon was on top of his game, talking about wines, vintages and the wine collector's market. After half an hour of that he packed half a dozen bottles of his top collection which, he claimed, included a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac, 2015. He added to it some cash.  He convinced Wilfred that collectors will pay top dollar for the six bottles. Clarendon's next move was to convince Wilfred to try his latest acquisition.  It was a 2017 red by Opus One, a Napa Valley hot seller. He poured two glasses and gave one to Wilfred. Clarendon took the first sip. Wilfred followed. It must have been really good because Wilfred asked his glass to be refilled.

Argiope trifasciata 2: And?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: In less than two minutes after finishing his second glass, Wilfred felt lightheaded and told Clarendon that he needed to sit down for a while to clear his head or until he could see clearly. He tried to lower his head on the table. But then his chair gave way as his body bent over, his torso collapsing towards his lap in slow motion. Then he toppled over and was flat on his back on the floor, foaming at the mouth.

Argiope trifasciata 2: No! I don't want to hear any more.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Listen, get a hold of yourself.  What kind of a spider are you?

Argiope trifasciata 2: I don't like where this is going.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Just then, Benoit appeared at the door as Clarendon was tapping his fingers on a pad that looked like a wall-mounted thermostat. I did not know it until then but he must have punched a code that opened a well disguised secret door next to one of the wine racks. Clarendon nodded his head as he motioned Benoit to go over where Wilfred was lying. Clarendon grabbed Wilfred by the armpits while Benoit lifted both legs.  Then they carried the lifeless body through the secret door. I followed.

Argiope trifasciata 2: No!

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Both knelt over Wilfred's body. Clarendon was making sure Wilfred was not breathing anymore, while Benoit was emptying the pockets of Wilfred's wallet, cash, cell phone and car keys. Clarendon's both palms were on the floor as he was checking Wilfred's breathing.  Then I sunk both my fangs on the back of his left hand, injecting a good amount of my venom.  

Argiope trifasciata 2: Oh, you didn't!

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Clarendon screamed, writhing in pain, swearing. His back on the floor, his right hand grasping his left, he kept screaming. Benoit, confused and panicking by that time, moved his attention to helping Clarendon, by sliding his hand under Clarendon's head to make him comfortable, as the wine aficionado was convulsing, then total paralysis took over his body.  That's when I struck the second time.  Benoit felt it in an instant. The last remaining reserve of my venom went to his bloodstream immediately. In seconds, he was hyperventilating, then paralysis followed. Then it was all over. Three bodies on the floor were motionless.  One dead, two remained conscious but unable to move. Then I retreated away and out the door.

Argiope trifasciata 2: I don't see any door except the one at the entrance.  Where is it?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: It's right there.  Completely shut and you can't tell it's there.  Apparently, Clarendon had it especially constructed for a special room where his prized collections were kept. The room is hermetically sealed. 

Argiope trifasciata 2: Who closed it?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Apparently, it was designed to swing and shut itself off automatically after a few minutes. It is obvious that it can be opened from the inside but not if whoever is inside is incapacitated. Obviously. If no one else knows about the door, the existence of the control panel disguised as a thermostat, or the code, the room will remain shut.

Argiope trifasciata 2: But soon the family will start looking once he doesn't show up at the estate. Wait, Clarendon and Benoit will run out of oxygen before then, right?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Wow, just like that, congratulations! You've become Sherlock Holmes. Well, it is not our problem, is it?

Argiope trifasciata 2: What do you mean, "our"?  I am not part of this.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: You  know what I mean.  But, yes, you have no part in this. But now that I've shared the story with you, I feel free. 

Argiope trifasciata 2: Let me ask you this.  We know only humans act with malice, right? This is so uncharacteristic of a creature such as you or me or a boa constrictor. We kill only for food or attack only when threatened.  When an owl hunts and kills mice, it is to feed itself or its young. In the process, the mice and rat population is controlled. That's how nature intended it to be.  What compelled you to take the life of two human beings?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Why is what I did so different from controlling the population of rats? No offense to the rats but if they overpopulate it is not good for everyone and everything else, right? It is all about the ecosystem.  In this case, it is about stopping bad people from doing bad things indefinitely.  Did I not just save Clarendon's family?  The likes of Benoit and Wilfred are similarly extinguished for the greater good.  Don't you agree?

Argiope trifasciata 2: It's been a long day, okay? I need to go.

Pholcus phalangioides 2: I know.

Argiope trifasciata 2: Aren't you  worried I will talk?

Pholcus phalangioides 2: Who among the spiders will believe you?  More significantly, in case you forgot, you can't talk to humans, let alone know human talk.  They can't hear you anyway.

Now, my dear human readers, I know you have questions about the story. In the words of the laughing hyena in, "Listen, The Animals Are Talking", (Sept 20, 2024), quote: "What do you want, a story or a debate?" 😍

On the other hand, those who are impressed with Pholcus phalangioides 2, please refer to the story of its ancestor in "Spider Talk" (October, 2017).

https://abreloth.blogspot.com/2017/10/spider-talk.html