For Walt

A good friend passed away yesterday. His name was Walter, and he was the "Mal" half of Bon & Mal at The Diatom Project on AOL and at the private journal Of Mice and Puzzles on Blogspot. The "Bon" half of the team is his beloved wife, Bonnie.

Bon & Mal are known for their original word puzzles and games, as well as for their many thoughtful essays and gentle humor. They revealed a new side of themselves as Bonnie and Malcolm Mott in their 2006 online novella, The Dark Rambler. (The earlier entries are here: Chapter One, Chapter Two and Chapter Three.)

From my first forays into blogging, Walt was always there. The typist of the two, he always signed with both their names. He and Bonnie rarely let a post in Maraca go by without leaving a nice comment, and they always followed up with email on comments left on their sites. They were exceptionally generous and considerate that way.

Over time, our emails became more personal, and the friendship blossomed as we shared life's joys and challenges. Despite his and Bonnie's own difficulties and poor health, Walt never failed to swing into action whenever he sensed I needed some encouragement or a virtual hug.

In March, when I was a bit down and had not posted here for a while, he sent me a disgracefully cute photo he dubbed "The Chickadee of Cheer." I didn't respond right away, so he dispatched "The Mouse of Mirth," followed by "The Hamster of Happiness," and he threatened to keep it up until I snapped out of it. How lucky was I, to have a reader like that? How lucky, and how blessed.

Bonnie, all of us who have known you send our heartfelt sympathies. Walter, my friend, I hope you have found peace. I think, maybe, you were here to show us how to face adversity with courage. How to live a life of unselfish love.

Earth Day 2007

Yeah, Earth!

Water, food, air, rainbows ... what's not to love? (OK. Tsunamis, blizzards, mosquitos ... work with me here.)

Bottom line, we only get one planet. Trash it and we're history. There isn't another one to move to. No benevolent alien race is coming to fix it. No spirit beings will whisk us away from the ashes and ruin, if it comes to that. It's all up to us.

Seems like we shouldn't need to set aside a special day as a reminder, should we.

Now, I'm not a nut about this, but I do keep it in mind. I never bought those kid lunches that consisted of a few crackers and a chunk of cheese encased in obscene amounts of plastic. Ditto the drinks in one-use plastic bottles. I did, however, buy way too many plastic toys and gewgaws, which I do regret.

If I can get meat wrapped in butcher paper instead of in a plastic box, I do. I turn off lights when I leave the room, and I plan to run errands all at once to save gas. I recycle and re-use what I can, and donate anything that's still useful to Goodwill rather than send it to the landfill. I don't let the water run when I brush my teeth.

I also let the laundry and dishes pile up until I can wash full loads, and I vaccuum as little as possible. You know, to save energy. (That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

In the spirit of the day, here's a link to a site I like: A Better Earth.

Cops 'n Bloggers

I must say, the Blogger Code of Conduct article in the New York Times was one of the funniest ideas of the week. Talk about "herding cats."

Yes, the Blogosphere can be nasty, petty, mean, vulgar, even threatening and evil. It's made up of people, and that's just the way some people are. There's no way to stop it without wholesale regulation and censorship. I don't think we want to go there.

That said, I do not hold that "freedom of speech" translates to a God-given right to spew foulness, hate, and venom without suffering any consequences. Granted, one can choose to do that. But others can choose to change the channel, avoid ugly websites, or otherwise ignore the perpetrators.

In my opinion, it is also perfectly OK for bloggers to delete offensive comments posted in their personal spaces. I find it odd that this is so controversial. Why should anyone have to put up with being insulted in their own home?

Knowing full well the nature of the Internet, I have always kept this blog below the radar. The door is open, the fire is lit, and there are comfy chairs aplenty. There is, however, no listing in the phone book, no neon sign to point the way here. Once in a while, a wonderful new acquaintance or a cherished longtime friend will wander in. To you all, I say Welcome. Have a seat, and let's chat.

I promise to play nice. And to chase the squirrels out.

Happy Easter

It's a day for hope, that what is lost will again be found. That light can conquer the dark. That love, maybe, never really dies.

Here's hoping.

'April is the cruelest month ... ' *

Old Man Winter came in the night and murdered Spring in her crib.

A morning ago the world was green, and the air was filled with daffodil perfume and birdsong. Today snow shrouds the frozen blossoms and prowls, ghostly, in the streets. Tulips, iris, daylilies, hostas, hyacinth ... all are toppled and still.

First frost in autumn is bittersweet. There is a rightness in the dying down of the year, in the natural order of things made of earth, returning to earth when life is complete. But this? This is pure sorrow.

*The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot