Author: L.E. Hansen

by

Babes & Kids

I’m off this weekend to visit the kid. The plan is to go boating on Saturday, tomorrow, and then go target practicing on Sunday. Of course this will include the regulars: Sunday morning papers and coffee while sitting on the front porch, taking the dogs to the park to play and swim, and the regular chatting and meals and films. Ordinary regular stuff. Good stuff.

My only concern is leaving behind the new baby, the long haired lovely gray—possible Norweigen mountain cat. I haven’t chatted about her yet, but soon will. I swore no more cats after Squeek died, and I lasted about 9 months before the search began. A rescue cat of course. And here she is, a wee glimpse of Lizzy Fig to tide over until my return. And then the full story.

The reason for my concern is that she’s not yet been alone and she is a very timid cat. (She has yet to come out when someone else is in the apartment.) She is quite afraid of most everything when first introduced. I don’t want her to become distressed with neither the dog or I home with her. I can’t take her with me as my granddog is a pitbull who is quite adverse to cats.

And that’s the way things are, this lovely sunny day in Ohio.

by

Flowers & Flashes

Well I did it. I managed to get a few flowers and plants and pots. AND I was able to take photos on my Android—AND Retrieve them on my Flash drive. Holy Cannoli!

Sometimes the wonders of everyday successes strike plain folk and cause amazement into the depths of being. So now I’m worried that the world will be coming to an end anytime soon.  Huh

Patio2019

Patio 2019

Patio2019:4

Patio Table 2019

Of course this is not the end of it. I shall be purchasing more and doing further arranging. One trip does not a patio complete.

by

Spring = Flowers

Flowers and pots and dirt, Oh My! And it’s off to the plant place we go. And about time, I say. So now with the new photo flash drive I’ll be able to easily and quickly move and backup photos on my Android. At least we’ll give it a bloody go, yes?

But of course this brings memories along with it. Memories with flowers and places and people. As indeed the trail of flower roots through out the years.

From Manitou—a touch, just a plant sampling from the upper courtyard:

IMG_2430

Manitou Courtyard

My return should bring a flowering of blooms—which shall be published, assuming the new browser and flash drive and computer all cooperate!

 

by

Alex The Plant Thinks

Plants
I just listened to a program on NPR about plants. Apparently plants think. This is arrived at by observing plants learning; that is, new behavior being repeatable. Not just that, but plants defending themselves when it seems they will be harmed, based on a new negative action they were originally receptive to. In other words, Alexander the plant allows a pin prick to be delivered by a pin. The next time a pin appears, Alex closes his leaves. This is in the plant type that Alex is, one capable of closing its leaves.

This is only a slight exaggeration, I’m sure there are many more limitations other than capability. Or at least I would think so.

But this leads to further observations within the thinking-plant continuum.  For instance, this does not mean that plants are conscious. Though they may well be and articles have been written on such. The point is—thinking alone is not proof of consciousness. Alex the plant may well think, but he may not be aware he is thinking. Another step is involved with this—Alex may be aware he is thinking, but not be aware that he is Alex. Or Alex doing the thinking. Awareness of agency, awareness of self.

The mind jumps to humorous applications of this knowledge, or at least mine does. There are singing ants. Just because Joey the ant can sing, it does not necessarily mean he can learn new notes. Even if Joey can learn new notes, I doubt very seriously that Joey will be writing any new songs. At least he won’t be writing and printing the “New Songbook For Ants” anytime soon.

A photo of Alex the plant in bloom

by

When Blue

In my heart there is a blue bird that 
He wants to go

Marc Chagall, the oiseau Bleu (Partial) 1952, private collection Post by Federica De Santi

Marc Chagall, the oiseau Bleu (Partial) 1952, private collection
Post by Federica De Santi

But with him I’m inflexible,
I tell him: stay inside, I don’t
Nobody sees you.

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
But the verse whiskey and inhale
The smoke of cigarettes
And the whores and bartenders
And the grocer’s clerks
They don’t know that there is him.

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
But I am inflexible with him,
I tell him: stay down, you want to
Freaking out?
Do you want to air all my work?
Do you want to blow my books sales in Europe?

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
Only at night sometime
When everyone sleeps.
I tell him: I know you’re there,
Don’t be sad
Then I put it back in place

But he in there a little sings,
I didn’t really make him die,
We sleep together like
With our secret pact
And she’s so cute to cry
A man, but I don’t cry,
And you?

~Charles Bukowski