Happy Friday, folks!
It’s done. It’s off. It’s processing. After a year of work, my book is at the printer.
You see, one day in the middle of the COVID lockdowns, a little old lady told me she had a dream that we wrote a chronicle of the times together, and sold a million dollars worth.
“Don’t forget about us, Josh, okay?”
How could I? Their grace forever changed me. After witnessing their lonely, isolated days locked under indefinite quarantine, I realized her idea should be brought into the world. (Never mind the money. I want her story to live forever.)
I finished the intro last July. I mailed her a copy.
She had died three days prior.
Man.
So I kept writing. It grew vital to share. Sometimes I’d catch the thought of her looking over my shoulder as I typed, or imagine reading a chapter to the grizzled old Korean war vet about something he told me once when he was alive. It kept me sharp. They didn’t suffer fools.
And now it’s off at the printer. It turned out well. I’ll let you know when it hits the shelves.
And now, for our usual Friday programming…
Bees
There are bees everywhere, man. Did you see the Monday post? I caught my first swarm of honeybees on Sunday. Climbed up a ladder, scooped ‘em in a box, drove them home, put them in a hive, and felt like St. George of the Dragon(s.)
I checked on them yesterday. They are rockin’ it. There’s newly-drawn comb, workers flying off to forage, and…I even found the queen!
She knocked the mason jar of sugar water out of my hand with an exasperated sigh.
“I said stirred, not shaken, loser.”
“But Milady….I’m not a drone.”
She had already turned her back, stalking off.
What a beauty.
Cosmic Bees
The sun sank in a cloudless sky, the clear, cool spring evening creeping out from the pines and oaks and tulip poplars sporting lime green hints of leaves.
The bees went back into the hive, and nestled in for the night.
Venus sparkled in the deepening blue.
The sun set completely, and the stars peeked out. Orion and his dogs marched to the west, the winter hunting season almost gone.
The Gemini twins waved merrily down, and Leo the Lion reigned in splendor high in the east.
Halfway between them is…not much. Under a dark sky, the dim stars of Cancer the Crab shine forth.
Legend tells that when Hercules battled the Hydra (immortalized in stars to the south of Leo), Hera sent crabs to bite his ankles. Ol’ Herc stomped ‘em, but in honor of their “service”, Hera placed them in the heavens.
(I love the symbolism and realism of that myth: fighting a monster, and here comes a scam call or a flat tire. Yes.)
If one looks closely at this quiet patch of sky, a misty shimmer emerges, a tiny cloud of starlight.
Ptolemy noted it as a “nebulous mass.”
Galileo must have muttered “lemme see that a second.”
Turning his telescope towards it, the cloud broke into a thousand stars.
The Beehive Cluster is a tad over six hundred light years away. And this tiny cloud of starlight does indeed resemble bees buzzing around the hive on a sunny day. A few dozen bright, mostly blue-white stars glitter against a haze of fainter members of the cluster. Several orange stars burn throughout, a delightful sight in binoculars or a small telescope. I view it often.
The Beehive is sometimes called Praesepe, which is Latin for “manger.” Two nearby stars represent the donkeys that Dionysos and Silenus rode into battle.
Manger…huh…makes me think of a certain baby.
Bee Jesus
“Pastor Dave needs a cross to carry.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“No, like a life size one.”
“Oh.”
Two mossy old weather-beaten 4x4’s showed up recently, part of an old fence teardown.
Perfect.
I marked, measured, cut. The radial arm saw whined and zinged, then ground to a metallic stop.
I marked and measured some more. The shop was deliciously hushed. I was the only one around. One carpenter, thinking of another.
Maybe I should make more of these. What a meditative build.
A faint buzzing. I noticed a round hole in a scrap piece, and tossed it outside.
Who knows what’s in there…
More cuts, a cross lap joint. The fitting. The standing. I held the cross behind me, a sort of “test fit.”
Enter player 3.
A sudden buzzing, rapidly louder. My eyes widened, looking everywhere, but I couldn’t see anything. This is the problem with flying threats. They could be anywhere, so they’re everywhere.
I wasn’t the only woodworker in the room.
The biggest carpenter bee in the history of the world emerged from his burrow in the mossy old fence post that was now a cross. And he was mad.
Had I been quicker, I’d have yelled some sacrilegious puns. Bee not afraid.
I just yelled.
Waaaaughhhhg!
And ran out the door like a coward. (Only the females sting, and rarely.)
The cross, still unfastened, tottered, and crashed into two pieces against the saw.
BOOM!
I left the door open. The bee must have finally buzzed out after scaring…
The bee-jesus out of me.
(There’s the pun!)
The cross is fine, has been reassembled, and will be delivered to Pastor Dave (after one more check.)
There’s bees everywhere, man.
Treasures from Earth
Our classical gem today is a slam dunk - Flight of the Bumblebee, of course! But - it’s contained in a larger piece, a brilliant thread in a resplendent tapestry of sound. Enjoy the Grant Park Festival Orchestra playing the timeless Tale of the Tsar Saltan, composed in 1900 by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.
See ya Monday for some more Dr. Electro. I’m off to have some tea…with honey.
Josh