BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO    AETNA.............................. you owe me money and are waiting to the last day to pay me.......Your Nurse was a liar............she said she was going to see me through my illness.  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO......  This is what this day is all about .... fighting Tyranny..... and warning others about your Bad Business Practices.... If you have a choice..... use it wisely..... Thank you for taking the time to read this....  Since, Aetna denied my short term disability, my long-term disability didn't apply. Now the Supreme Court has ordered ERISA plan admins like AETNA to pay all our denied claims...to my understanding.  PAY UP or I might call you what I would call someone who doesn't pay me what they owe me.......

BTW  - DON'T FORGET TO CHECKOUT MY Galleries for lastest pieces.

Next up: The re-creation of musical instruments from Central America. The story discusses Roberto Velazquez, a musical historian/archaeologist/mechanical engineer who studies ancient musical instruments found in archaeological sites all over Central America and recreates them and experiments with their sounds. What is not mentioned but inferred is the spectral analysis done on these instruments in order to determine what they are made out of - clay mostly, but also feathers, reeds, frog bones? - and how to recreate them. Velazquez will also experiment with making sounds with the flutes and whistles, and some of them are really eery; there is a sound clip with samples of all the different sounds, and I was not prepared for the first sounds that they played. It was from the appropriately-named Whistle of Death, and it is creepy to put it mildly.

Quem primeiro decidiu comer um caracol?

Quem descobriu a trufa e a carne no siri?

Quem na lufa-lufa abriu uma ostra,

Encontrou uma  pérola à mostra?

Que antecessor nosso, faminto, esquálido,

Descobriu quais cogumelos comer?

Teria morrido ou só desfalecido?

Quantos de nossos avós: nossa linhagem,

Humanos de diferentes origens,

Se envenenaram?  Com desespero ou coragem?

À cata da janta, para manter, fortalecer

Seus corpos minguados, doentes, arados.

Quem sobreviveu, como aprendeu?

Caracóis são venenosos: têm que regurgitar

E evacuar antes que possamos comê-los.

Um décimo dos caranguejos são comestíveis.

Quem achou estes crustáceos irresistíveis,

Saboreou-os sem medo?

São todas iguarias refinadas.  Caras.  Sofisticadas.

Não são encontradas em qualquer caserna ou taberna.

Graças ao sacrifício do homem das cavernas?

Verdadeira iguaria é o bisão,

Principal figura das pinturas nas grutas.

Verdadeira iguaria é o mamão, 

A maçã, o figo, a uva, qualquer das frutas.

Não aparecem todas no Jardim do Éden?

Elas vêm no tamanho certo de consumo,

Em embalagens de fácil manuseio,

As frutas foram os primeiros insumos,

Produtos com design perfeito. 

Só a maçã pegou grande má fama,

Já pela manhã, complicou toda trama,

Expulsando o primeiro casal do Paraíso

Depois de lhes ter  dado o primeiro sorriso.

E levou-os a ter que plantar para comer...

Mas trouxe com ela o prazer de viver!

© Ladyce West, 2007 Rio de Janeiro

La pintura revela las técnicas empleadas que no difieren de las actuales como degradado cromático, coloración parcial de patas, vientre y hocicos.

Esta pintura realizada en el Pozo tiene una resonancia de gran belleza estética. El reino del conjunto Yo Ilusorio-Imagen de Sí dividido por un lado, y el hombre-pájaro, por el otro, es el símbolo egipcio, el del Apocalipsis, y muchos más, que representa al dragón que custodia la manifestación de ese reino. La lucha que se entabla en ese reino dividido concluye con el "suicidio" del yo ilusorio. ( "La enseñanza oculta en el Vaticano y Tívoli- 1977 - Abelardo Falletti).

En el sitio más recóndito de la caverna llamado Pozo se encuentra la pintura más dramática basada en un bisonte cuyo vientre -perforado por una jabalina- desparrama las entrañas mientras frente a él se desploma el matador simbolizado por un hombre con cabeza de pájaro muerto [¿qué es lo muerto, el pájaro o el hombre?]a causa de una cornada.

http://webs.adam.es/rllorens/05/lascaux.htm Día: 4/6/2008. Hora: 12:20

Dordogne Valley:

Calling all history buffs. Get in touch with your inner Cro-Magnon visiting the prehistoric sites of Périgord. Situated along the Vezere River, the Dordogne Valley is home to some of the best preserved prehistoric sites in the world. Start your journey at L'Abri Pataud, a prehistoric cave shelter which has been converted into a museum, the only one of its kind in Europe. This excellent site helps visitors better understand how early man lived. 25 minutes north are the famous Lascaux caves, home to some of the earliest cave art in the world.

The City of Bordeaux:

Two hours west of the quiet Dordogne Valley, is the elegant city of Bordeaux, the capital of Aquitaine. Home to a large university, and at the center of some of the best wine country in the world, Bordeaux is a vibrant young city with loads to see and do, The pedestrian rue Ste - Catherine, lined with trendy shops, leads you through the best of the old city. The Musée d'Art Contemporain and the Musée des Beaux Arts both offer excellent collections. A stroll along the Gironde river offers a view of the citys magnificently preserved 18th Century architecture. And of course a visit to Bordeaux wouldn't be complete without a fine red and a gourmet meal. Art du Voyage's Southwestern Hospitality includes a gourmet dinner at Chez Phillippe DuBern, one of the best seafood restaurants in the city.

St Emilion:

Indulge the senses with a private full-day tour of the medieval village of St Emilion and its surrounding vineyards. With a private quide you'll have the opportunity to visit some of the best chateaux in the area and taste the rich warm merlot that make this region so notorious.

Bay of Arcachon:

An hour east of Bordeaux is the scenic Bay of Arcachon, an inland sea with the colors of a lagoon and a wonderful nature preserve. Discover charming villages exuding a pleasantly rustic atmosphere and taste the best oysters in France. Stop in the charming town of Arcachon, a seaside resort erected on the shores of a protected coastline, where light takes extremely delicate shades. For a truly amazing experience, ascend the breathtaking Dune du Pyla, the highest sand dne in Europe. From its summit, the dune offers a spectacular view of the Bay, the Atlantic Ocean and the forests.

Pays Basque:

Two hours south of Arcachon, the Basque country offers a cultural experience far different from any other region of France. The city of Bayonne on the Atlantic coast is considered by many to be the capital of the French Basque region. With it festivals, ferias, and delicious ham, this city, surrounded by mountains and ocean, is famous for its picturesque sixteenth century houses, its amazing cuisine and its festivals. A journey to the interior mountains of this region reveals a land rich in natural, and cultural heritage. Take the time to visit the little town of Dax, one of France's top spa towns, with it hot spring and mud baths. Between the Pyrenees and the beaches of the Atlantic coast, Dax is a delightful town, locates at the gates of the Basque country and a stone's throw from Spain, Be sure to try the local brebis cheese. Discover the colorful markets, savor the culinary delight and enjoy the richness of the spa water.

As published in Art du Voyage's Travel Notes, Spring 2008

By Jessamyn Embry

A dappled, brown horse and a lunar calendar

By BBC News Online science editor Dr David Whitehouse in France

 
What could be the oldest lunar calendar ever created has been identified on the walls of the famous, prehistoric caves at Lascaux in France.

They were aware of all the rhythms of nature. Their survival depended on them
 
Dr Michael Rappenglueck 
The interpretation that symbolic paintings, dating back 15,000 years, show the Moon going through its different phases comes from Dr Michael Rappenglueck, of the University of Munich.

The German researcher has previously associated patterns left in the caves with familiar stars and constellations.

He now says groups of dots and squares painted among representations of bulls, antelope and horses depict the 29-day cycle of the Earth's satellite.

Works of art

With special permission from French authorities, I went into the Lascaux caves with Dr Rappenglueck to inspect the paintings for myself. It was an opportunity most people would never get - to protect the historic site from unnecessary wear and tear, all visitors now tour a mock-up of the caves, the so-called Lascaux II.

 "The secret of understanding these caves," Dr Rappenglueck told me as we descended into the dark, "is to understand the people who painted these walls.

"They painted the sky, but not all of it. Just the parts that were specially important to them."

With eyes becoming adjusted to the half-light, I entered the Chamber of the Bulls and stood there in amazement. Anyone who has seen the paintings on the walls can be left in no doubt that they represent some of the greatest works of art every created.

The animals were painted on to the walls of the chamber by Cro-magnon man, one of our close relations, 15,000 years ago. He thrived in a temperate valley in the Dordogne while the rest of Europe was held in the grip of an ice age.

As I marvelled at the spectacle, Dr Rappenglueck moved ahead of me.

"Here it is," he said, as he headed down the passage. He was pointing to a line of dots painted half way up the wall. "Count them. Count them."

Below a stunning painting of a deer was a row of 13 dots, ending in a square. "Why 13?" I asked.

Half the cycle: 13 dots and an empty square

"It's half of the Moon's monthly cycle," Dr Rappenglueck said. "One dot for each day the Moon is in the sky. At the new Moon, when it vanishes from the sky, we see an empty square, perhaps symbolically representing the absent Moon.
"But there's more, further along." The Munich researcher gestured to me to move along the passageway. Beneath a dappled, brown horse with a dark mane was another row of dots. This time there were more of them.

"There are 29 of them - one for each day of the Moon's 29-day cycle when it runs through its phases in the sky. It was a rhythm of nature that was important to these people."

Dr Rappenglueck looked around at the bulls, antelope and horses painted on the walls with such obvious admiration. "They were aware of all the rhythms of nature. Their survival depended on them, they were a part of them."

The Pleiades star cluster sits above the bull's shoulder

But there is another puzzle. I pointed to the series of dots that curve away from the main row. "Why do they do that?" I enquired.
"I think that indicates the time of the new Moon, when it disappears from the sky for several days," said Dr Rappenglueck.

There is definitely astronomy on the walls of Lascaux. Earlier this year, Dr Rappenglueck identified a series of constellations painted on the wall of a shaft off the main chamber at Lascaux. The tiny pattern of the Pleiades star cluster can also be seen hanging above the shoulder of a bull near the entrance to the main passageway.

We will probably never understand completely what Cro-magnon man had in mind when he painted the Lascaux caves. The images of the animals seem obvious but what are we to make of the geometrical shapes and patterns scattered in between these creatures?

"Los hombres habían buscado en las cuevas una defensa contra la inclemencia del tiempo, y que aquel refugio sirviió también de protección a las obras que salieron de sus manos y que son vestigios propiamente artísticos más antiguos que han llegado hasta nosotros" Pág. 18

"... con frecuencia, los dibujos de bisonts, renos, jabalíes, mamuts o caballos, superpuestos y sin ningún orden forman una maraña alucinante" [arte psicodélico] pág 18

"Pero al observar los animales aislados, y al individualizar todos los que componen el conjunto, los vemos pintados con una asombrosa fidelidad al modelo (...) la precisión de las formas y sobre todo la naturalidad de los gestos denotan una aguda observación y una notable capacidad artística. Podríamos afirmar que en toda la historia del arte hasta la invención de la instantaneo fotográfica, los pinceles humanos no habían logrado nunca captar el movimiento de un animal que salta, con tanta propiedad como lo hizo, hace muchos millares de años, el autor anónimo del bisonte saltando pintado en la roca..." [definitivamente psicodélico, delirante] pág 18

"Todas las culturas primitivas y mentalidades primarias (¿podemos llamar mentalidad primaria a la de unos hombres que tan maravillosamente dibujan?) Tienden a identificar la imagen con el objeto representado" pág 19

"la denominada escuela francocantábrica (cuevas de Altamira y del Castillo en Santander, Pindal y Candamo en Asturias, Lascaux y Fon-de-Gaume en Francia) ha conservado sus pinturas en cuevas de techo impermeable, al amparo de la humedad y de la luz; prescinde de la representación de la figura humana y se entrega a la de animales aislados que no forman escenas (bisontes sobre todo, caballos, ciervos, jabalíes), y se distingue por su naturalismo, su afán por representar detalles (ojos, crines, pezuñas), y por su policromía (negro, blanco, rojo, amarillo, ocre)."

[lo enseñable o digno de ser enseñado]

A saída foi no sábado às 6h, com tempo nublado, mas agradável. Novamente havíamos preparado os ítens básicos para uma viagem a baixo custo: a geladeira térmica repleta de guloseimas e a barraca, tudo bem guardado no porta-malas da Titine. Após longa viagem, parada para cafés, começamos a avistar a região, com cidadelas no topo ou no meio de enormes rochedos, grutas e indicações de que estávamos perto da primeira parada: Lascaux II.

Não fazia a menor idéia da existência dessa gruta, mas aparentemente ela é uma das mais conhecidas e importantes do mundo, por causa do número impressionante e pela qualidade dos desenhos ruprestes nela encontrados. De cair o queixo, mesmo sabendo que ela se chama Lascaux II por ser uma cópia da Lascaux original, que foi fechada e preservada para que os desenhos feitos há 17, 20 mil anos antes de Cristo ficassem para a eternidade.

Partindo dali, pausa para o almoço simples e mais cidadelas em topo de rochedos. Desta vez, estacionamos e subimos para ver o castelo de Beynac, às margens do Dordogne, um enorme rio que corta o meio da França. Paisagem linda do vale que ele formou durantes os séculos, ruas estreitas, casas antigas e fachadas floridas. O castelo, aliás, um dos muitos que encontramos num raio de 10, 20 quilômetros.

Depois de passar por La Roque Gageac, outra cidade incrustada em montanha, paramos no nosso camping, um centro equestre, aparentemente um dos mais baratos da região: 4,50 por pessoa. Dos lados do cavalos e perto da piscina, armamos a barraca, tomamos um banho e partimos para outra cidade da região: Sarlat, onde comemos um tradicional Foie Gras do Perigord e ainda conhecemos um centrinho agitado, medieval e com muito teatro de rua.

No dia seguinte, aproveitamos ao máximo novamente. Parada inicial em Rocamadour, vilarejo construído numa rocha altíssima e que abriga igrejas e faz parte do caminho de Santiago de Compostela. Simplesmente impressionante! Descemos, subimos, pegamos a estrada à frente para tirar fotos e partimos para almoçar num Logis de France que encontramos no caminho.

O selo Logis de France indica qualidade e como estávamos numa cidadezinha pequema, pagamos apenas 15 euros o menu completo, com buffet de saladas, queijo, sobremesa e mais vinho. Quase morremos de comer. E mesmo estufados e loucos de vontade de fazer uma sesta, seguimos para a Gouffre de Padirac, a mais profunda e larga da região, com salões de estalagmites e estalactites, lagos enormes e um passeio de barco dentro dela. Ufa!

Teve de tudo, do começo ao fim. Não paramos, mas é assim que se faz uma boa viagem. Na volta ao camping ainda resolvemos dormir mais uma noite por lá, a Manue caiu na piscina, ficamos tranquilos e só voltamos a Reffannes no dia seguinte, antes parando para comprar um vinagre típico da região e outros presentinhos.

Tem fotos no link do finado fotolog, com a mesma indicação de clicar em proxima (http://www.fotolog.com/eloisilveira/19469676). Mas seguem outras abaixo.

Jeden z najstarszych cudów świata znajduje się we Francji. Ma około 17-16 tys. lat, ale znamy go od niecałych 70 lat. Mimo to prawie doprowadziliśmy do jego całkowitego zniszczenia.

Niezwykłe malowidła z jaskini Lascaux poważnie ucierpiały w wyniku zmiany mikroklimatu przez tłumy ludzi zwiedzających podziemną galerię. Już w 1963 r. naukowcy zamknęli jaskinię, ale to nie uczyniło malowideł dużo bezpieczniejszymi. Po założeniu kilka lat temu nowej wentylacji malowidła zaczęły przerażająco szybko znikać w wyniku pojawienia się tajemniczego grzyba. Walka o zachowanie arcydzieł trwa.

Pokazany powyżej koń, to jedno z najwybitniejszych dzieł prehistorycznych malarzy. Mnie najbardziej fascynują w nim nogi. Przy dwóch kończynach malarz celowo nie dociągnął linii do korpusu, by lepiej pokazać, że są z tyłu.

Zapraszam do wirtualnych odwiedzin jaskiniowej galerii.

Nota come "Cappella Sistina della preistoria", la grotta di Lascaux custodisce importantissime opere di arte parietale del Paleolitico Superiore. Le pitture hanno resistito a circa 15.000 anni di storia, ma l'uomo "moderno" le sta mettendo a rischio. Una prima minaccia si era avuta negli anni '50 quando, 10 anni dopo la loro scoperta, i visitatori giornalieri avevano ammontavano circa a 1.200, numero che causava un'eccessiva immisisone di anidride carbonica nella grotta e che portò ad un serio danneggiamento delle opere. Per questo motivo nel 1963 tutte le sale furono chiuse al pubblico e nel 1983 fu creata una replica, detta Lascaux II.

Oggi la grotta è a rischio per un'altra minaccia: un fungo, della famiglia Fusarium,sta intaccando le pareti del preziosissimo sito. Gli scienziati stanno ostacolando la sua diffusione tramite fungicidi, antibiotici e agenti chimici, e dal prossimo gennaio la grotta dovrebbe rimanere completamente chiusa per tre mesi.

Rimaste intatte per miliaia di anni, gli affreschi della grotta di Lacaux rischiano di scomparire per l'immissione di organismi poco graditi veicolati da qualche visitatore distratto. Speriamo che l'uomo, presuntuosamente autodefinitosi "sapiens sapiens", sappia porre rimedio ai suoi danni.

We got there before the caves opened and debated if we wanted to skip it or not, but it wasn't like we could easily come back another day, so after I took some photos of the foggy forest, we drove back into the town and had breakfast.

The funny thing about the Lascaux caves is that it's not really the cave - it's a set that was built in the 1960's because the real paintings were being destroyed by people being in the cave with them; which is why I was really surprised that they wouldn't let me take photos even if I promised not to use a flash. It was an interesting tour, and then we went into the next town to see another cave.

This whole area of France is full of cave paintings and prehistoric findings. I guess the Neanderthals found it as pleasant a place as modern people do. What was really, well, funny for lack of a better word was that every single gift shop in the area had books about evolution (which makes sense given that the caves were painted during prehistoric times) - in the US, if you even mention evolution or Darwin you run the risk of some jackass running at you and beating you about the head and shoulders with a Bible (or a stick - whichever they have closest).

Of course, the museum of prehistory was closed for the winter, but we still got a good shot of the Neanderthal statue in the town of Les Eyzies de Tayac, which is a very pretty place. We also had some fantastic cassoulet at a roadside eatery while we were waiting for the second cave to open.

On the way to the second cave, we saw this guy:

Because no vacation is complete without a T Rex wrapped in garbage bags.

Thank God it has stopped being Monday morning is all I can say.  I’m exhausted already and the afternoon has hardly begun.  Whoever invented mornings, Monday morning in particular, should be briskly beaten about the head with a rolled up newspaper until they relent and apologise to the nation in public, on television, and buy everyone a stiff drink to make up for it.  You can make mine a bottle of Stoli and a straw.

This morning I had all the usual crises plus a whole load more.  The girls’ dad is having them to stay at his house for the next couple of days, but as he isn’t very organised I have to send bags with all their clothes and whatever they need in.  This circumnavigates the possibility of them going to school naked, with hair like Wurzel Gummidge (not when he’s got his thinkin’ ‘ed’ on either) and smelling like a bag full of ferrets.

I have to pack the bags myself because last time I let the girls do it for themselves, Tilly came home with no socks on and Tallulah came home with a t-shirt so crusty you needed to hit it with a spade to get it into the washing machine.  Tallulah’s hair was so matted that she looked like she’d accidentally left behind her dog on a string and was just waiting for me to knit her a colourful jumper out of yak’s hair (despite the hideous smell, those jumpers cost a fortune.  How do those people who live in teepees actually afford them? It adds fuel to my argument that they’re all middle class rich kids called Tarquin with trust funds, and not poor, salt of the earth peasants at all).

Jamie (the girls' dad) is good at many things, but arranging small children into a well known phrase or saying is not one of them.  I am not being unduly harsh here.  He agrees with me.  In fact it was he who suggested he not keep any of the kids clothes at his house, because he loses them.  He’s 42, dear reader, and he lives alone.  How he manages to lose a 3 year old’s pinafore dress and a dressing gown with Disney Princesses on (to name but a few), is something I’ve never managed to pluck up the courage to ask him.  I expect it was a very good party.

Consequently this morning, I had to make sure that Tilly had her swimming kit for Wednesday (including towel, because the day I thought he  could manage a towel, Tallulah had to get dry under a hand drier and I got very disapproving looks at nursery the following week).  Tallulah had her outfit for the school play, because they have now decided that she will have to wear a costume, hence emergency dash to Sainsbury’s on Saturday for yards of silver tinsel and a white t-shirt (why do they make the assumption that you will have a white t-shirt ready to hand?  Anyone who dresses their children voluntarily in white clothing is certifiable), because that’s what’s in fashion for the pre-teen angel this season.

I had to fill out hundreds of forms to allow Tilly to go and sing at a bunch of pensioners for Christmas.  Poor sods, as if they don’t have enough problems, what with being old and having no teeth.  I’ve made the children  promise that they won’t sing to me when I’m old.  I’ll have suffered enough by then. 

I had to sort out dinner money, swimming money, money for allowing them not to wear school uniforms.  I should have sorted out things to send to the Christmas fayre (why ‘fayre’ and not ‘fair’ pray tell?  It’s not as if Glenfield is bursting at the seams with faux medieval peasants), but by then I’d lost the will to live and Oscar had filled his already precarious nappy and was making a dash for the living room.  I expect he was hoping to build up a fine patina of pooh onto the biro scribble he’d done on the wall last week.  In a few weeks it will probably be a remarkable bison, in homage to the bronze age cave paintings at Lascaux.  Luckily for me, I thwarted his evil plan with literally seconds to spare, so it’s back to the drawing board for the pooh meister.

On top of this, Tallulah had a twenty minute full on tantrum because she only had trousers to wear for school and it wasn’t good enough.  Apparently girls don’t wear trousers, and anyone who does is secretly a boy called Brian with a giant beard and moustache.  I pointed out that I wore trousers, and that I was even wearing them at that very moment.  She gave me a withering look, as if that said it all, and proceeded to stamp so loudly that she made all the lights in the kitchen wobble, whilst screaming: ‘I hate trousers and I don’t want them any more,’ at the top of her lungs, just in case I hadn’t caught the gist of her original argument.  Eventually I screamed back: ‘Well, you’ll have to go to school naked then’. This stopped her in her tracks long enough for me to threaten to carry this out if she didn’t put her bloody trousers on.

By the time she got downstairs for breakfast her shreddies had turned to a swirling brown mush in the bottom of the bowl, which she hates.  She was just about to open her mouth to complain when I fixed her with my evil stare, so wisdom prevailed (unusually), and she ate them.  Petulantly, but at least she ate them.  This is a good thing, or she would have been wearing them, along with the hated trousers.

I then realised I hadn’t told Jamie that Tilly had a dentist’s appointment at five o’clock, so I had to ring him.  I have already had to call him again about something today, and he had forgotten about the dentists, despite the fact that I had only told him about it three hours earlier.  This means that I will have to ring him again later on, because there’s no hope he will have remembered the second time either.  I really hope they make it, as it’s a very posh (although very good) dentists, and they charge you about fifty quid for a missed appointment.  They’ve got a waiting list as long as my arm of people willing to have their faces drilled off for exorbitant amounts of money, so they just don’t care.

We were doing quite well after this, and peace had almost been restored, when Tilly dramatically lost one of her school shoes.  Tilly does everything dramatically and is pathologically incapable of either a) putting anything away where she found it, or b) actually looking for anything she may have lost.  The kids shoes are kept in the cupboard under the stairs.  She spent ten minutes crouched in there like a malignant toad, wailing about how she couldn’t find her shoe, but not actually attempting to look for it.  Tallulah and Oscar got very excited by the thought of someone else getting into trouble and so crowded round the already dark hole and attempted to get in with her.  Oscar started eating a Wellington and Tallulah launched into verse thirty six of The Grumpy Sheep.  I managed to find the offending shoe after searching high and low for all of 30 seconds, by which time I was furious and had steam pouring from both ears.

We were just about to motor out the door when Oscar filled his nappy yet again (it’s his fruitarian diet that does it).  We started leaving the house at twenty past eight.  We got out the house at quarter to nine, with Tilly still hysterical because she had forgotten her homework book (in her desk at school), and her homework was due in today.  I had to spend the walk to school trying to reassure her that Miss Glennan wouldn’t really mind if she was one day late with her homework, and that even if she did, what was the worst thing that could possibly happen to her?  Capital punishment is now banned in school.  The gibbet is a thing of the past. (sadly).

Tilly hates getting into trouble.  She has a persecution complex which means that if she is caught in the wrong for anything she automatically assumes that the firing squad is being lined up in the garden and in just a few minutes the blindfold will go on.  I suppose it’s my own fault for threatening to beat them to death with their own shoes when they are naughty.  I never have, by the way.  That’s not why Tilly couldn’t find her other shoe…

My best friend Rachel and I have a secret code to do with our children.  It’s a bit like the Bat signal the police commissioner uses to alert Batman that the Joker has stolen the ancient treasure of the Egyptians from Gotham city museum type thing.  It’s very effective.  I will share it with you.  You may find it useful if you have children, want children, or are tempted to borrow someone else’s children.  Here is what she sent me by text on Saturday morning:

Rachel:  ‘Aaarrrghhhhhh…..!’  Translation: ‘Oh my God! It’s all gone to hell in a handbag and I am losing my mind!’  (See how much easier the code is here folks?)

Katy: ‘Kids?’  Translation: ‘Arse, bugger, wank to the whole biological clock thing.  Wish it had never got wound up.

Rachel: ‘Little Bastards…!’ Translation – They actually do have parents of which I am one, but I wish they didn’t, and they lived in Glasgow.

Katy: ‘Specific or universal ills? Translation – Did Maisy do a pooh in the dressing up box again, or is it just everything they’ve ever done to you for the last eight years, but with one minor transgression that’s pushed you over the edge into gibbering insanity forever?

Rachel: ‘I am moving to Peru, and am taking my own supply of drink with me, in case there isn’t enough booze in South America to meet my needs’.  Translation: Supernanny can do nothing to help me now.  It’s a desperate case.  I must erase the horror.

Katy: ‘Have one for me.’ Translation: You have my deepest sympathy.  We will both become drunken old hags together and deny our children both their inheritance and their birth right.  Hah!  That’ll learn ‘em.

I asked her on Sunday how Peru was working out.  She said it was a lot like Trowbridge (where she lives now), but ‘pan pipier’.  I asked her if she was wearing a poncho (important to blend in with the natives).  She said that she was, and that she had already grown a fine set of moustachios to go with it.  A satisfactory outcome all round I’m sure you will agree.  Although I expect her children will be able to hunt her down even in the bowels of South America.  They’re sneaky like that.  It’s because they’re so small, and cunning.  Not just her children, all children.  It’s one of the universal laws of childhood.

Today Oscar and I went into town on the bus to attempt some Christmas shopping.  On the bus I got trapped next to a mental lady who seemed amazed that she had to pay to travel on public transport and kept accosting the driver to say: “Are you sure I have to pay?  Are you really sure? I don’t remember having to pay before,’ like she was accustomed to being chauffeur driven everywhere by the Number 94.

Oscar was amazed by her hair which was very thin and wispy, but which she’d spiked up and dyed black and ginger.  Along with the startling expanses of pink scalp it was quite striking.  He wanted to pull it, and kept trying to reach her.  I wasn’t sure if he got that close that it wouldn’t all just fall out, as it seemed to have about as tenuous a grip on her scalp as she had on reality.  It would have been a living nightmare if we had been responsible for sending a lady bald on public transport.  We’d probably have been banned for life.

Oscar and I wrestled for about fifteen minutes, and I was so relieved when an old lady got on with a tartan shopping trolley on wheels that she parked next to Oscar’s buggy.  He immediately took his attention away from the loopy lady to spend the last five minutes of the journey trying to climb into her trolley, thinking it was some kind of marvellous chariot that had been developed especially with him in mind.  What was frustrating was that whenever I managed to pull him off it, she said: ‘No, no! It’s all right, let him play,’ and gave him a big, beaming smile, whereupon he redoubled his efforts.  I thought, it’s all very well for you to say lady, but you won’t be best pleased when he’s disappeared head first into your shopper and squashed your pacamac.  Plus it’s not easy pulling two stone of child out of a trolley by the ankles.  Kids are like piglets, unpredictably slippy.

I was so knackered when we got off the bus that I was sorely tempted to go straight home, except that the return journey would probably have been just as stressful.  Instead I did a load of present shopping and ate a lot of Yule log from Starbucks to cheer myself up.  Oscar helped, which means that he now has some in his ear, but was wriggling so hard it will have to stay there, because I was afraid I might stab his brain with the cotton bud and turn him into a dribbling fool.  Still, I suppose it makes him look more Christmassy.  The Yule log, not the dribbling.

Right.  He’s now collapsed in his cot after massaging tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches into the kitchen table for lunch.  In his report at nursery (ridiculous I know, but it’s all to do with Ofsted apparently!) they said it was a pleasure to see that he didn’t mind getting messy.  This is because they only look after him twice a week.  If they had to scrub their kitchen down as often as me, they’d be thinking about having him varnished and nailed to the floor.

It’s amazing how far tuna sandwiches spread you know.  It really makes you think twice about pooh poohing the story of the loaves and the fishes.  Mixed with a bit of mayonnaise it seems eminently doable.  I’m going to avoid cleaning and go and read my book for five minutes before he wakes up demanding to be entertained.

• Source: Le Figaro
• Date: 21 novembre 2007

Extraits:

"Un champignon s’étend depuis 2001 sur le site. Un traitement biocide et l’arrêt de toute activité pendant trois mois ont été décidé."

"Pour venir à bout de la prolifération de taches noires sur les parois de la grotte de Lascaux, une série de mesures d’urgence viennent d’être prises par un comité international de scientifiques. Les champignons sont présents dans les zones les plus confinées du site, surnommé «chapelle Sixtine de l’art pariétal» en raison de son décor paléolithique." 

En complement:

• la grotte de Lascaux (source Wikipedia)
• le site de la grotte de Lascaux II
• article: "Les fresques de Lascaux menacées par des moisissures" (source: Le Monde, date: 26 novembre 2007) - "Les peintures de Lascaux (Dordogne) sont-elles menacées de destruction par des micro-organismes ? Pour la deuxième fois en six ans, des moisissures envahissent les parois de la grotte. Certains éléments de la "fresque" sont touchés. L'attaque est suffisamment sérieuse pour avoir entraîné la fermeture totale du site pendant trois mois. Depuis 1963, les visites se limitaient à cinq personnes par jour, cinq jours par semaine."

And I can't stop.  Maybe that makes me a writing junkie.  I know it worries the hell out of my husband.  Sometimes in the middle of the night he'll find me busily hammering away at the keyboard and he'll have to physically remove me to get me to come to bed. When I'm teaching, when I'm fixing dinner, when I'm doing laundry, I'm always thinking about writing; about a plot twist that suddenly makes sense, a character I need to explore, a detail that will complete a scene perfectly.

I keep notebooks in my purse, in my car, near my bed, in the kitchen, with my teaching things.  I have two or three pens in my wallet, in my car, above my washer and dryer.  I never want to be out of reach of something that allows me to write.  I have a lap top computer, but I stopped lugging it around because it weighs too much and I can't always find a place to plug it in.  Paper and pen is much easier.

 It is an addiction, and it does drain me, but I never stop wanting more.

In her book "The Midnight Disease" Alice Flaherty talks about this obsession from her background as a research neurologist.  She explores hypergraphia - the overwhelming desire (need?) to write that some writers experience.  She even goes so far as to look at the connection between mental illness and creativity, drawing inferences about the role mental illness plays in supporting creativity, or conversely, the role that creativity plays in supporting mental illness.

This book changed my life, by the way.  Maybe saved it a few years ago.  But that is another story for another time.

Flaherty also writes in her book that reasons we write are located in the limbic system, in some of the oldest parts of the cortex.  The limbic system is a very primitive part of the brain and it oversees fear, food, fighting and sex (the Four Fs as she describes it!).  It makes sense to me then that this drive to write is housed in an ancient section of the mind, and that it is so closely connected to strong emotion and need.  We humans are not as evolved as we'd like to think ourselves to be, and as evidenced by things such as the Lascaux cave paintings in Dodogne, France, story has been a part of human culture since its very beginnings. It gave us meaning, gave us something spiritual, and helped us to decipher the complexities of survival and death.

If this compelling urge to write is linked anywhere in my brain, then I think it is logical to assume it would be in the most primitive of locations.

For me, this drive to write is the same as the drive to survive.  I can't NOT write.  Sometimes I can suppress the urge.  Sometimes I can wean myself of the addiction, but it inevitably comes back and causes me to spend hours at my keyboard, bleeding my soul onto the screen or the page, because I don't know what else to do. I escape it for short periods of time to teach classes, to help my kids, to spend time with my beloved, but inevitably I am forced back because it is where I need to return to be fully myself, fully human.

So I suffer from the Midnight Disease, I open that psychic vein and let it pump words onto a screen, and I rejoice in knowing that it is divinely human to do so.  I guess I'll just keep feeding the addiction.

To use prehistoric art as evidence of to any idea is dangerous, as we do not know anything about it for sure. But, thinking about those barbaric men into their dark caves making those oh-so-cool paintings, it occurred to me — the caves where hidden, it was difficult to get there, you had to crawl and grope in the dark and squeeze yourself through narrow holes...

This fact is very well known and many of the explanations for prehistoric art try to deal with it. I do not want to propose a new explanation, i just want to note that — together with all the ritual meanings and psychological links and aesthetic qualities and whatever — the dark and difficult to reach cave has secrecy.

If you draw a bison in the cave it will never know you did. If you draw your enemies, they will never know. And this makes a huge difference.

Animals do use communication. I suppose those first humans did, too. Sharing with others things that you saw or thought has lot's of uses, and those pack-hunting primitive humans should have lot's of ways to convey tactics and synchronizations during a hunt, and probably even other concepts, some of which not-useful. Nothing of that would make humans very different from other social animals, but somehow there is a difference.

The capacity to transmit behavior through extra-genetic means is violently effective, and that is what every communicating animal is exploring. But doing the same with secrecy can be even more so.

This doesn't even need further discussion: when you learn a new trick you are the guy only until someone else can do the same. Even more importantly, a secret can give you an upper hand against foes or prey only until the foes discover what you are doing.

So for example, if you shout and point towards a direction, your pack mates can understand you are telling them to run that way, but so can the bison you are all hunting. But if you have a special way of shouting...

This could definitely spare our ancestors some nights of hunger, but i believe it could also lead in the long run to independent (and "natural-intelligence" free) development of language. The incomprehensible nature of language (rather than it's communicative strength) could be the reason to develop a language in the first place!

Bild des Tages:


Heckansicht Porsche 911 Speedster

The cave was discovered on 12 September 1940 by four teenagers, Marcel Ravidat, Jacques Marsal, Georges Agnel, and Simon Coencas. Public access was made easier after World War II. By 1955, the carbon dioxide produced by 1,200 visitors per day had visibly damaged the paintings. The cave was closed to the public in 1963 in order to preserve the art. After the cave was closed, the paintings were restored to their original state, and are now monitored on a daily basis. Rooms in the cave include The Great Hall of the Bulls, the Lateral Passage, the Shaft of the Dead Man, the Chamber of Engravings, the Painted Gallery, and the Chamber of Felines.

Lascaux II, a replica of two of the cave halls - the Great Hall of the Bulls and the Painted Gallery - was opened in 1983. Reproductions of other Lascaux artwork can be seen at the Centre of Prehistoric Art at Le Thot, France.

The cave contains nearly 2,000 figures. Many are too faint to discern, while others have deteriorated. Over 900 can be identified as animals, and 605 of these have been precisely identified. There are also many geometric figures. Of the animals, horses predominate, with 364 images. There are 90 paintings of stags. Also represented are cattle and bison, each representing 4-5% of the images. A smattering of other images include seven felines, a bird, a bear, a rhinoceros, and a human. Among the most famous images are four huge, black bulls in the Hall of the Bulls. There are no images of reindeer, even though that was the principal source of food for the artists.

The four black bulls are the dominant figures among the 36 animals represented in the Hall of the Bulls. One of the bulls is 17 feet long — the largest animal discovered so far in cave art. The bulls appear to be in motion.

A painting referred to as “The Crossed Bison” and found in the chamber called the Nave is often held as an example of the skill of the paleolithic cave painters. The crossed hind legs show the ability to use perspective in a manner that wasn’t seen again until the 15th century.

Of the non-figurative images, one researcher has speculated that the painted dots are maps of the night sky, since the patterns correlate with various constellations