rope-charmer or snake oil

Ptolemy, Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo and all the other visionaries knew about the progression of the celestial sphere through the heavens, cycling season by season, and epoch by epoch. The constellations, originally serviceable as an aid to navigation and the herald the changing of the seasons and were both derivatives and forerunners of the calendar, more meaningful than just a fixed count of days, familiar in zodiacal circles and a sort of birthmark and personality-avatar were set out at least three-thousand years ago, as known in the West. A group of astronomers are advocating a significant realignment of the Signs: this shift of the fimbriation from one constellation to the next recognizes the wobble and imperfections (again, made by calendars that are a count of days, where a day is a count of hours, ad absurdum) of the Earth's transit is a departure of the classical division, the sphere of the heavens, having 360 degrees, parsed into twelve equal thirty degree houses.

There are not thirteen months now, but Scorpio--in a bit of an unfair turn of events--has been nearly edged out, in favour of the now more prominent Ophiuchus, the snake-handler and identified with the Father of Medicine, Aesculapius. None of this is new or novel, and there have always been purists and different schools of astrology. Incidentally, mythological, it is the Scorpion that crouches at the foot of Orion, as he embarks on his Great Hunt. While sporting with the other safari gods, Orion threatened to hunt down every last animal on Earth, but Mother Nature (Gaia) sent the Scorpion to sting Orion and stop the violence. According to some versions of the legend, it was Aesculapius (Ophiucus) who was able to heal Orion, though the party was called off. I guess that is why all these figures were banished to the night skies to chase each other forever. It seems especially unfair, though, considering Scorpios' ruling planet, Pluto, was demoted not too long ago.

ebb tide or compound words

Though the rushing, roiling water in our little stream rages like a mighter river, the water level (Pegelstand) seems to be leveling off and sinking back within its banks.  During this process, however, we were introduced to a very useful and by turns reassuring and anxious-making government website, der Deutschehochwassernachtrichtendienst--you know, hnd. 

We have been monitoring it quite closely but its united and scientific front for information is much better than impeachingly staring at the American Weather Channel or competing broadcasters' weather-copters and Doppler radar sweeps for disaster news.  US emergency management could decidedly take a cue from this.  The landscape looks strange, mostly denuded from snow except where it has been smudged and packed, and the temperature is too balmy for this time of year, and we'll keep watching the waters for some time to come.

klaxon or a bird that swims, a fish that sings

Arriving home from work, I found stuffed in our mailbox along with other advertising circulars and the local weeklies, a paper from the Rathaus of Bad Karma issuing a flood-warning to all residents.  Persistant rains and melting snow posed a risk for rising waters.  I proceeded to do as the paper advised and trundled a few items I thought were prone to damage, though no one wants to find a soggy and dank basement, out of the cellar and raised the rest, a few boxes of forgotten miscellany on stools and chairs.  One thing I grabbed were posters rolled in tubes.  Though not presently displayed in our house, I know one was of this concert poster from the Blow Monkeys, during their 1987 European tour.  One many not think that they know the band, but in fact nearly everyone does as they performed a few of the cover songs in the movie soundtrack of Dirty Dancing.  Advisements like this are something definitely to make one anxious, though I strongly suspect we will be fine, but it is a terrible thought to entertain, that the strata of random things that one does not see everyday might be ruined.  I hope everyone is faring well and weathering the neep tide, hale and healthy and with their basement-collections intact.

flotsam and mackintoshes

The gradual warming trend here is melting the accumulated snow and the cold, cold ground and rivers cannot accommodate much more of the water. It is strange to think that the chief weapon against flooding the world-around is the humble sandbag and neighbours helping neighbours, and not something novel, unwieldy and dangerous like Ice-9, especially considering the weather-weirding factors that are most likely contributing to the extremes.
European communities along major rivers, particularly where the waters have been straightened and manicured for shipping and are more prone to flooding because of these alterations, are equipped, however, with impressive retractable retaining walls, steel panels that rise out of the harbour automatically and as articulated as the sluices of the canals that they guard. It is potentially tragic and certainly nerve-wracking but always handled with poise and steadfastness, and not the same breed of stubborn prospectors on eroding beach-front property.  Venice and Amsterdam have endured below sea level for centuries, recognizing that the constructs and artifices encroaching on the environment bring the floods regularly, and even harnessing the power of the waters wanting to be untamed.

atchison, topeka and the santa fe

My mother gave H and I a fantastic Atchison Fox print, for which we’ve found the perfect spot on the wall though we have not hung it yet because of the Sunday proscriptions against work here—or at least polluting the neighbours’ conscience and that accounts a little for the wonky snap-shot. This scene was always famous to me growing up with it in the house, and while one can easily find information on illustrators and graphic artists who were contemporaries of Fox, like Maxfield Parrish, Audrey Beardsley and Alphons Mucha, there’s very little to be found on the internet for him—at least not what’s fast-tracked and in the forefront.

A picture like this, of course, can be appreciated without knowing its context, and should be enjoyed regardless, but I am wondering what is relegated to oblivion, never to be rediscovered, when it cannot be easily researched and sought out.   UPDATE: I suppose getting the name right would facilitate matters, and R. Atkinson Fox’s Dawn is a bit better known than the undiscovered Atchison.