Michael spent a lot of time sittng on the back porch, and if you sit there, one of the things you can see is the turbine on top of the neighbor's house.  We have lots of those in Phoenix.  They cool the house by helping hot air move out of the attic.  It's the hot air that makes them rotate.  Micahel's idea was to create a device that can capture the energy of the trubine's rotation and turn it into part of the home's "green energy system." 

After he passed away, I ran Mike's idea past an electrical engineer, who told me this:  It's more complicated than you'd think it would be.  Any device that collects energy from the turbine's rotation will also create drag.  And the turbine is so small that it will turn out that the energy gain will be about equal to the drag, and they will cancel each other out.  But then he said that this is merely an interesting design problem, and that there might be some way to overcome it.

Michael was a creative guy.  He worked with a team of engineers who invented collision avoidance technologies for large aircraft.  It's based on radio frequency technology, which was his area.  He also made a part which is in the Hubbel telescope.  When an engineer makes a part, they will often carve their initials into it, and there are a lot of parts out there in the world that say "MJB." 

Several very kind Gaians have sent donations for a fund to help develop the turbine energy device.  I think Michael would have worked on it, but he really couldn't.  However, it would make a great problem to work out as a master's thesis for a mechanical or electrical engineer.   The donations have now been set up as a scholarship fund, so that I can pay some of the tuition of a student who would be willing to take on the challenge of the energy vs. drag problem in the domestic turbine.  The only stipulation is that when it's figured out, we call it the "MJB Device."

So, continuing with the theme of the previous blog, I want to sincerely thank the Gaians who were so kind in helping me set up this fund.  Sorry I was a little slow, but it's in place now.  And, for those of you who read the previous blog, yes I will be sending them a personal note of thanks, and Yes!  I will really want to write it! 

When I was a kid, all required gratitude could fit on to a pretty little paper like that.  Even if I didn't feel gratitude, the drill was to write about it.

Dear Aunt Prissy,

Thank you for the pretty socks.  They will look nice with my shoes.  Thank you very much.

Love,
Martha

And this would take HOURS. 

Making my kids do something similar was even worse.  I really sympathized with them when they cried about it.  Why not just let them say "thank you" over the phone?  So I did.  Feeling guilty about it, I did that.  I felt I was breaking a longstanding rule with some moral significance.  But since I couldn't determine what that moral significance was, I changed the play book.

But I went back to the little squares of paper (although they don't like quite like the one above) to express thanks to those who helped our family during our recent hard times.  I suppose it's a case of stress, necessity, and the path of least resistance.  It was necessary for me to put gratitude into writing.  I'm glad there is a socially accepted form for doing this, because if there weren't, I'd have to invent one.  And what will my children do?  I'll have to let them figure that out.

since the movie was made. 

Finally, Max says to me, "Mom, have you ever seen Apocolypse Now?"

And I said, "No, it's one of those that I haven't seen."

I missed a lot of shit in the middle there.  Of life.  Somehow.  Partly because of working, and partly because of having my face in books, and partly because of being somewhat submersed in other cultures, more or less.  Etc.

Now I'm thinking that most of us just stumble through life like that.  It would work out ok, but there are some folks who are highly motivated to go after power over others.  Why?

"Do you want to see it?"

"Sure!"

So we watched it together.  It took two days, basically.

Boy, ya know, I've really never been so depressed about the world.  The movie really makes a point.  Honestly, I wish I'd seen it before Bush the 2nd's Iraq war.  But knowing what I know now, with everything that's happened, well... 

Still, I see hope for us in our hearts, somehow.  I don't know how, but somehow. 

It came to me so clearly today.

Our feelings, emotions, thoughts, fantasies, even worries
occuring at and via our own level of consciousness
can be made concrete
through our actions that are based
on our perceptions through our consciousness.

occur when we just naturally grow, and as created stuff gets bigger and pushes forward, life gets really complex.  One thing encounters another.  Which way will you go?  This way or that?  Will we touch?  Or remain nearby? 

Why judge it all.  Some branches thrive, some don't.  

is so sweet.  We share a day together.  How much can we love each other and all of Life today?  I feel so deeply grateful for the opportunity of today.  Thank you for sharing this breath, this heart beat of Earth, this longing, this great affection growing through each leaf and each root, today.

Today we said the word "goodbye," and left his ashes here.   This is where he asked to be, when it would become necessary to part our ways. 

...we roll over over over over maybe goin' downhill (shit) or uphill (who needs the workout?) or just, you know, sittn' there, and we're sayin' "What's up, guys?"  And every day is like that.  There's all these wonderful things,                     sometimes totally overwhelming, but who cares? 

The water has to come from some place.  If we're lucky, it's this big, awesome river, but sometimes it's the garden tap.  Sometimes it's fucking nowhere and we die of thirst, and find ourselves in God's hands sipping the purest stream water of the Alps.

we gotta roll or crawl or run to that spigot.  As long as we can find one, we're here.  

The miracle, I suppose is to find the reason to drink. 

That's how many CD's I found around the house. 395 that constitute Mike's collection.  That's an ironic number.  We almost decided to get divorced one time, and then we changed our minds.  This was back in 2000.  And one of his requests for me, in getting us back together, was that I limit the number of books in my book collection to 400.

When I tell people that story, they kind of gasp, politely.  Knowing how much I love books, they're probably thinking that the request probably pissed me off, but it didn't.  I could see the logic of it.  It was just a matter of how much crap we have room for.  And really, I can get along with that many books.  I gave the rest away, and it was fun in the way that giving is fun.  So anyway, there he is with his 395 CD's.  Right in the ballpark.  Fair is fair, I guess.   He used to read a lot, but diabetes robbed his beautiful eyes, and he couldn't curl up in bed and read anymore for several years.  Wow.  If that happened to me, I don't know what I'd do.  To be honest, I'd probably order a Kindle from Amazon and crank that baby up to size 42 font, and TRY to read, because, you know, it's reading!  For goodness sake!  I was going to get him a Kindle for his birthday, maybe.  He loved gadgets. 

So, in reality, that's 395 times that I picked up a CD, read the title and artist, assigned a genre and found a date, so I could enter this info on a Excel spreadsheet, because I'm giving most of them away, because about 90% of them aren't my musical cuppa tea, and that means 395 times I thought something like, "Oh, I remember that.  Oh."  And this yearning of the heart that things are now as they were then, but they will not be.  Not that things were always so good back then, but because those things were part of his life, and I wish he were still here to live it. 

If

you haven't cleaned your

house

except, of course, like cleaning the bathrooms and kitchen,

but if, like,

you've got all these piles of stuff

that your husband told you to leave alone

and so you left them alone

for twenty years, or so,

then if he were gone

you'd probably want to clean house

somewhat

and so

256

stands for the number

of CD's that

I've found and catalogued

so far.

It seems to me so simple

to put something away.

But I'm not you.

I think there's a gene for that.

An "Oh, I could put that away!" gene,

And some folks got a "Hey!  What's that up in the sky?" gene

instead. 

And it's all good.

But someday

somebody comes along

with a bulldozer

or a determination to simply sort things through

and they wonder.  When did you stop showing me these things?

When did you stop sharing with me?

When did I stop sharing with you?

I remember why I stopped.  Why did you stop?

And what do I do with all the cool stuff you left?

How much happiness was there for you?