What do you know about jellyfish?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

With their many different species, jellyfish are found in every ocean in the world, including very cold waters of the Arctic and Antarctic. Some are even found in freshwater. Some species live in shallow, sunlit waters near the surface, while others live in the deep, dark, cold or somewhere in-between. Here are a few other points.

  1. They predate dinosaurs, bobbing along in the currents for at least 500 million years and possibly 700 million years, roughly three times the age of the first dinosaurs.
  2. They aren’t fish. They don’t have a backbone or spine, nor do they have brains, hearts, eyes, scales, gills, or fins. Instead, they swim by opening and closing their “bells.” Many scientists simply group them as “gelatinous zooplankton.”
  3. A few species have surprisingly complex vision. For instance, the box jellyfish has 24 “eyes,” two of which can see in color. It’s also believed this animal’s complicated array of visual sensors makes it one of the few creatures to have a full 360-degree view of its environment.
  4. Its lifespan depends on the species in question. Some live for just a few days or weeks, while others can live for several decades or more. One species, called the immortal jellyfish (Turritopsis dohrnii), is capable of reversing its life cycle and returning to a younger stage of development after it reaches sexual maturity. This means that it can essentially live forever as long as it is not killed by predators or other external factors.
  5. This ability is a major subject of research, as it could help the medical field understand how to turn cancerous cells into noncancerous cells like muscles, nerves, or skin.
  6. Jellyfish use tentacles to catch their food. These long, thin appendages on the sides and bottom of the jellyfish’s body are covered in tiny stinging cells that contain a venom to stun and capture prey. When they encounter something edible, they use their tentacles to bring it closer to their mouth, located in the center of their body.
  7. They are carnivores, meaning they eat other animals. Since they’re unable to chew their food, they usually eat small marine animals they can swallow whole, such as
  8. plankton, small fish, and crustaceans like shrimp and lobsters. They’ll also eat smaller jellyfish.
  9. The power of their stings can vary widely depending on the species. The most venomous is probably the box jellyfish, capable of killing an adult human in just a few minutes with a single sting. Each box jellyfish reportedly carries enough venom to kill more than 60 humans. To make matters worse, their stings are excruciatingly painful — it’s said the pain could kill you before the venom does.
  10. Jellyfish are eaten by larger predators, such as tuna, sea turtles, and whales. They’re even a delicacy in some places, such as in Japan and Korea. The Japanese have transformed jellyfish into candy. More often, they find their way into salads, fried into crunchy noodles, or are eaten with soy sauce like sushi.

 

Living in seeming luxury

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

We settled into a new three-bedroom duplex with an attached garage, situated at the base of the ridge.

Living in town: the newest and most modern dwelling of my life, even now 50 years later … (of my first decade after college, I’m seeing on aerial photos that the majority have been demolished) … It was about a 30-block walk to the office, something that could be done if needed but still long.

We even had a fireplace, come fall and winter.

We were down there somewhere. Photo by Michael S. Shannon via Wikimedia Commons.

Summertime, though, had us learning the intensity of the desert sun, including the need to close both the blinds and the curtains in windows being struck by direct sunlight. The radiant heat was brutal. That was especially true of our living room in the late afternoon. Many houses had extra blinds on the outside, too.

As I set up my meditation room slash studio, I noted: European/American Eastern poetry reflects a resignation, where Asian/American Western has an acceptance of life / one is essentially sad, the other full of discovery and delight / the curious juxtaposition of East and West here!

While I was reading the Hindu classic Patanjali, the doorbell rang. Thought it might be the mailman, answered it to find an old man carrying Bible tracts denouncing crime, asking if I had watched the presidential debates, handing me his Bible to read two verses — an answer, he said — talking all the while of meekness — but this was no dialogue, no conversation — it didn’t matter if I were here or not, only that there be an audience.

In his demeanor, no meekness, yet my feelings were mixed. Admiration in his determination going door-to-door, but sadness in his lack of holy radiance. His book for a quarter? “Can you speak to the dead?” and “Is Hell really hot?” And then his magazine, the Watchtower.

He kept speaking of the Kingdom. “Kingdom, isn’t that what it’s all about?” Guess he’s never heard of love.

Well, you can speak to the dead but don’t expect an answer.

Rosh Hassahna began that night — a new year of thanksgiving.

We were certainly on the verge of a new year, personally.

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

Getting started at the paper — my early work

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

In the initial job description, if there had actually been one, I would have been doing some basic reporting, including the lead for Crossroads, the weekly religion tab section we ran on Saturdays.

I was also working nights and weekends, including one Saturday or Sunday night when I wound up in the copy desk slot rather the rim after Belcher handed it over to me after he had had it with superiors’ memos. We finished pasteup with one minute before the 12:30 deadline. I’m a whiz.

My basic schedule seems to have been day shifts, 10-7 tues-fri, then late weekend Saturdays while Gil’s in slot. So I do scrub work on advertising-driven special sections and love it … He’s appreciating my willingness and flexibility … he asked about weekend slot, “Kent was in Sat.” and then asked if I was comfortable there, adding he has plans … so things looking good (did new TV listings logo last night, it’s OK) …

One reporter’s husband had Keogh as his PhD chairman at IU… turns out Rash is the top man in his field in the country, yet one more humble Quaker in my exposure.

In retrospect, the early office was more conflicted than I recalled … my erratic hours did give me most Mondays off …

Kent’s big dream, with me being assigned much of the effort, was a weekly outdoors tab to be called Action Northwest. At this stretch, it was still in the early planning stage.

Essentially, I was learning the local ropes first.

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

So clear it could shatter a heart

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

The first three cuts on my first Joan Baez album (acquired in ’62 or ’63) were classic folksongs – “Silver Daggers,” “East Virginia,” and “Fare Thee Well.” Along with a few others, like “Wildwood Flower,” they exhibit a very moving quality that comes not so much from directed words (as in “calf with a mournful eye”) but from a sum that arises outside of the text.

The lyrics themselves are dry, compressed. The songs are best sung emotionally flat, with a childlike beauty and comprehension (or lack of it). Above all, there is a kind of detachment that makes the whole thing even more touching or eternal.

From Maynard Solomon’s album liner notes: “A remarkably compressed love story. … In its four short verses loom enough tragic characters to populate an 18th century novel … the haunting and mysterious opening verse, with its claim of historical authenticity and its foreboding of personal bereavement. … Perhaps its beauty comes from its biblical connotations, for the imagery of the closing verses is related to New Testament descriptions of the Last Judgment, and the song ends with a quotation from Mark (XII,20) – ‘Till all these things be done.’ … The seemingly obscure and disconnected text is emotionally fused. … Like many another favorite from North Carolina and its neighboring states, [it] has the strange quality of rejoicing as it laments, exulting as it weeps …”

I did not yet know my family roots in North Carolina, but I have taken this, internalized, as an ideal in my own writing that has followed, not that what’s followed has manifested that way over the years. Think, too, of how her material changed.

 

Off into another swirl

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

My journal entries from the Yakima years weave together — or more accurately jump among — a half-dozen major fronts in my life. In revisiting these in the upcoming postings, we’ll focus on one front at a time, hoping to gain a little more context of what was happening at the office, at home and my marriage, in the great outdoors, in my literary efforts, in my spiritual life especially as a Quaker, and with a grab bag of extras. The result will mean overlapping the chronology in advancing the timeline, but it’s the best I’m coming up with.

I should introduce Yakima, however briefly, by noting it’s the name of the River and Valley, the County, the City, the Avenue. Sometime after we left, the tribe and its large reservation altered its spelling to set itself apart from all of these other usages. They use Yakama, rather than Yakima. Fair ‘nuff.

Hardly anything grows without irrigation, so water becomes a significant consideration. The economy is principally agricultural — a fifth of the apples sold in the U.S. are raised there, with another fifth in Wenatchee County to the north. Peaches, pears, apricots, cherries, and plums are also prominent, as well as hops for beer brewing, barley, hay, and, after we left, wine vineyards. Cattle, sheep, and horses were the primary livestock, and logging was also a major industry.

It was unlike anyplace I had ever been before. Amazing photo by Tom Fisk at Pexels.

Getting used to the arid landscape was a challenge … “like living on the inside of an ashtray,” as I read somewhere, describing another interior Far West scene.

The big snowy mountain to the west, which we could view almost everywhere, was Mount Adams, which we initially confused with Mount Rainier, which was visible from a few points.

Steve Groom via Wikimedia Commons.

Politically and socially, it was conservative, yet participated in a high level of collective action. Perhaps it was pragmatic more than ideological at the core.

~*~

Produce, produce
clear dry air
and everyone a gardener

 I just hope this elation lasts.

~*~

Here goes!

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

A fresh perspective on the craft of poetry

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Lew Welch (1926-1971) was a Beat-era poet I’ve enjoyed very much. He was influenced by Gertrude Stein early on. At Reed College, he was a roommate of Gary Snyder and a friend of Philip Whalen – what a Trinity of fine poets! William Carlos Williams certainly thought so after meeting them in Oregon.

Here are ten insights gleaned from Welch’s take, “How I work as a poet.”

  1. All poems are translations.
  2. Language is speech. The din of a tribe, doing its business. You can’t control it, you can’t correct it, you can only listen to it and use it as it is.
  3. Speech is the most powerful single thing we human beings have.
  4. Whose kid is that? (With force!)
  5. All poetry should be that intense.
  6. It very seldom is. The few poems we praise over the centuries and across all cultures and times are more intense than this.
  7. (Discussing a copywriter, Do Not Disturb): He is in a trance. All he is trying to do is make his living writing baby-talk ads for a mail-order house. But Li Po, while extemporizing intricate lines on whatever subject the Emperor happened to throw at him, dropped, I am sure, into the same glaze-eyed state. His eyes would widen then clear, and he’d wittily speck his lines. I saw William Carlos Williams do this on a challenge from Snyder and Whalen and me back in the 1950s.
  8. Usually, of course, we don’t speak with any exactness at all. It is mostly ceremony and blather. … Exactness to what?
  9. All that trochee, iamb crap, it’s British. Forget it. It doesn’t have anything to do with us.
  10. The poet doesn’t want to be understood. He wants to be believed!

Welch left a suicide note, but his body has never been found.

 

One thing I did note was things I threw out in the move

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

It’s amazing how much piles up in a short time. As they say about moving every five years to get clear of unneeded possessions? Here’s what went out in this relocation.

  • Newspapers pages from places I almost worked.
  • Notes to myself.
  • Narrow neckties, worn-out belts.
  • Love letters and photos.
  • A wooden finger. Yes, that one.
  • Rough drafts and manilla folders.
  • Torn-up mat board.
  • Crayons.
  • Cardboard boxes, wrapping, and stuffing paper.
  • A half ream of employment rejection letters.
  • Topographic maps of Monroe and Lawrence counties, Indiana.
  • Also, Catskills trails maps, Upstate New York.
  • Day campers’ cartoons of “Fat Steve.”
  • Duplicate copies of my college journalism or the embarrassing mistakes.

~*~

As I also noted:

After three months of unemployment, dejection, and waiting, we’ve made it … to Yakima, WA.

No Friends Meeting, but perhaps someday … Lord will make a way

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.