Genetics

I need no further evidence of the significance of genes in determining behavior. Witness my wife and her side of the family. Now, I love my wife dearly. but she has one flaw. She is an incurable telephonalolic--about four hours a day. There is little doubt that this is a genetically determined behavior, gender related. All the female members exhibit the behavior. Its most extreme manifestation is when they talk with each other, which is frequent. I have seen this pass through four generations of females. No males in the family exhibit the trait, although they are certainly carriers. They endure, complaining only poccasionally about the telephone bills. The behavior is resistant to extinction, pervasive as to geographic location, and of lifelong duration. No one has identified this gene as yet, only because no one has looked. There is also likely to be a brain area, close to where language expression resides in the left hemisphere (more generalized in females). I therefore challenge any neuroscientist or genetic types who stumble on thois blog to begin the task of identifying and eradicating this pernicious trait before it spreads further.

Charitable giving

I spent ten years as a fund raiser for a non-profit, although it was never a labor of love. So I am not completely naive about giving. Our own contributions are primarily earmarked for cancer rsearch since both my parents and my wife's favorite aunt succombed it the Big C. I dopn't respond to telephone solicitations and certaily not to unsolicited requests at my door. So it is surprising to me that I contributed to an African American lady who rang our doorbell to solicit a magazine subscription to a shelter for the homeless.

She herself was a resident of one, she said. Her husband shot her, she explained. She was earning points earn tuition to study criminal justice and become a police officer. The materials she produced were shopworn and suspect. The magazines offered did not seem relevant to homeless and abused people. Why would they benefit from Psychology Today? It was something about her manner, I suppose. She seemed genuine, sincere. I wrote the check to some magazine distributer and designated a local depressed area for the target of my gift. I chose Parent and Child magazine. There was a hefty surcharge that significantly increased the subscription price she originally mentioned. My charitable giving has turned to charitable misgiving. I hope she was what she presented herself to be. "I'll be back to see you next year," she called over her shoulder as she started for the next house.

Not picture perfect

"Shrink" and "Finding Jackson" are now out there but not burning down any bridges with sales. Last week I resurrected a story I first wrote for my grandchild Becca, then around age five. "Becca in Cyberland" describes the adventures of Becca, age five, who is pulled into her father's computer to Cyberland, has many adventures, and proves herself sufficiently worthy to be transformed into a Cyber princess. With apologies to Lewis Carrol, the story has its merits. I sumbitted it to PublishAmerica, which did "Finding Jackson." They accepted it. They are a traditional publisher and do not charge. I haven't done a stellar job in marketing my books--not my forte. I am ready to put the final touches on "Becca..." but I realize that the book, geared toward four to six year olds, needs pictures. PublishAmerica will do the cover but not internal pictures. Nor will they pay for them. The illustrators I found on the Web are top notch, but expensive. They mostly work for publshers and do their own writing. I e-mailed one who wanted $7,000 for my book. That's why they work mainly for publishers. I have contacted a retired artist through a friend who may be more reasonable. But as an author of books that have sold poorly I am not optimistic. I think I need a marketer.

Capturing the hill

Our house in a development in Chestersprings has three porches-front, side, and back. We can choose where we sit depending on the season and the position of the sun. In the winter we choose the warm front porch, facing east, in the morning and the rear porch in the late afternoon. In the summerwe choose the shady back porch in the morning and the front porch in the late afternoon. Regardless of the season we like the side porch best. It is cool even on the hottest days because it is shaded by a large tract of woods on a hill to the south of us.

One day in this past spring while we were having a drink in the late afternoon, my wife remarked about the hill fronting the wooded area. There are some large rocks at the bottom, she noted, that would look nice if there were flowers behind them. I took her words seriously and began uncovering two or three rocks which projected pointy prominences upward. As I dug I realized that , like an iceberg, the rocks were largely buried undergroup. I moved away years of earth and weeds covering them and planted some heather that I purchased at Lowes. They were striking with purple blooms and made a statement behind the rocks which could now better be described a boulders. I began exploring and found that there were not two or three but 25 hidden boulders spread out in a large semi-circle at the base of the hill. It required several weeks to uncover them all. Returning to Lowes I brought a dozen more heather and planted them and them a dozen lavender, also with purple flowers. The hill was beginning to look very good. I persuaded the gentleman who mows our pitiful quarter acre lot to also weed whack the hill. We had already appropriated the large area beneath the woods by erecting four bird feeders, attracting a wide variety of species, not only birds, but squirrels, chipmonks,rabbits, and occasionally even deer and foxes. The Development gardeners would no longer mow where we planted and bird fed so our mower took it over. I did not own the property but believing it is easier to apologize than ask permission I kept planting on what we now called Bunker Hill, Heather Hill, or simply Marvin" Hill.

Along the crest of the hill was a deep thicket or honeysuckle, barbed wild roses that never bloomed and various unattrtactive weeds. I, for a penny, in for a pound. I began to chop away at the unattractive mess, hoping to expose the contour of the crest.. As I pruned, at the expense of numerous thorn cuts and two tic bites, the hill was assuming a new personality. Behind the thicket were large oak tess that I knew existed because we could see their branches, but had never seen the trunks. I felt myself a sculptor who envisions a form hidden in a block of marble and chisels away the excess until the form is realized. I, too, would slice away the excess and create a living panorama. Slowly and carefull I cut vines and brush, dumping the waste deeper in the foliage and creating creating depth to my masterpiece.
We now had a three dimensional view into the darkened woods and could see the goldfinches, blue jays and cardinals well before they approached our feeders. Deer came onto the property at dusk. We learned to recognize the families of squirrels and chipmonks and their habitats. My work is now cut out for me. Eventually I will extend the manicured forrest edge along the entire length of my driveway. Neighbors stop by and comment on the project and thank me for improving the neighborhood. I have, indeed, captured the hill. We sit and sip our vodka tonics and i recall Robert Frost's "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening"-- The woods are lovely dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to before I sleep.