https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYEC4TZsy-Y
On Sun, Apr 12, 2015 at 8:47 PM, Omar Kusturica <omarkusto@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Although, no promises.
On Sun, Apr 12, 2015 at 8:45 PM, Omar Kusturica <omarkusto@xxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
It's Orthodox Easter here, plus bad weather and some payments having to
wait until after the holidays. I think Mike can have reasonable hopes of
reading less of my smart-assing in a few days.
O.K.
On Sun, Apr 12, 2015 at 8:37 PM, Omar Kusturica <omarkusto@xxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqH21LEmfbQ
On Sun, Apr 12, 2015 at 8:29 PM, Mike Geary <
jejunejesuit.geary2@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Jesus, David, life is difficult enough without having to put up with
smart-ass, philosophical chickens. Time for a Bar BQ fest. Want me to
send you a recipe?
On Sun, Apr 12, 2015 at 12:30 PM, Omar Kusturica <omarkusto@xxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
Spring doesn't have too much predictability in this part of the
Mediterranean --some springs are pleasant, but some are too rainy to be
called springs with much poetic conviction. This particular spring has
been
kind of slow to show its hand; right now it's looking like rain, but I
don't believe it. We will see.
O.K.
On Sun, Apr 12, 2015 at 7:06 PM, David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx
wrote:
Spring has a certain certainty about it; it reassures us that the
world is turning, that there's a predictability to things. The dogwood
has
a solo in the step dance of bloom. The morning's quiet is often dry and
bright. Green is highly fashionable. Given these good omens, why not,
on
a Sunday early, put the dog outside to eat and then go open the chicken
coop? It's reasonable, not without the bounds of a god's great plan.
Released from the night's bondage, Peccorino spied the dog and whispered
to
Rocky. They took off at a run. I always smile when I see chickens
running. I pottered, filling their water, noting that my inner cup was
running over. I walked inside, removed my boots, climbed the stairs,
passed through the kitchen. There they were, as you guessed, gobbling
the
dog food. They feigned innocence. "What?"
I began with the obvious, "That's the dog's food."
"So?"
Rather than explain notions of private property, I simply removed the
bowl. They walked off, muttering. Into every life a little rain must
fall.
Later, Mimo came up, "We have a question."
"Yes?"
"Some god..."
"Yes?"
Appenzeller, "At least we assume it was a god. On the other side of
the fence?"
I nodded, "Probably. There aren't any chickens in the road."
"Quite right," said Appenzeller.
Mimo looked off into the distance, "Beyond our ken."
Cheddar decided to join the conversation, "Who's Ken?"
Appenzeller, "Anyway the point is this being was talking... to
herself..."
"Could be a loon," I said. They looked worried, "or someone on the
phone..."
Cheddar wanted to know if we have Canadians, "In the neighborhood?"
I let the question pass.
Mimo resumed, "And she said that something was something..."
I interjected, "...as one does..." The resulting noises I took to be
a show of irritation, so I shut up; there was a point coming and I was
slowing the flow.
Mimo, "And then she said, 'As sure as eggs is eggs.'"
Cheddar wondered aloud whether that should be, "eggs are eggs?"
I nodded. "What's your question?"
Cheddar, "I believe I asked one."
Mimo and Appenzeller glared. "What can, 'Sure as eggs is eggs' mean?"
Happy I'd been asked an what I took to be an easy one, I responded
too quickly, "That eggs are something you can count on."
"No you can't," said Mimo. "They leave."
Appenzeller objected, "We do *count* on eggs. I'm sitting in the
box, like this... Now watch me: 'one, two, three...' But how does
counting lead to certainty?"
"We gods are reassured by accounting," I explained.
Mimo, "So whenever gods feel nervous, they count?"
"We like to know what we own."
Cheddar looked up at the sky and tested the proposition, "One bird of
prey, two birds of prey...No, not reassuring at all."
"We count gold, how much food we have, how many houses... that kind
of thing. We reassure ourselves that we have enough."
Appenzeller, "Don't you guys have a feeder?"
Mimo, "Or bread supplier?"
Like soccer players after scoring, they did a little dance,
"Breeeeeaaaaaaad. Breeeeeaaaaad."
I poured metaphorical water on their party. "The world doesn't work
like that."
They looked sad. "May we offer you an egg?"
You've been to meetings. They start on time, or not, they're about
something, or not, they go on for the allotted period, or not. Exiting a
meeting can be accompanied by a good feeling, or not. Home after a
particularly long one and feeling a little out of sorts, I stepped
outside. The chickens gathered at my feet.
"Breeeeeeaaaaad?"
"Eggs."
I wondered if a problem shared was a problem halved. "The meeting
was about resilience," I explained.
"Whaaaat?"
"Faced with a choice about whether to do X or Y the question we'll
now ask now is, 'Does this tend to increase resilience?'"
"Y?"
"X?"
"Wensleydale was in favor of...resilience," said Cheddar.
You could see that some of the chickens thought the conversation was
moving in the wrong direction. Keep the god's mind on food delivery
tactics; don't let him wander towards the strategic or metaphysical
realm.
Rocky, however, couldn't hold back her curiosity, "Wensleydale spoke
of...resili-thingy?"
"Resilience," Cheddar said. "Oh yes."
Mimo, "What on earth is it?"
Peccorino assured everyone there was dramatic potential in this
subject, "I see 'Resilience' as a Western. Broad
panoramas...dust...gunfights. You [she nodded towards Appenzeller] could
play the keen-eyed sheriff."
Appenzeller expressed doubts about her ability to fire a six-shooter.
"Maybe," said Rocky, "we could substitute cannon? We might be able
to get some kind of friction thing going in the touch hole...by pecking?"
I paused to consider a world with armed chickens. "Who on earth have
you been listening to?'
"Crows," said Peccorino, "not on the earth...in the trees."
"Very clever birds," said Mimo.
"Are they armed?"
"They have wings," said Cheddar, helpfully.
There was a long pause, while the world whirred. I suppressed
visions, got back to brass tacks.
"Resilience turned up in another conversation this week," I offered.
"Seems to be le mot du jour."
"What's that?" Rocky asked.
"French," said Appenzeller. "like my feathers. See...now they look
black; now there's a green tinge."
Peccorino wasn't having any of this loose talk. "Old hat. What's
fashionable this year...is dots."
"Maybe," I said, "that should be the measure of plans, whether or not
they're dotty?"
"Or conversations," said Cheddar, wandering off.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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