last minute

Oh, August is almost gone...I don't think I'll miss it.  It's too hot, for one thing.  For another, I don't have a schedule and I get unproductive.  And yet another, the beer stores are closed!  One was supposed to be open this week, but decided to open only on the first.  Bah!  My nearby market store was open, although rather bare of stock.  I lingered over what there was, finally choosing a Monkey beer, Mamba Negra American Stout.  Yes, I can't get away from those black beers, even in the summer.

A nice stout, good opaque color, typical head of beige foam.  It's a little sweeter in smell than I'd expect without being a chocolate stout, like the last one.  Not as bitter as most stouts, and in fact there's a disconcerting wateriness.  It makes for a light beer for drinking, but not much flavor to speak of.  It would be a nice accompaniment to a debate or interesting movie, but to be the star attraction, it doesn't quite fit the bill.  I'm reminded of Guinness, actually, a beer which never once did not disappoint.  At least the taste isn't actually bad.  I don't know why it's "American", though.  Maybe there's undeclared gunpowder in there.  If it's a jab at American beers, they should have gone with a lager, since craft stouts from the States are generally excellent.

Supplier: Prost Chamberí
Price: €3.10

dice exercise #7

ice cream cone/speech balloon/alarm clock/fish/ladder/question mark

An ice cream cone always helps out
When you can't think of nothing to shout
And your alarm makes you wish
You'd been born a fish
And the old ladder fills you with doubt


And this is a lone for the extra word ... -ish

too late for a medal

One might think this was a special brew for an Olympic year, but it's just one of Brabante's regulars.  I think I haven't come across it out of the bottle, but maybe it has been on tap at Toast in the past.  The Olympic thing is mostly because of the name: Oro.  It's a double fermented golden ale, so it should pack a sweet little kick, like it's Belgian role models.

There's a little tangy sweetness in the smell, more like many dark beers, although Oro definitely lives up to its name in the color.  It has a heavy, sweet, malty flavor, again recalling a darker beer than this one, probably most like a bock.  While not sugary or syrupy, it feels like a beer that would be better on cooler evenings than we're having.  It's smooth and easy to swallow, but not as snappy as the bitter of an IPA or even a stout would be.  The strength of the sweetness fades a little with some time, but it doesn't go sour or leave a weird aftertaste, which is pleasant.

Supplier: Carrefour
Price: €1.99

Do We Hate Humanity?

There are a few people who we define as misanthropes, meaning unfriendly, ungenerous, even hateful people.  They "hate" others, not as specific groups or individuals, but despising the species as a whole.  They do not socialize with glee.  They do not revel in romance.  However, we should remember that there are numerous medical conditions that prevent people from behaving like the interested, loving beings we assume everyone should be.  In fact, having an introvert type personality sucks the fun out of much socializing.  This does not mean that introverts, paranoiacs, the pathologically shy, or the socially anxious actually hate all those around them.  So is there anyone who really does?

First, let us clarify what we mean by hate in this discussion.  It is not meant to be simple avoidance, which is the behavior of the introverts and the anxious.  A great many so-called saints would also be misanthropes under this definition, and it does not make a lot of sense to say a holy person hates humanity (although it may be true, as we will see later).  Many hermits seek lives of solitude in order to help humanity rather than harm it, be that by collecting wisdom from the universe, performing experiments undisturbed, or praying the days away.  Hermits do not just avoid people, they avoid distractions to making themselves useful, and are perfectly happy to share results when these are found.  To truly hate humanity, there must be a desire for its destruction.  It is easy enough to see those who plan and attempt physical destruction of humans as haters, but they are not the only ones.  Just as abuse is not only physical, but also emotional and psychological, so too hatred of humanity.  The hater may not wish to simply eliminate a body from the planet, but the very essence of humanity, even while preserving bodies to do service.  They reject what makes us human because they hate it or fear it.

Well, then.  What does make us human?  What is often hated and feared?  There are actually two sides to this answer.  On one side, we have the characteristics that separate us from other animals: the capacity for critical thought; highly developed technology; flexibility in the face of change.  On the other, we have those characteristics that show that we are animals: sexual desire and activity; pregnancy and birth; physical sensations and appetites; the entire working of the body.  It is actually not that short a list.  It may very well be that no person or group hates every one of those characteristics, and so should not be considered to hate all of humanity.  Let us examine.

One of the things we insist separates us from the animals is our sense of ourselves and our abilities to think in complex ways.  There have been a large number of groups and societies over time which have not supported these activities among their members.  Highly social minded or communal societies reject individualism and importance placed on one person out of the group.  While the existence of a single person in a single body is not debated, the importance of that single person is.  In societies of that sort, all loyalty is toward the group, not to oneself or one's particular loved ones.  How could this be hating humanity, if the goal of the society is to perpetuate itself?  After all, a society needs people.  This is what I mean when I say those who reject human characteristics reject (and hate) humanity.  The very things that make us human are squelched and repressed.  What about critical thinking and problem solving?  Surely, even the most bee-like of human societies must have a need to solve problems!  Yes, naturally, but it is unlikely that individuals will be expected to solve many problems on their own.  They will be expected to follow orders from higher-ranked individuals, those who have been given the special distinction of problem solving.  Furthermore, those problems have to be deemed worth the trouble by some higher-up.  The problems of the individual are nothing in the face of society-wide problems, which is not altogether unreasonable, but the lack of flexibility and allowance for personal choice does not support a respect for humanity.

Continuing on the line of problem solving, we as humans have developed vast amounts of technology to make our lives more enjoyable.  At nearly every turn, somebody has protested.  Not all protests are irrational and contrarian, some are based on legitimate concerns about the consequences of new technology.  Even those famous grumblers, the Luddites, were responding to the real problems of machines creating a shrinking job market and the subsequent rise in poverty, homelessness and needy people with no place in the new, technological, society.  Nevertheless, keeping in mind our problem-solving skills, we should be able to prevent or remedy many of the consequences of our development.  There are always unforeseen consequences, of course, but by encouraging creativity and critical thought among all individuals, we could perhaps build a better society for all.  One particular development of humanity, which is often used to distinguish us from other animals, is language.  We have complex oral and gestural ways of communicating with each other that other animals seem not to have developed to any degree anywhere near to ours.  Not only that, but we graphically record our language and save it or send it to be received at another time or place.  While nobody can deny that animals make sounds that send messages, and use body language, those sounds are not nearly as many as we can produce.  It may be that smell is a more important means of communication for animals, mammals at least.  To return to the topic at hand, one might think that nobody rejects or despises language as a concept.  This may be true, but it is also true that there is very little respect for communication.  Translators and interpreters can attest to this.  Language teachers are also witnesses to the phenomenon.  The accuracy of translation is of secondary importance, if that.  The foreign language is seen as a secret code for the native one.  There is much discussion on the underlying meaning of words and language, not to mention degrees of complexity and difficulty.  Human languages are varied in terms of grammar and sound banks, and to some they represent different understandings of reality.  Without respect for the language as a tool of communication, we have no respect for a fundamental aspect of being human, our complex means of communication.

The advancement in technology can produce great changes in a society, such as those protested by the aforementioned Luddites, but most people are able to adjust to new situations with little trouble.  There are some people, however, who do their very best to block every bit of change that comes their way.  We might be generous when they refuse to buy cell phones or a tablet, but some people cannot abide any changes in their society whatsoever.  Those who protect their personal lives know that those around them will continue to change, and they are only holding themselves back, in case of negative results they might say.  On the other hand, there are any number of people who will do anything possible to prevent anyone from enjoying technological progress.  These are people who complain about new drugs and treatments for medical conditions, the development of safety features in our surroundings, the promotion of new ideas about treating others with dignity.  This last one is perhaps the easiest to identify as a stance of hatred, although it may be aimed at one particular group of humans rather than all.  Still, many reformers and activists have tried to instill in us the feeling that no human is respected if deny any humans their humanity.  People who refuse to amend their concepts of different groups are in danger of being hateful rather than mere followers of common knowledge.

Part of our success as a species must surely be our adaptability to new circumstances.  Even if individuals are slow to accept change, as a species we have developed a broad variety of strategies to exist in a broad variety of climates and  situations.  We also adjust our behavior and attitudes when changes arise in those climates and situations.  Some people, however, refuse to change, much like with new technology.  Continuing the similarities, they also refuse to allow others to change.  They might be mainly benign, like the Amish, or they might be hindering progress and protection of society, like those who insist on social roles based on groups rather than individual desire and talent.  They refuse to use one of our human talents for the improved survival of humanity, often due to questions of financial gain.

The other side of the coin, this hatred and rejection of the cerebral, "special" human, is the rejection of what makes us animals.  It seems to center mainly around reproduction, although the body is also a focus of disgust and horror.

Pregnancy, childbirth, and nursing are things which are considered natural, but have been disgusting to various degrees over time.  The "naturalness" of these things may lead some people to avoid discussing them, even to the point of not wanting to admit their existence.  Sadly and infuriatingly, much effort is made specifically to prevent the people most affected by reproduction from knowing anything about it, except that it is a horrible thing to do.  Until one is in a socially sanctioned relationship, of course.  Once some magic words are spoken the horrific act of reproduction becomes not only not repulsive but desirable.  The very idea of creating a new body out of one's own must be terrifying to many people, perhaps moreso in those who are not physically in the position to do it.  Misogyny has been sometimes brushed aside as mere "womb envy".  Anyone who knows anything about animals, mammals in particular, knows that new animals are born.  They form inside their mothers and exit her body in a rush of blood and other fluids to become their own individual beings.  It is as ghastly as any horror movie, especially one with elements of science fiction.  The fact that such stories and films exist is but a testament to the horror we have of human reproduction.  The disgust some people profess to have for nursing is probably the product of both misogyny and hatred of sex, since the breasts have become so linked to sexual pleasure that their natural use seems to be perverse.  Many people cannot separate body parts from sexuality, that is enjoying the act, and are horrified to see any part of the body used in a way that is not for the pleasure of a sexual partner, even though these same people may disdain sex for pleasure.  It is one more modern hypocrisy we have.

Sex itself receives its shares of disgust and rejection.  The very idea of our bodies producing fluids that must be mixed to produce another human, it can only be alchemy.  Something completely unnatural and unbelievable.  Of course, when there is no intention of using that magical power to create another human, it is even worse.  Sex for fun is disdained and vilified all over, as a grotesque, selfish or even abusive activity.  Nursing falls under the same category, since the human breast has become so entwined with sexual signaling and arousal that its biological use is secondary.  We insist on telling children about the dangers of sex, when we can bring ourselves to talk to them at all on the subject, but we refuse to admit the pleasure.  That kind of physical pleasure is not acceptable.  And in fact, what physical pleasure is?

We have heard of the seven deadly sins, and although only two (maybe three) of them have to do with physical sensation, we focus on the body as a source of perdition.  Our appetites will destroy us, not just if we suffer from addiction, but by the mere fact of our desire.  Beauty is denigrated as superficial and without real value; tastes are defined as "sinful" because we enjoy them, normally an insincere marketing term, but still reflecting our cultural anxiety; anything regarding the physical body is automatically suspect and probably immoral.  We are told to control our appetites, not to any useful end for ourselves in most cases, but to frustrate those appetites and intensify them through denial.  When we are truly frustrated, we can be more easily controlled by promises of access and abundance. This is part of the appeal of certain religions, those that promise a reward in the unknown future for self-denial in the present.  In contrast to the rejection of intellectualism, the rejection of the physical is a universal rejection of humanity.  Not every human is capable or willing to develop the intellect beyond the most necessary parameters, but nearly every human has physical appetites.  By labeling them as "bad", we make it almost impossible for people not to be "bad" as well.

But suppose we have a person lacking in intellectual curiosity, asexual, and astoundingly easy to please to boot.  One might think this is a person who cannot be offensive in any way to those who fear or loath the human.  One might be wrong.  Most people have sexual feelings and other desires.  Many people at least try to exercise their mental capabilities.  Every single person has a body.  The body does dirty and disgusting things.  Animal things, perhaps we could say.  This is yet another way we attempt to separate ourselves from other living beings and install ourselves in some different and unique space.  Speech was mentioned before as a uniquely human manner of communication.  Animals may use noises, but also body language and odor.  For the most part, we are not offended by body language in other humans, although we may try to reduce the exuberance some people have for it.  We are, however, offended by bodily fluids and odors.  Now, it must be said that health and hygiene are important things to keep in mind.  The body, as well as its coverings and environment, should be washed regularly.  Again, we do not differ from most animals in this regard, although we have much more sophisticated means of washing.  Still, although we water down our bodies daily and soak our clothes with each wearing, nobody naturally smells like they defecate lavender and Cinnabons.  Perfumes and colognes are used to cover over any possible animal scents, but to the extent that a person without any perfumes may be thought to "smell".  Our laundry detergents and fabric softeners perform the same chore on our clothing, as educational reality show participants discovered in the year 1999.  Yes, there is a long history of using substances to sweeten our physical presence, but nothing can make the human body a bed of roses.  Once more, we may be in danger of going to impossible extremes to remove ourselves from the animal kingdom with a hatred and disdain for the physical.

So, in an odd way, there is no winning when it comes to being human.  Nothing we can do will remove the stink and filth of our own bodies, thus bringing on the wrath of those who believe we should ascend to some higher, less physical plane to be truly respectable beings.  At the same time, when we make headway into more cerebral pursuits, there are any number of people condemning us for retreating into less earthly passions.  For those firmly on one side or the other, all we can say is, as you like.  Then we can be on our merry way.  Unfortunately, there are not a few, mostly driven by fanatical religious beliefs, although not exclusively so, who hold both characteristics of humanity to be somehow inappropriate and undesirable.  For those who would rob us of both our minds and our bodies, there is really nothing to say.  Resorting to body language is the best choice:

Joan Jett speaks for all of us

dice exercise #6

moon and stars/airplane/banana/table setting/rain and cloud/flower

It wasn't a dark and stormy night.  It was night, that much was true, but there wasn't even a hint of a cloud and the moon shone like disco ball.  Somewhere, a plane was soaring overhead, with that strangled roar that we hear on the ground.  George looked for the lights in the sky, but didn't see any flashing or mobile ones that would give away something not celestial in nature.  He sighed and took another bite of banana.  It was his favorite late-night snack.  Dinner was over, hours ago, and bedtime was fast approaching, so this was the last opportunity he had to be in the fresh air for the day.  He would have to turn in as soon as he walked in the door, probably.  He wished it was a little bit cooler, though.  The clear sky was great for star-gazing, but the air was hot and still, and only just bearable now, even hours after sunset.  Inside, the A/C was running, but it was awful for his nasal passages, leaving them dry and stinging.  He would try to get away with turning the machine off tonight.  It wasn't that hot inside now.  He finished the banana and went to toss the peel onto the compost heap.  As he turned to go back in the house for the night, something in the grass caught his eye and he couldn't help but remember a strange rainstorm they'd had several months ago.  Those clouds had blown in in the middle of the day, out of nowhere it seemed, and dumped a sudden torrential hailstorm on the neighborhood.  The hail was normal-sized, but nearly clear ice and much of it in an unusual diamond shape.  Meteorologists had talked about it for days on the news and conspiracy theorists had posted hundreds of possible explanations that nobody got halfway through before scoffing in disgust and finding more interesting forums to participate in.  Anyway, George had piled up all the hail cleaned off the sidewalk next to the compost heap, and it had melted like normal hail and he had forgotten about it.  Now, there was a flower growing there.  George was no gardener.  He didn't discourage weeds either, but with no other gardens on the block, few flowers appeared spontaneously.  This one had.  It was sort of daisy-like in appearance, with silvery violet petals, at least that was their color in the moonlight.  The center looked ruddy orange.  It was sparkling a little, or shimmering, maybe vibrating.  George took a step closer and was surprised to hear another plane passing low overhead, making him jerk his head upwards.

The neighbors were concerned about not seeing George for several weeks, but other than lights and A/C still on in the house, there were no signs of foul play.  The bleached color of a circle of grass in the backyard was odd, but similar bleaching happened sometimes, when containers were left for too long.  The conspiracy theorists cracked their knuckles and flexed their typing fingers.  And rolling their eyes at the proposed solutions, most people forget there was ever a mystery.

oh hey!

I almost forgot about my chocolate stout!  Can you believe it?  My third acquisition from La Tienda de la Cerveza (where I got €0.05 off, because what's five stinkin' cents anyway).  I was looking for a nice dark beer to balance some of the lighter, tangier buys, and it was the chocolate that drew my attention.  Barista Chocolate Quad, from Belgian brewery Van Honsebrouck, sat enticing on the shelf in its little squat bottle.  I do have a history of being leery of Belgians, but I've been having good luck with them recently.

There's a puff of smoky dark chocolate as soon as the cap is loosened, which is definitely a promising start.  It's on the frothy side, but the fluffy head is attractive as it resembles whipped cream on chocolate pudding.  The beer is a nice, dark chocolate color, although not completely opaque.  Definitely a mocha smell to it; the taste also leans in that direction.  It's a little sweet for my taste, I could do with a bitterer stout, it makes it more like a coffee candy than a cup.  But that's Belgian beers for you, or for me at any rate.  

Supplier: La Tienda de la Cerveza
Price: €3.30

The Morality In Self-Driving Cars

We are aware that at least of couple of companies are attempting to create a self-driving car for public consumption.  It has been something of a dream for car users to not have to actually drive their vehicle at all times, especially since we are well aware of the dangers of driving when not at peak alertness.  Unfortunately, we cannot all rely on public transportation or friends' generosity, so a self-driving car would save the exhausted or the chemically altered from risking fines and destruction, as well as the guilt of having injured or even killed somebody.  The self-driving car, we are told, has the added benefit of being aware of all other cars on the roads, even those beyond our line of sight, and thus can choose a better alternative when the intended road is too crowded.  GPS and internal maps allow the cars to prepare for turns and the like far before arriving at them, minimizing the dangers of cutting off other cars or missing exits.  A car in distress could alert emergency services or at least a tow truck before breaking down in the middle of the highway.  Nothing but positives!

The trouble comes when we remember that, although cars will mainly be on the road, they will not be the only things on the road.  Animals have a habit of wandering into traffic.  People are also guilty of this.  Objects can roll or blow into the road, creating a dangerous situation, especially when those objects are unexpectedly followed by their owners.  Short of confining traffic to impenetrable tubes and tunnels, there is no way to avoid the decision of what to run into or over.  The self-driving car has to make that decision, unless a valiant driver chooses to override the program and take responsibility herself.

It comes down to a hierarchy of value.  Who is more valuable, the squirrel or the pedestrian?  Should the car avoid the jaywalker even if it means the possibility of injury to the passenger?  If there is no way to avoid a crowd of people in the middle of the street, which ones are the most disposable?  Small animals might be an acceptable casualty, but large animals like deer, bears, and errant cattle not only deserve some respect as living things, but certainly pose a danger of great damage to the car and injury to those in it.  How should the car react when ten deer cross the road, when hitting one could mean disabling the vehicle just as much as going off the road does?

Polls, quizzes and online questionnaires attempt to find reasonable answers to these doubts, but there is no 100% agreement.  It seems we all have personal hierarchies when it comes to assigning value to those we share our traffic spaces with, which really should come as no surprise.  It may be that self-driving cars will ask their owners to program the hierarchy upon acquisition, leaving it unknown if any particular car will drive over a dog or swerve into the other lane, even at the risk of hitting another car.  Our cars will continue to be extensions of ourselves, doing as we would do on our prior orders.

Is this really a higher level of safety than we have today?  Perhaps not.  However, those of us who value individual choice and liberty may have to take it rather than acquiesce to somebody else's pre-programmed auto morality.

dice exercise #5

speech bubble/burger/sun/cat/airplane/hot drink

The clue was hidden somewhere in the comic, I was sure of it.  I studied the words in the speech balloons carefully, paying close attention to the word choice, arrangement of balloons, and fonts.  Finally, I sat back in exhaustion, feeling no closer to solving the mystery than before I even knew it existed.  I needed something to eat.

Normally, I try to avoid fast food, but dammit, some days you just have to indulge your base desires.  There's nothing like a greasy, salty, cheesy burger.  Maybe the influx of calories would stimulate my neurons and help me find that clue.  I strolled into the little burger place down the street, empty as it was between lunch and dinner rushes, ordered two with double cheese, and enjoyed my treat.  I let my eyes wander around the walls as I chewed, noting the old and faded travel posters, wondering why they were on an eatery's walls.  Suddenly, one of them grabbed my attention like a traffic cop's whistle.  It was a poster advertising the south of Mexico, where all those Mayan ruins are, or is it Inca, I can never remember, but it didn't have a blazing color photo like most posters do.  It was kind of a woodcut design, with a pyramid and a palm tree, and a smiling sun in the white and cloudless sky.

The sun was all black with its features drawn in white.  Its expression was one of pure pleasure.  I dropped the unfinished second burger on the plate and rushed back home to re-examine the comic.  The same sun was there, on page 39!  What did they say about it?  Some kind of glyph or carving on desert rocks in the Southwest.  The only remains of an unknown civilization.  That was it!  That was my chance at glory!  I would rediscover a lost people for the annals of history to celebrate.  But, I had to be there at the rocks in person to decipher the carvings properly.

Enlightened Kitty Travel, with its smiling cat mascot, got me a reasonable price for a flight that very weekend.  I packed quickly, just one small bag, with the bare essentials.  On Saturday morning, I boarded my flight filled to the brim with anticipation.  All the way to Santa Fe, I kept thinking about how it would feel to see the carvings at last, to understand the great mystery once and for all.  The flight was smooth and uneventful, and I felt relaxed enough to get a coffee in town after landing.  I checked the New Mexican for any last minute messages from the void, but found nothing.

As I drained the last drops of a, quite frankly, mediocre coffee, I realized somebody was staring at my from across the cafe.  He was a handsome, dark-haired man, casually wearing a white shirt and dark bluejeans, a cowboy hat decorated with turquoise in his left hand.  I met his black eyes, shining like dots of wet ink.  We both smiled.

save me

Although regular Paulaner isn't one of my favorites, I do like a nice Salvator.  Doppelbock, strong and dark, a reminder of earlier days, when we had the illusion that bars didn't mind big groups of talkers and needy assholes weren't so prevalent.  Anyway, it's a tasty beer, whether there are nostalgic memories or not, I'd say.

Ugh, bright, sunshiny day...

It's lighter than I remember, dark orangey tan, and a vaguely beige head.  I usually just drank from the bottle, as I recall.  I had the idea that it was easier on the bartenders, and for some reason I felt like that mattered.  There's a sweet bocky smell, just like the other common bock in these parts.  The taste is mostly sweet, a little honey-like, any bitter is a mild aftertaste, more smoky than bitter for some reason.  Salvator easy to swallow, disarming in its sweetness, but leaves a little fire in the belly when it goes down, a reminder of the alcohol content I suppose.  Interestingly, there's a cidery apple flavor that starts to come out after a while.  Who knows, maybe my tongue is inventing new flavors since it's such a large bottle.  Maybe not as refreshing as an ale on grindingly hot summer days, but you can't say Salvator isn't a nice pick-me-up.

Supplier: Mantequería Alemana
Price: €1.55

Children Are Pawns Of Their Parents

Parents have it tough.  They are expected to raise children that follow the conventions of the society they live in and do so in a socially acceptable way, which may mean far fewer choices when it comes to training and discipline.  There are always a few who disregard those limitations, but they are typically called out on their bad behavior and chastised by those around them.  Their children might even be confiscated by the State.  "Confiscated"?  Like material possessions?  In a way, yes.  Despite the insistence of many that children's lives are inherently valuable and to be respected, when it comes down to it we do not think of children as full people in a great number of cases.  We do not even recognize that we think of them as less, and that the structure of our society makes it necessary.  Children are meant to be the responsibility of their parents, until they are deemed mature enough to take care of themselves.  Due to our social requirements of extensive education, children must spend many years, more than two decades even, preparing to be adults.  While much of their educational preparation comes in the form of academic or practical training, we assume that parents are responsible for emotional upbringing.  They are expected to explain and model the values that society will benefit from.  Children mimic and repeat the moral judgements, the political catchphrases, and the general ethical attitude they receive from their parents, before they have had a chance to weigh the information for themselves, before they are able to think critically.  However, at what point can we say children go from learners to pawns?

It is extremely easy to simply wave off every opinion we do not like which is taught to children and say those parents are using their children as pawns.  The forced-birthers who bring their children to protests at health clinics use them as tools to shame passers-by and women seeking care.  Babies and young children feature in photos with politicians during campaigns.  They endure kisses, hugs, and handshakes.  They go out with t-shirts declaring their support of candidates they cannot vote for.  We can brush aside these actions by children as mere attempts to win their parents' favor.  Children do not have a deep appreciation of the issues, they only repeat what they hear at home.  And yet, is this not what we expect from good parents?  Children may not understand ethical and moral issues at a profound level, but they mimic the models shown to them as they learn about the world and their place in it.  This is how children learn human behavior.

On the other hand, we all learn by participating in activities.  It is true that children do not understand all the ins and outs of an issue, but should they not be given the option of participating?  Should they not be given at least the basics?  We need practice making decisions and defining our own morals to become full adults, and following parental instructions blindly, with no explanations, does not usher children towards adulthood and maturity.  Of course, some children will choose to wear their parents' values on their chests as a gesture of loyalty, or with the thought that it makes them look more grown-up.  However, even being given the choice is a gesture of respect for the child as a person (even a partially-baked person).  This is the problem at the heart of it: There are people who simply do not see children as real people, worthy of respect and autonomy.  They may not even give other adults that evaluation.  While children have little experience and for the most part little talent for critical thought, they should be allowed to form their own opinions.  When parents override them, as they will probably do often, pains ought to be taken for the child to know why.  It is a frustrating proposition.  Not all children, and not at all times, will be open to explanation.  They are maturing, not mature.  Maybe we cannot expect understanding, but we can hope that they will remember our efforts.

dice exercise #4

banana/night/bird/briefcase/heart-love/eye

I couldn't believe I was finally on my trip, the one I'd been preparing for my whole life: the journey to find the elusive Night Banana. It was known mostly in legend, although there were a few photos from the turn of the 20th century, showing the short, curly fruit recently plucked from its tree.  I was trekking through the depths of the jungle, with the discovery for the modern world of fruit on my mind, when we heard the call of the much more common Banana Crooner.

This bird was a menace, to put it simply.  It stole food from other birds, knocked over their nests, crapped all over everything it could see, and had the most atrocious voice you can imagine.  It was a combination of screech and croak, like what you might think the unholy offspring of a frog, a crow, and a three-year-old who wants ice-cream would sound like.  Despite its horrible sound, the bird was good looking, with soft golden feathers tumbling down its back and into a long, silky tail.  It dropped a load of foulness on one of the porters and glided away, giving one final scream into the air.

"I'll eat that son-of-a-bastard for breakfast!" the porter snarled, and he threw down his gear to chase the bird deeper into the forest.

"Wait!" we called after him, knowing what dangers lay in the darkness.  It wasn't actually nighttime, but the canopy kept sunlight from the forest floor in most parts, with only a few spotlights shining through where a venerable tree had fallen.  Many animals made their homes in the dim forest floor, but they weren't the danger, really.  It was the plants that made us pause before venturing into unknown spaces.  They were of many kinds: poisoness, carnivorous, spined, explosive...the list went on and on.  The only one that didn't have a death count was the Night Banana.  How I longed to see the squat trunk of its tree, gnarled bark gray under the lack of light.  I would bring them to civilization at last!

I took a flashlight out of my briefcase, the better to follow the porter with, and plunged into the dense forest after him.  The Banana Crooner might be the asshole of the bird world, but it also knew better than anyone where to find Night Bananas.  It was a coincidence, that.  It might like the tree, but it was called the Banana Crooner because of its bright yellow color.

I was reminding myself of this bit of animal trivia when I saw the most beautiful person on earth standing in the middle of the path that wound strangely through the darkness.  This person was still and quiet, waiting for me.  With eyes of fire, waiting.  Waiting to bring me to my prize and my reward.  A hand held out, asking to lead me to salvation and the redemption of humanity, my humanity.  A hand I will take, even as I ask, "...And the Night Banana?"

take two

It's time to try a Brabante again.  If they've so helpfully put it in the supermarket, I might as well take advantage of that.  I picked up the wheat beer this time, which is probably what I've had in bars, since I remember Brabante being on the sour side.

There is noticeable sediment at the bottom, so careful pouring is necessary.  It's also very foamy, but once the head dies back it's an appetizing light lemon color.  Not too strong in the smell department, just a little bit of olfactory sourness.  The wheat is pretty powerful at first, with a strong grain and grass flavor.  Just underneath, the sourness waits to come out and coat the mouth.  It's an interesting sweet and sour combination, like a candy.  The wheatiness gets less pronounced sip after sip, leaving a tangy brew that feels just right on a summer evening.

Supplier: Carrefour
Price: €1.99

Parks of Madrid (sort of) - Natural Science Museum Educational Garden

The Museum of Natural Sciences has a little garden on the side with some well-worn informational signs in it.  It seems like one of those secret places that only people who live in the area or are obsessed with the museum will visit.  There also seem to be some signs that they actually do some educational activities in it, maybe for children.

From across the horrible street that takes 10 minutes to cross

Camouflaged up close

There's a rock lizard, but no real ones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A palm tree with ... stuff

...Doesn't quite look the same

I get the impression that they have gardening experiments or workshops here, like in Retiro, but for the moment the garden looks pretty poorly cared for.  This is on the way to the "Educational Garden", where I saw a familiar resident of parks and green places in Madrid:

Oh, hello.

I think this is why it feels so relaxed here

There were two trails into the sitting area so I went to take the other one to not disturb the cat.  It probably gets enough disturbing.  But...

It came up the other side and was walking behind the benches like it was getting out of my way

Not a single sign around these things, by the way

Just pretend you're on a Mediterranean mountain

 

 

Here's ... something

There should be an artificial mountain stream down to the pond

But it's dry.  Maybe there's a bee's nest in there.  There are lots of bees

Water comes out of the water fountain, though.  Hot water

Sharp and spiny with round and flowery.  Leaves are pretty varied

Odoriferous jasmine plants

I got a good whiff of churchy incense at another corner of the garden too, which is strange since there aren't any churches in the immediate area.  I thought there might be some sandalwood, but didn't see any, or at least didn't see any signs.

Supposed to be madroños.  No fruit, but the skinny trunks look right

There are picnic tables scattered around, as well as little trash cans.  The Garden is actually a place I might keep in mind if I ever need a place to go for some peace and quiet.

Separating Action and Actor

A lot of factors go into considering somebody a good person.  We look at their values, the way they behave towards others, how they make us feel personally.  A "good" person follows a moral code, and contributes society.  Of course, sometimes we have to do some things that are not completely good, but there are always extenuating circumstances.  After all, nobody is perfect.  There can be slip-ups, mistakes, accidental harm, all sorts of not good things that good people do.  But they are still good people, are they not?  They still show us good examples through most of their behavior, and what harm they have done can be excused.  At least, this is what we wish to be true.  Unfortunately, it is probably not.

Let us take an example.  Woody Allen is widely known to have screwed over Mia Farrow in their marriage, leaving her for their adopted daughter.  We can argue that this is not illegal, nor should it be, but it is undeniably creepy behavior.  More troubling are the accusations of molestation by his biological daughter.  Naturally, he denies them, but he has already shown himself to be unconcerned about the attitudes of the society around him towards his sexual activities, so why would we not give more weight to those accusations than his denials?  He is suddenly a "bad" person to the public, assuming there is any truth in the accusations.  He is a degenerate and a criminal, a thoroughly selfish and self-centered person.  He is also a great film-maker.  Being famous, the vast majority of us have no opportunity to snub him at a party, but we could demonstrate our disapproval of his actions by not seeing his films.  Boycotts have long been a way of pressuring businesses to meet with societal standards, so why should we not do something similar in this case?  The sad truth is that it will probably have no effect on him, nor on anybody else except those who earn their living working on his films.  A protest of that kind is not against the content of the film, or the conditions under which it was produced, but against the director(/actor/writer)'s personal life and behavior.  He is already wealthy from his past successes in any case, so boycotts at this point do little to persuade him to change what he does in his private life.  He will only consider himself a misunderstood artist, and a poor, poor victim of a puritanical society.

We can find a different sort of example in Richard Dawkins.  While not an artist, Dawkins does have a public life and platform, and he does benefit from selling his works and charging for appearances.  Many people credit him with being one of the major factors in their leaving organized religion or faith altogether.  He, along with Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris and Daniel Dennet, has been the face of what is known as New Atheism, a loud response to religion in the modern world.  For those who doubt or outright do not believe, his sharp criticism and unsugared remarks about faith and the faithful have been encouraging, uplifting, and comforting.  However, he is also human.  Like all of us, he has his failings and weaknesses.  He is dismissive of women and women's experiences when they do not serve the pro-atheist narrative.  He is oddly minimizing of the effects of child abuse.  Still, these are his personal opinions.  He was not speaking for the entire movement of Atheism, or for any other organization (as I recall), so a boycott of his lectures and refusal to buy his books would do little to change his mind, and again, foster a sense of unwarranted persecution.  The situation is most certainly not the same, however, as with a film-maker, painter, or musician.  The works that Dawkins produces are not separate from his personal opinions, they are meant to disseminate them.  An artist might represent an opinion or view in an artful way that can be appreciated for its own sake, but Dawkins' works are his own voice, not a mere representation.  He has been an important voice.  He has made resounding, powerful statements that needed to be heard.  So we hesitate when asked, is the good work of the past enough to outweigh the bad faith (sorry) of the present?

In the end, we each have our own hierarchy of values and moral behaviors.  We put up with things that others will not tolerate based on their own codes.  The limits of our forgiveness are built on shaky ground, constantly threatened and shifted, but always our own.  While it is laudable to be coherent and consistent in our morals, we ought also to keep in mind that we are all human, imperfect, and full of self-justifications.

berry good

I'm a beer person, I make no secret of it.  Specifically, dark beers, although IPA has grown on me in the past couple of years.  I am not now nor have I ever been a wine person.  In the past, I thought of them as inveterate snobs, with all their sniffing and testing, but now that I have access to a range of beers I can appreciate that sort of experience.  With beer, though, not with wine.  Still, wine is a popular beverage and people in my own family no less have something of a taste for it.  So, when last I was in the Midwest, we stopped in a small Wisconsin town now known for its artsy scene, and its wineries: Cedarburg.  They have a wine bar set up in a small downtown shopping center, with a large selection of different local wines.  I actually liked one: Cedar Creek Winery Cranberry Blush.  I'm also a cranberry person.  I took some little bottles back with me, planning to share, and those shared with were suitably impressed.  And they are the wine people!

Let's see if it lives up to my memory.  Looking at it now, it's more of an orangey rosy color than pink, but the scent if definitely winey.  There's a little bit of a floral tone to it too.  It's tart, sweet-and-sour, just a little bit fruity.  Cranberry cocktail definitely comes to mind.  It has a very smooth finish, which I appreciate, not being much of a wine person.  Some wines leave my throat all closed up when they go down, but the cranberries keep the taste sharp without leaving an abrasive trail.  I don't have any cheese at hand to test it out with, but it does feel like a good drink to cleanse the palate, pleasantly, when trying some creamy dairy products.

Douchebags in the comments?  Testing, testing...

Conservatives say, Marriage is destroying society!

There is no surprise in the fact that people who do not support women's rights in general do not support equality in a marriage.  What may be surprising is the supposed goal they attach to that institution: Rather than family forming or promoting stable partnerships to care for each other, the purpose of marriage is to spread wealth and resources throughout society.  "Of course," you might think, "the parties in a marriage share their resources with each other, and may even help out each other's friends and families to a degree they otherwise would not."   However, what is meant by that statement is that a wealthy person should marry a poor person, in order to prevent a concentration of wealth in the most financially privileged families.  Their argument is based on the fact that in the middle of the 20th century it was not uncommon for secretaries to marry their bosses, or for nurses to marry doctors.  Therefore, opponents of equal rights argue, it is proven that unequal marriage benefits society.  What they choose to ignore is that there are likely many, many more bosses than secretaries, and there are plenty of men who are disadvantaged economically.  The conditions of marriage imposed by societies of this kind may easily discourage women of wealth from marrying any who are not at at least an equal level to their own.  Who should the poor man marry, if poor women are marrying only wealthy men?  Who should the wealthy woman marry, if the wealthy men are marrying poor, and presumably grateful, women?  We now have a large chunk of the population left out of the marriage market.  We also have relationships that are fundamentally transactional, that is based on material benefits, not on love or any other "virtuous" emotion.  While arranged marriages throughout the world function without the requirement of emotional attachment, at least at first, is this an acceptable way to conduct relationships in a society so steeped in individual fulfillment and romanticism?

Let us first address the romance.  We in the West assume that marriage will lead to a happily ever after style of life.  The two parties will learn to love each other in spite of or even because of their respective quirks, and they will support each other emotionally through thick and thin.  This is part of the traditional wedding vow in English, at least.  The relationship is principally between the husband and wife, even to the exclusion of their parents.  In arranged marriages, on the other hand, the relationship is more social, a cog in the machine of the community.  The couple is put together as an arrangement to benefit both families, not just one of them and not just each other.  The partner is considered for the advantages won through the legal connection of course, but also for the compatible characteristics when compared to the marriageable family member.  The arranged marriage, at least in theory, works because objective observers (not really objective, but anyway) have chosen a couple to form a stable pair, based on the characteristics of each one.  They are probably similar in many ways. They certainly are not from wildly different places in society.  This flies in the face of the inegalitarians' vision.  The arranged marriage, again, in theory, is a sensible transaction for the individuals involved, not the faceless society around them.  While there are many stories - fairy tales, movies, novels - that promote a happy and romantic relationship between people of vastly different social classes, inegalitarians seem to be forgetting one thing: The poor woman always has almost impossible positive qualities.  She is nearly inhuman.  Divinely patient, intelligent, or at least brimming over with common sense, admiration and respect for her betters.  No mere human can compete with that standard, and attempts at a "fairy tale" romance will surely lead only to failure.

In the mind of an inegalitarian, the poorer partner, or the woman in any case, should be grateful to be hitched up.  The shame of singleness is enough to lower the highest standards, or at least it should be.  This means that the poorer partner always has to work harder to maintain the interest of the wealthier partner, who has more incentive to look for something better.  Despite "happily ever after", marriage is an unending competition.  The clash of roles in the partnership of the wealthy woman and poor man ensures that they can never have a satisfying relationship.  As the richer partner, the woman should be more at ease and more able to explore options; however, as the goal of inegalitarians is not to equalize wealth distribution, but to enslave women, this cannot be allowed.  The woman must always be the grateful party.  How to achieve this when she has financial status?  Old laws gave all property that came with the wife to the husband, ensuring that women are in inescapable poverty and continually dependent on men.  Inegalitarians would applaud a return of such laws, no doubt.  Women may at first resist, but with the full load of single shame upon them, they will have little social choice but to marry for appearances, even to the detriment to their persons and liberty.

Like many horrible arguments, this one is based on tradition.  The problem with tradition is that conditions change and old habits become inviable.  What is even sillier with regard to this particular argument is that the tradition referenced was not really traditional.  Much of the social behavior of the mid-20th century, in the United States especially, was an aberration.  Social upheaval because of the recent war that required major shifts in roles and adjustments in self-identification created a very special circumstance in which people from very different backgrounds might meet and decide they had enough in common to forge a lasting relationship.  The key here might be that very idea. Inegalitarians seem to believe that expecting or forcing people to marry outside of their socioeconomic level will foster equality, when it is more likely that the belief in achieving social equality is what allowed these pairings to happen in the first place.  With a solidification of barriers between different social strata, members of each much of less likely to look for similarities and instead focus on the differences.  By removing the hope of upward mobility, we discourage those on top from associating with those on the bottom, because they have no chance of ever being like their betters.

Finally, if marriage serves no grand social experiment, why do people marry?   Our current ideal is the relationship based on love and affection, rather than mere survival strategy.  We have even left behind the pretense of biological reproduction (always an untruth anyway) and allowed homosexuals to legally protect their relationships.  I say protect because of the great quantity of rights that come with a legal marriage in the United States.  Even though we as a society have tried to leave behind the idea of a marriage as a financial transaction, much of the law still treats it that way.  Individuals, on the other hand, prefer to think of their marriages as partnerships between willing members, the more romantic ideal.  We want our spouses to be our friends, to support us and make us happy, while we want to do the same for them.  Most people get along best with those they are similar to, those who they share values with.  People of different backgrounds, be they cultural, religious, or economic, do not share all their values, perhaps not the most important ones in fact.  A marriage based on pure mathematical matching of bank accounts will not consider human values.  If we accept the idea of marriage that is commonly held in our society and our time, we cannot accept inegalitarian marriage. If it is so important to move money around in society, as they insist, it should be done with broader reaching means than a couple hooking up.

dice exercise #3

elephant/flower/alarm clock/fish/house/cat



Well, the parade stared out normally. The elephants were tramping slowly down the street, carrying the waving performers on their backs. Everyone was cheering and waving back, tossing the pink flowers into the street like they were supposed to.


Suddenly, there was a loud, unpleasant clanging, and the elephants started getting nervous, shaking their heads and the like. Well, the handlers got them moving off down the street again, without any big problems, but we had to go find out what was making that sound. It wasn't coming through the PA system, so it had to be from some other source.


We got called over to a nondescript house with a lot of foliage in the yard. A megaphone was (kind of) hidden in the bushes right by the front door, and under it, a ringing alarm clock. The hell? After ringing the bell and knocking for several minutes we got impatient and broke down the door. Nobody seemed to be home. The fish in the tank were well fed and happy, swimming around with gusto. We searched the house carefully, but didn't find any sign of anything odd or illegal, or in fact that anyone was ever there at all, besides the happy state of the fish.


We came back outside to a quiet street. It was definitely disconcerting. The parade not only was over, but seemed to have been over days ago, and everybody evacuated out of town. Not a sound was to be heard. We looked back at the house, now dilapidated and abandoned looking, not like the house we went into at all. The yard was completely bare of any growth beyond some scrawny grass stems, although the old gray stumps of trees and bushes still sat in circles of non-growth. A big white cat strode across the yard without giving us even a glance, but we thought, that bastard knows where he's going, and we decided to follow.

an otter one

Nobody can resist happy otters, even less hoppy, happy otters.  Dougall's brings out an attractive summer label with its cool aquatic mammal on the front and its clear references to beer, cool, relaxing beer.  It's Happy Otter Pale Ale to the rescue on a hot summer day!  Just imagine a dip in a pool, river, or ocean, floating on your back, with a bottle balanced on your stomach.  Then you lick up a particularly difficult fruit cocktail can.  Use that bottle to smash it open, just like an otter!  See?  Aren't you happy?

Yaaaaaaaaay!

This ale has a light orangey, spicy scent, and a clear orange color with a good head of white foam.  The taste is bitter, bitter and something else; maybe caraway?  There's a little extra spice lurking in the background anyway.  There's practically no sweetness, but there is a touch of sour.  On the whole, a light and refreshing beer, very summery.  Dougall's generally does not disappoint, and this fits right into the pattern.

Supplier: Bee Beer
Price: €3.60

Fisk a Stranger's Comment - on Spain

Comment on Slate article about a bullfighter killed in the ring
Jul 11, 2016



Posted this specifically to one person earlier but thought it might help situate this disturbing spectacle and address some of the disparaging comments here about Spanish traditions, in general.
I share the disgust many feel for this tradition, but a few observations to nuance the context: First, bullfighting in Spain is seen not as sport but as art.

Art is a very subjective thing.  Serial killers might see murder as art, do we have to respect that?
 
It is a ritual performance marked by grace, agility, strength and choreography.

I think a “ritual performance” would normally require all participants to “perform”, rather than fight for their literal lives.
 
Dance, not battle, is a better analogy.

Because all those ballerinas get their necks snapped after Swan Lake.
 
The violence is real, but it's read as ritual violence that re-enacts the central fact of life: the struggle to survive.

The struggle of an animal placed in the way of danger against another animal that chooses to find it.
 
The spectacle is seen as a reminder that we live at the expense of nature, that humans need to vanquish nature to survive, whether we admit this (and we usually don't) or not.

Except we don’t need to “vanquish” nature anymore, we need to learn how to live in balance with it before we destroy our own living space.  Our conquest has been too successful.
 
The bull is revered, not reviled, in Spain. So, in the Spanish mind, the bullfight is the most authentic reminder of this central, ugly, but unmistakable fact. Much more honest than, say, the industrial food slaughterhouse.

More honest because we can witness the slaughter?  And laugh and applaud?  I don’t think you really want to encourage that kind of honesty.

Second, Spain is an extremely modernized country; its politics are more progressive than those of France or Italy.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT????
Ok, maybe this is “progressive” in the sense of local government power.  The Spanish Autonomies make France look like a police state.  We might also consider the same-sex marriage law to be progressive, but what does this have to do with bullfighting?  Do pro-gay policies cancel out animal cruelty?  That doesn’t make “progressive”, that makes zero.
 
It's also a culture to which the west owes a mountain of gratitude. Without the scientific, artistic, and philosophical richness of medieval Spain, the general European renaissance would have been much slower coming.

Because of the Moors and the Jews, who were promptly kicked out and not welcomed in any other European country of the Renaissance, I believe.
 
And as the first modern European nation-state, Spain's empire was rich, powerful, and, for better or worse, the first culture since ancient Rome to promote a truly global economy.

Ehhh, not so much an economy.  Spain promoted exploration and some exploitation, but the profits went to the king to finance his European wars, and the colonies were not especially developed from Spain itself.  They depended on some energetic immigrants who probably were more concerned with their local economy than the home country’s.  England, the Netherlands, even Portugal were more mercantile than Spain.
 
Without Spain, Europe would have been much longer mired in what some call "the dark ages."

And yet, some people say the wealth culled from the colonies kept Spain a feudal country until the 20th century.

Finally, the bullfight's appeal is diminishing sharply in Spain; it's support drawn more from the south and from the working class. I doubt that it will survive another 20 years. Like many, I hope it doesn't.

But you sure are happy to defend the beauty and honesty of it while it’s here.

La espada

Érase una vez una niña que vivía con su familia en una cabaña de troncos en el campo.  Su padre cuidaba cabras y ovejas mientras su madre se ocupaba de la producción de queso y tela.  Los niños, una vez que alcanzaron la edad, tenían que ayudar cuidar de la casa.  La niña, que era la meas pequeña, tenía que barrer el suelo todos los días, su hermana cocinaba, y sus dos hermanos arreglaron ventanas, traían agua, y cortaban la leña.  También tenían que ayudar al padre con los animales algunos días.  A veces la niña iba a la pradera frente el Bosque Negro para recoger flores.  Algunas olían bien y otras solo tenían bonitos colores.

Un día la niña estaba en ello de las flores cuando vio algo extraño en la hierba.  Brillaba un poco y parecía de metal.  Se acercó para cogerlo y vio que era una espada.  Afortunadamente, la niña no vivía en una época o un país muy revuelto; lo único que sabía de espadas y guerreros venía de los cuentos de su madre.  Su padre siempre sonreía y agitaba la cabeza mientras ella hablaba y cuando terminó él decía, "Mujer, qué cosas dices."  No creía nada de lo que contaba su esposa, pero ahora la niña tenía la prueba de que los cuentos de su madre eran verdad.  Cogió la espada y la llevó a casa.

Cuando sus hermanos la vieron arrastrando un trozo de metal se echaron a reír.  El hermano mayor le quitó la espada y lo alzó al aire gritando, "Mirad!  Soy el rey!"  La niña se enfadó y le gritó, "No te murles de mí!  Es lo que contó mamá anoche!  El cuento del príncipe y la espada encantada!"  Al oir esto, sus hermanos reían aún más.  "Pero chiquitina," dijo su hermana, "son cuentos y nada más.  No me digas que también crees en hadas y fantasmas."  La niña arrancó la espada de las manos de su hermano y huyó llorando para esconderse detrás del refugio de las ovejas.  Unos minutos después apareció el hermano mayor.  Se sentó a su lado y dijo, "No llores, pequeña, solo estábamos bromeando contigo.  Escucha, ya he terminado con mi trabajo por hoy, ya que no es la temporada de esquilar todavía.  Voy a limpiar esa espada vieja.  Podemos colgarla en la pared y será una decoración interesante en casa.  Da algo de autenticidad a los cuentos de mamá."  Al oir esto, la niña se secó las lágrimas y sonrió, muy contenta de que su hermano entendiera, al menos un poco, que era importante tener la espada.

Esa tarde, la espada estaba ya colgada en la chinemea y la familia escuchaba a la madre una vez más después de cenar.  Estaba contando la historia del rey-héroe y la batalla que salvó su reino una vez por todas de sus grandes enemigos, y llegó a la lucha entre los líderes de los dos bandos.  Contó como sus espadas chocaron con clamores y chispas, y toda la familia escuchó un sonido como un trueno con un relámpago que cruzó la casa.  la espada brilló debilmente y vibraba también.  Todos quedaron boquiabiertos y paralizados con asombro.  Finalmente, tosió el padre y dijo, "Vaya, parece que va a haber tormenta.  Voy a comprobar que las ovejas están bien.  Hijo, ven conmigo.  Mi amor (dirigiéndose a su mujer), no crees que es hora de que los demás niños se acuesten?"  La madre asintió con su cabeza y suavemente empujó a sus hijos en dirección del dormitorio.  Dentro de un rato volvió el hermano mayor.   El menor preguntó por la tormenta y le contestó en un susurro, "Qué cosa más rara!  No hay tormenta, ni una nube, ni una brisa.  Es una noche estupenda con media luna casi como el sol.  Las ovejas están un poco nerviosas, pero los perros están tranquilos y no hemos escuchado aullidos de lobos ni visto huellas de osos enanos.  Papá se decía, pensando que yo no iba a escuchar, que la espada fue un regalo de un brujo o un mago, como el caballo de su tío bisabuelo, y teníamos que deshacernos de ella en cuanto pudiéramos."  Los niños se sorprensieron escuchar esto.  No sabían nada de ese caballo encantado o maldito y su padre siempre se había reído de los cuentos de magia.  Les costó dormirse esa noche.

Cuando se despertaron, todos corrieron hasta el cuarto principal donde tenían la chimenea - y la espada.  Seguía allí ante sus ojos anciosos.  Su madre los vio y dijo, "Qué bien que habéis levantado solos esta mañana.  A ver si seguimos así," mientras ponía el desayuno en la mesa.  El padre ya había salido con el rebaño.  Los chicos comieron rapidamente y salieron para ver si él quería que lo ayudaran o si había alguna cosa que construir o arreglar en la casa o en el refugio de las ovejas.  Las mujeres de la familia podían relajarse un poco y desayunar tranquilamente.  La hermana mayor y la madre hablaban del festival del mes siguiente.  Iba a ser una de las ayudantes de la 'emperatriz" y tenía que arreglar su vestido bueno y encontrar unos adornos.  La niña preguntó si quería unas flores de la pradera, y su hermana contestó, "Si el festival fuera más pronto me servirían, pero para cuando nos vistamos de doncellas divinas, las flores que habrá serán muy sombrías de color."  Podríamos secar algunas ahora," sugerió la niña.  "No," dijo la madre, "Las flores secas no tienen olor y además, crujen al moverse.  Tengo algunas tiras de tela que serán mejores adornos."  La niña, terminado el desayuno, fue a por la escoba.  Se sintió ofendida de que hubieran rechazado su oferta de flores, aunque en el fondo, sabía que su madre y su hermano tanían razón.  La hermana empezó a fregar los platos y la madre iba a empezar a batir la leche de oveja ordeñada esa mañana para un lote fresco de queso.

La niña gritó cuando abrió la puerta.  Sus hermanos estaban allí fuera con caras de susto.  Detrás estaba una pequeña banda de bandidos con cuchillos y dagas en las manos.  El líder sonreía y entró en la casa.  "Hola, preciosas," dijo, "Qué guapas estáis."  La niña corrió hacia su hermana y las dos se abrazaron de terror.  Los ladrones entraron detrás de su líder riéndose entre ellos, cuando de repente se callaron.  La niña vio que asombro y miedo llenaron sus rostros.  Dio la vuelta.  Allí estaba un caballero de los antuguos con la espada de la pared entre las manos.  Su piel era muy blanca, sus ojos y barba grises con el acero, y su túnica oscura como una nube de tormenta.  Todo su cuerpo menos la cara estaba cubierto con una cota de malla.  Avanzó sobre los ladrones.  Ellos eran cuatro y el líder quedó de frente mientras los otros tres se movieron para acorralarlo por los dos lados y por detrás.  Atacaron a la vez.  Las dagas del líder chocaron con la espada, emitiendo un chorro de chispas, pero los cuchillos de los otros tres pasaron por el cuerpo fantasmal y se acuchillaron unos a otros, todos falleciendo casi en el acto.  El líder vio a sus hombres muertos por las armas de sus compañeros, miró al caballero que quedó quieto con la espada alzada.  Y el líder de los ladrones huyó.  Casi tiró al padre al suelo cuando cruzó el umbral; el padre había enviado a sus hijos a buscar unas herramientas al cobertizo y cuando no volvieron en seguida fue a buscarlos para recriminarlos.  Se sorprendió al cruzerse con un hombre sucio, que parecía huir de su casa aterrorizado.  Se sorprendió más al ver a tres ladrones muertos en medio del cuarto principal.  Cuando el padre entró en la casa, el caballero se cuadró sujetando el puño de la espada con una mano sobre la otra, y con la punta de la hoja en el suelo.  Empezó, lentamente, a desaparecerse.  Finalmente desapareció del todo y la espada cayó al suelo con un fuerte ruido metálico.  La familia miraba boquiabierta.

Una semana después estaba todo como antes y la vida transurría con normalidad.  La espada había sido devuelta a su sitio encima del hogar.  Los cuerpos de los ladrones yacían bajo tierra justo en la frontera con el Bosque Negro.  La madre seguía contando cuentos a sus hijos.  El padre se reía como siempre al final, y dijo entonces, "Querida, espero que no les llenes las cabezas con tonterías."  En ese instante, la espada sonó, y parecía vibrar en su sitio y brillar débilmente.  El padre la miró, tosió, y dijo, "Claro, no todo se puede llamar tonterías."  Y el resto de la familia soltó unas risas alegres.