Ted Turner on the Keystone XL Pipeline

Life never fails to surprise me. This is an open letter Ted Turner has written highlighting the environmental impact of the proposed Keystone XL pipeline. This letter can be found here.

Editor’s note: Ted Turner is the founder and chairman of the United Nations Foundation and the founder of CNN and Turner Broadcasting. He no longer plays an active role in CNN’s operations. He also founded and is the co-chairman of the Nuclear Threat Initiative, which seeks to reduce the threat of nuclear, chemical and biological weapons.

(CNN) — I own a property in Fort Pierre, South Dakota, called the Bad River Ranch. It is a beautiful place, where we have worked very hard to restore the landscape, reintroduce native wildlife species and raise bison sustainably. But it sits about 15 miles downstream of the point where TransCanada’s proposed Keystone XL pipeline would cross the Bad River, and being that close has led me to examine more closely the potential risks and benefits of a project about which I have been highly skeptical from the beginning. After careful scrutiny, I believe it is not in our national interest to pursue it. Continue reading

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Poem of the Week: The Cinnamon Peeler’s Wife by Michael Ondaatje

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler’s wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
– your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers…

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grasscutter’s wife, the lime burner’s daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume.
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner’s daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in an act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler’s wife. Smell me.

 

Thank you Michael Ondaatje for creating so many beautiful word sculptures.

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This Toaster Oven is Evil

Just when I’ve mastered our toaster we get a Toaster Oven – that magical thing that combines a toaster and you guessed it – an oven. Today the Toaster Oven burned my toast. Yesterday it didn’t toast it at all. The day before I baked it by mistake.  I have received numerous lessons on how to use the Toaster Oven and on Toaster Oven Best Practices – all of which have gone in one ear and out the other.

You see the Toaster Oven is like every other gadget or mechanical thing in my  life. I am genetically predetermined to not enjoy good relationships with most mechanical, digital, devices including screwdrivers, hammers, BBQ’s, tents, all IKEA furniture, stereo equipment when that was still around, and especially TV’s with more than one remote or any remote at all for that matter.  Most of my iPhone remains a mystery except for texting which I’ve picked up with a passion probably because it has something to do with talking. Right now I would like to have a piece of toast but with my luck I’ll set the house on fire so I’ll sit on my couch and have a tete a tete with my mother who is god knows where and discuss why exactly she passed that dreaded chromosome on to me.

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Poem of the Week: Overheard by Ross Gay

It’s a beautiful day
the small man said from behind me
and I could tell he had a slight limp
from the rasp of his boot against the sidewalk
and I was slow to look at him
because I’ve learned to close my ears
against the voices of passersby, which is easier than closing
them to my own mind,
and although he said it I did not hear it
until he said it a second or third time
but he did, he said It’s a beautiful day and something
in the way he pointed to the sun unfolding
between two oaks overhanging a basketball court
on 10th Street made me, too
catch hold of that light, opening my hands
to the dream of the soon blooming
and never did he say forget the crick in your neck
nor your bloody dreams; he did not say forget
the multiple shades of your mother’s heartbreak,
nor the father in your city
kneeling over his bloody child,
nor the five species of bird this second become memory,
no, he said only, It’s a beautiful day,
this tiny man
limping past me
with upturned palms
shaking his head
in disbelief.

A big thank you to Alison McGhee for curating these poems.
For more information on Ross Gay, please click here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ross_Gay

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Jenna McCarthy: What you don’t know about marriage (Talks|TedX)

A funny (smart) look at marriage.

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I got a chuckle out of this. Via www.geeks.com

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February 13, 2012 · 5:59 pm

Steve Jobs: Walter Isaacson’s Biography – A Book Commentary

This often critical biography of someone famously known for being difficult draws a portrait of a brilliantly creative man who’s relentless, single-minded obsession with perfection created two of the world’s most successfully branded companies; Pixar Films and Apple Computers.

Revolutions aren’t created by nice people, and Steve Jobs, does not appear to be a ‘people person’ particularly to those who worked for him.  He is a man with an uncanny ability to perceive a need that bridges cultural entertainment with high tech – including a vision for beautiful, simple  design that focuses on anticipating the users every need. While his day-to-day communications skills were legendarily wanting, his ability to anticipate communications on the larger artistic and systemic level is phenomenal.

Steve Jobs sits at the unique intersection of the humanities and technology. Technology without the human element meant nothing to him and his criticism of his largest rival,Microsoft ,was their lack of user friendliness, their open architecture and the ugliness of their product. It simply wasn’t good enough for him.

His accomplishments in such a short life are legendary; the founding of Apple Computers in his parents garage with Steve Wozniak, the launch of the Apple, the Macintosh, iTunesiPhoneiMaciMovie, Apple Stores – his product launches, the commercials -we haven’t even touched on Pixar Films and the Toy Story franchise.

When Jobs realized he was losing his battle against cancer he approached Isaacson to write the story of his life with the promise that he would not interfere with the process or with the story. Lauren Jobs, Steve‘s wife urged Isaacson to be honest, acknowledging that her husband’s life had been ‘messy’ and that not everyone would have kind things to say. Isaacson successfully delivers on the incredible life story of Steve Jobs, a man known to be  a driven, difficult, bad tempered perfectionist. It’s this same man who revolutionized how we as human beings communicate and entertain ourselves with beautifully elegant devices that anticipate our every need.  This is a book that Steve wanted written because he wanted  his children to know who he was.

There is something about his life story that is larger than life and maybe that’s why I couldn’t put the book down. Jobs, was obviously, far from perfect, but his enormous gifts allowed him in  his very short life to bring to fruition a vision that has fundamentally changed how we communicate.

And what drove Steve Jobs? – a generous recognition of all those whose creative contributions fundamentally impacted the world:

“What drove me? I think most creative people want to express appreciation for being able to take advantage of the work that’s been done by others before us. I didn’t invent the language or mathematics I use. I make little of my own food none of my own clothes. Everything I do depends on other members of our species and that shoulders that we stand on. And a lot of us want to contribute something back to our species and to add something to that flow. It’s about trying to express something in the only way that most of us know how – because we can’t write Bob Dylan songs or Tom Stoppard plays. We try to use the talents we do have to express our deep feelings, to show our appreciation of all the contributions that came before us, and to add something to that flow. That is what has driven me.”

I loved this book and felt enormously sad when Steve Jobs life journey ended.

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Poem of the Week – June the Horse by Jim Harrison

Sleep is water. I’m an old man surging
upriver on the back of my dream horse
that I haven’t seen since I was ten.
We’re night riders through cities, forests, fields.

I saw Stephanie standing on the steps of Pandora’s Box
on Sheridan Square in 1957. She’d never spoken
to me but this time, as a horse lover, she waved.

I saw the sow bear and two cubs. She growled
at me in 1987 when I tried to leave the cabin while her cubs
were playing with my garbage cans. I needed a drink
but I didn’t need this big girl on my ass.

We swam up the Neva in St. Petersburg in 1972
where a girl sat on the bank hugging a red icon
and Raskolnikov, pissed off and whining, spat on her feet.

On the Rhône in the Camargue fighting bulls
bellowed at us from a marsh and 10,000 flamingos
took flight for Africa.

This night-riding is the finest thing I do at age seventy-two.
On my birthday evening we’ll return to the original
pasture where we met and where she emerged from the pond
draped in lily pads and a coat of green algae.
We were children together and I never expected her return.

One day as a brown boy I shot a wasp nest with bow and arrow,
releasing hell. I mounted her from a stump and without
reins or saddle we rode to a clear lake where the bottom
was covered with my dreams waiting to be born.
One day I’ll ride her as a bone-clacking skeleton.
We’ll ride to Veracruz and Barcelona, then up to Venus.

Thanks to Alison McGhee for her curation of these beautiful poems.
For more information on Jim Harrison, please click here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/jim-harrison

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Dave’s iPhone Magic

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Beautiful Resilience

TreeLife isn’t equal. There are some people who have a much harder time than others. And it doesn’t matter what the cause of damage is – whether it’s sexual abuse, being born into a family and a country that treats you less than you should be, mental illness, addiction, depression, physical illness, suffering insufferable loss or the myriad of hurts that the world has on offer.

Everyone wears their life experience differently.When I was younger I used to think people had choices and if they made the right choices they’d be fine. And to a certain extent that’s true. But it really isn’t that simple is it?

One of my sisters is sick. And yet she’s made certain choices in her life that have led her to a path of extraordinary happiness. I’ve actually never met anyone who takes life on in such a full way.

She sees the end of her life and she lives today like its her last. I imagine a lot of people would be crushed by her circumstances myself included – and truthfully reaching that place was a journey for her and continues to be.

But she has a beautiful uplifting  resilience that is just a part of her DNA.

I meet others on the streets near where I work (thanks to not having a shelter) and through Potato Heads, a volunteer group that cooks up tasty taters and fixin’s for residents of the downtown Eastside – where life looks like it has worn much harder. But I still see beautiful resilience – it’s rougher, it’s harder, it’s often toothless and riddled with addiction and hunger but I see a lot of other things too –  community, laughter, sharing, friendship and love. I see people living life as best they can and  resiliently getting by.

I guess what I’m saying is I can’t fix anything. I can’t fix problems in my family –  I can’t fix people’s lives for them. But I want to offer people a soft place to land even if all that is, is a moment of sharing something – a story, a joke, a laugh, a little heart ache, a compliment, just a little something.

I think life is less about big things than it is about all the little things that make up your day. I try and gather  as many small moments of beauty that I can each day knowing I can’t change anything except this one single moment in time that I’m sharing with a person. A human moment. A moment that bridges our differences and our life experiences. A hopeful moment that is right now. Where resilience meets beautiful resilience. It’s all I have to offer.

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