Biology Lesson

Yay! Now, I plan to do a series of these, should they be interesting enough to read! As many know I am a lover of the natural world, and plan to embark on a career in conservation research (fingers crossed please please please I promise I’ll be good!)

Eh-hem.

So I wanted to edgumacate you dear readers on members of our wonderful planet that you may not necessarily be aware of. I’m not talking about the Hollywood stars of the animal kingdom, no tigers or lions or giant pandas. Infact very few fluffy things (although there are some with some fantastic noses that I shall be talking about). Here I will pay homage to the ugly ducklings of the natural world, the squealy, slimey, wriggly little beasties that lack the, ability shall we say, to appeal to the general public.

So, without further ado, I give you our first wee beastie! Actually he isn’t very wee, but check out this head!

This, simply marvellous thing, is the Chinese Giant Salamander (Andrias davidianus)

It is the largest salamander in the world, reaching up to 1.8 metres in length. In the wild, these terribly ugly creatures are aquatic, living in streams and brooks in the Chinese mountains. Their skin is generally dark brown / green in colour, and is porous. It is through their skin that these animals breathe, as they lack any gills. This accounts for their wrinkled appearance, as wrinkles offer a larger surface area through which gaseous exchange can take place.

I almost sound intelligent don’t I.

These giant amphibians are more active at night, when these use touch and smell to locate their prey. They hunt small aquatic creatures such as crayfish, snails, other salamanders, and worms which they locate using the sensory nodes on their head and body which detect changes in water pressure, and they catch their prey with a fast sideways snap of their jaws.

When it comes to the birds and the bees, mating behaviour is only guestimated for the Chinese salamander. The Japanese giant salamander has been observed, and it is thought that the behaviours are similar. Males (as they are want to do) ferociously guard underwater breeding cavities (like inside a fallen log), inside which a female will lay up to 500 eggs that are held together like a thread of beads.

This is what the eggs might look like, although this piccie

is from a smaller salamander species, but you can see the string of beads.

The male fertilises the eggs and is responsible for their protection, the female plays no role after she lays (hah!). Around 15 weeks later teeny tiny little replicas of the adults hatch, although the babies start off with gills which disappear over time.

This species is very long lived, with one captive individual reaching 52 years in captivity.

Unfortunately, this highly enigmatic species (I am sure you will agree with me on this) is highly endangered, primarily (surprise, sur-bloody prise) because their flesh is considered to be a delicacy by the Chinese population. Habitat alteration has also taken its toll, resulting in smaller populations, fragmented populations, and smaller individuals as a result of over collecting. Very few of these magnificent beasts, if any, will reach that 1.8 metre target.

The zoological society of London is so concerned about the status of this amphibian, that it has included it in its EDGE of existence program for amphibians. This conservation initiative focuses on the world’s most evolutionarily distinct and globally endangered species.

The Chinese Salamander is included in this programme not only because of its decline in numbers, but because it is thought to have evolved independently from all other amphibians over 100 million years before Tyrannosaurus rex. Think about that for a moment; this animal, which has been evolving independently for 168 million years, is about to disappear from this earth because we think it tastes good. This unique snapshot into amphibian evolution could be gone without anyone even realising.

I think this is tragic. Not only for the evolutionary information that this lineage could expose (they are working on it now, for goodness sake, this is cutting edge science here!) but I really don’t think we have the right to wipe something off of this earth that clearly has a lot more right to be here than we have! Its 168 million years old! Its a snapshot of our earth’s history! The relationship between it and its environment has become so, complex, so cemented, so, together! Its an ecological marvel!

So there we have it ladies and gents, I give you the Chinese Giant Salamander! I for one hope it continues to evolve for another 168 million years, and that it stays this ugly....

He is mine and I shall call him squishie!

References

http://www.zsl.org/conservation/conservation-programmes/edge/edge-amphibians,52,PS.html

http://www.arkive.org/chinese-giant-salamander/andrias-davidianus

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_giant_salamander

Home Truths

I was in two minds as to whether or not to post this, but seeing as today appears to be a day for revelation, I thought it might contribute albeit in a candid fashion. But such is my way, you wouldn't love me half as much if it wasn't :-)

Its not exactly a positive piece I suppose, but it is one we can all relate to I think, and I don't think anyone really gets to the stage where these words would have no relevance whatsoever. If they do, then they have probably missed something.

Anyhow, here you go, poetry corner of the day! Entitled "Home Truths"

Did your latest fabrication
Make it into your bestseller list
Or is this one simply a one liner
Words and promises jumbled
To fit that which you try to hide
That which you insist is a lie

Ahhhhhh
The burning acid of this year's finest vintage
and rolled tobacco leaf
So easily acquired and so suitably
numbing
Effective obstacles to those knocking truths
that come a rap rap rapping
on your chamber door

Your barriers are in disrepair
I'm afraid
Hanging on by a single rusty hinge
Where will you be?
Without your royal hues of purple, red and gold
Images and ideals that offer such promise
Brightness
Fire
Freedom

Such a sadness in your eyes
Knowledge
It always comes with a price
The gaping maw of our mistakes and regrets
Where the colours aren't quite
So bright
No, do not reach for me
I am not there yet
And I do not wish to be

Oooooh...its vanishified

First of all can I just say that my poem Alone made it onto page 3 of the most popular poems on Deviant Art in the past 24 hours!! How unbelievably cool is that thank you so much to everyone who took a look at it and added it to their favourites! Mwah!

And secondly.......*DRUM ROLL* drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrum

Don't you open that Trap Door!
You're a fool if you dare!
Stay away from that Trap Door!
Cos there's something down there!

Now, our household is hardly what you would call conventional, not in the least in that the number one priority on a Wednesday morning can be to clean up the unholiest of unholy messes that is the result of the Houdini moggi managing to open a ruck sack and eat 2 Sainsburys granola squares.

No, there are a number of bizarre references to various scientific theories, films, cartoons, pc games etc that are bantered around in the guise of adult conversation. And needless to say, hearing an intellectually superior 6ft man mumbling under his breath in the kitchen in a London accent “ooooh, oooh its vanishified ooooh”, whilst probably a fairly acceptable form of discourse within these four walls, had me rolling around in stitches for a good five minutes.

This line is from the episode “Ghoulies” of the infamous and quite frankly fantastic animation “The Trap Door”. Created whilst I was a wee nipper (1984-1986) by animators Terry Brain and Charlie Mills, Trap Door ran for 2 series and a total of 40 episodes. There are four (maybe five) main characters whose antics you follow throughout, which tend to include one or more of a number of nasty and hilarious monsters that come up from the trap door.

Berk, is a lovable blue creature, who tends to have the best lines. He loves to cook, is the epitome of the grumpy yet adorable old man (but made from blue clay) that lives down the road, and is the long suffering servant of the Thing Upstairs. His trademark sayings are “Oh Gloobits” and “Sniff that!” (both of which I was internally muttering after hearing the story of doom regarding the moggie and the granola squares). Dear Berk often pokes around the trap door despite warnings from his friends, and is generally the cause of the ensuing mayhem as he tends to forget to close the trap door or indeed in pounced upon as soon as he opens it in the first place.

Moanie Boni is my favourite character! This disembodied skull lives in a hole in the wall, and moans. A lot. His favourite pastime is complaining that he is bored, telling Berk of for opening the trap door, and sleeping. My kinda skull. In fact I am sure my husband to be will no doubt state that occasionally I can do a very good impression of boni, particularly if I have a cold. Boni’s shining moment is when he acquires the body of a horse and starts charging around making goat noises in the episode “Nasty Stuff”. Classic!

Next we have Drutt. Drutt is a little spider, who doesn’t talk as such, but has certain unique ways of getting Berks attention. This normally involves lots of jumping around (which is impressive in itself as his legs are too the side of his body, not underneath him) and making high pitched squeaking noises. He is Berk’s pet, and manages to get himself into just as much trouble as the others. I have just read that in one episode Drutt has babies.....why am I not aware of this fact? And pink babies as well! I shall have to consult the oracle and get back to you. Either way, Drutt rocks.

I have to mention Rogg as I plan to reincarnate into him. Rogg is a huge pink thing, a friendly monster that lives down the trap door and pops up on random occasions for a play. He isn’t very intelligent, his favourite line of mine being “I like Berk, he’s my friend” after sending him flying out of the top storey window and Berk screaming obscenities at him from the ground. Rogg becomes the firm friend of all the characters eventually, although Berk often refers to him as ‘the stupid pink thing’.

And there we have it ladies and gents, my little mention of the wondrous animated cartoon that is the trap door. Now, there is a slightly more serious note as to why I have introduced you good readers to this frankly rather silly topic. It is also a little ironic I suppose, maybe even hypocritical, considering the doldrums posts I have written of late. It concerns the importance of laughter.

Dr Paul E McGhee developed what he calls laughter therapy and has spent 22 years conducting research on humour and laughter with focus on how beneficial these tools are to our health. He argues that our sense of humour helps to overcome the immunosuppressive effects of stress by boosting our ability to cope (indirect action) and by directly effecting the effectiveness of our immune system. A number of studies conducted have shown that levels of immunoglobulin A (an antibody with a key role in mucosal immunity – that is, any part of your body with a mucos lining such as nostrils, gastro intestinal tract, etc) are significantly boosted whilst the patient is watching a funny comedy.

Beyond these direct effects though, are the indirect effects that laughter has on one’s ability to cope. One paper in particular caught my eye, as it refers to Dr Frankl, the psychiatrist whose ideas I discussed in a previous post. One direct quote from Frankl’s work ‘Mans Search for Meaning’ goes like this:

“I would never have made it if I could not have laughed. Laughing lifted me momentarily....out of this horrible situation, just enough to make it liveable”.

Frankl was able to use humour to survive the Nazi concentration camps. I’m sorry but this guy is simply unbelievable....

Anyway, star struck eyes over. Humour, however grim and black, can set the spirit free under even the most tragic circumstances (Captain General Coffee, POW, Vietnam). It is argued that those who can access their sense of humour even under the most stressful circumstances are much more resilient and emotionally flexible; they can bend without breaking when times get tough.

I remember quite recently when I received a phone call from a relative, screaming and hollering about the state of his wife in the care home (basically she was asleep) and threats to steal her away out of the home and “take care of her” himself. He was also going to refuse any more medication for her, and insist that she was put on no drugs; an action which would have killed her pretty quickly. He was also very unwilling to accept that the social services would have to be involved should he do this, and also seemed to think that the NHS would simply provide home care for his wife despite the fact that he had rudely refused the proper NHS care that she needed. Needless to say I was sat down with a large vodka and orange and got to railing about the stupidity of said relative with husband to be. Husband to be, out of this fairly tragic and unbelievable potential disaster, began a rendition of the film with Thelma and Louise (I have no idea if this is the correct title). Images of two elderly people in a beat up ford focus, one completely potty and the other with only one functioning leg and the thought processes of a very stupid Nazi general, driving off into the sunset with their whole lives ahead of them, had us both laughing so hard we were in tears.

Now this is very black humour I know, and it really isn’t a very funny situation. But then nor was the Nazi concentration camp. Either way, I ceased panicking about what was likely to happen, and simply waited until the following day to contact my relative and discovered that he had had a go at the care home (who had told him exactly what he needed to hear) and all was well.

So, moral of the story is, no matter how tough things get, if you can laugh about it, you’ll be a lot better off. Whether it be Trap Door or The Two Ronnies, find that which puts a smile on your face, and face the world with renewed vigour and intent.

Shameless Plug

Well, now that we have got that off our chest.......*slightly manic grin*

I have been scouring Deviant Art as is my want, and was marvelling at all the wonderful un published and unappreciated writers out there, and felt I should give a little shout out and a wave to you guys and ask you if you would be oh so kind and show your support.

As a writer myself, I know how nice it feels to have a piece favourited by someone or someone write a kind comment. So, if you are bored at work or wherever, and fancy taking a little trip through another world, please check out the writers at deviant art. I am sure you will find something to tickle your fancy, and we really appreciate the time people take to send a nod in our direction

Thanking you all in advance

Message to the Masses

“Bored Confused Annoyed Don’t worry about it, just buy your copy of Heat magazine. Heat, makes life worth living!

Or something to that affect, I recoil too adamantly at this advert to manage 100% concentration.

Anyway, today in particular this advert made me sit up and listen. Because I was feeling confused and annoyed, but the thought that I would turn to this kind of publication to ‘make my life worth living’, or even that they have the gall to suggest that it would help, twisted my guts inside and got me to thinking.

First, I re-read the paragraph of Yalom’s Staring at the Sun that I had just completed. The last line was ‘the desire to help our kids is hardwired in us’.

Uh-huh, I’m sure your all imagining where this is going, but this isn’t a traditional “paganhorsegirl banging on again about how terrible her upbringing was” kinda post. I’m boring myself at the moment with all that, trust me.

I then got to thinking about my dream that I had this morning. I always remember the last bits of my dreams, the bits just before the alarm goes off for the umpteenth time. My mother and I were in a very light room, a kitchen or conservatory, with big windows and sun streaming in. All was very lightly coloured, and well lit from the sunshine. We were sat on stools at what I think was the kitchen work top, looking at pamphlets. Mum was showing me a white card with tiny little plastic rings kinda hooked into it. They were all different designs, coloured in bright orange, deep royal blue and luminous yellow. She was showing me which ones she had worn as a child, and which were her sister Nicola’s. Another card showed an engraving done in silver plate of a christening of the daughter of her friend Diana. My brother was part of this engraving, looking very young and noble. It was a side profile of him, dressed in a suit I think, underneath a big christening title with names and dates on it. My mum also gave me a pearl necklace. It was a beautiful necklace, made from gold, with gold leaves and pearls of various colours and sizes attached. Some in clusters, others single. Mum said it was time I had the necklace, as I was now old enough.

I felt very happy. It was a nice conversation, mum sharing her childhood with me, and presenting me with this lovely gift. It felt like a positive experience. And it was a positive experience that encompassed the family.

I woke up feeling very sad and despondent, as in reality this was something that would not happen. I also felt the loss of the pearls. When I was a teenager, my mother took me up to the bedroom and showed me a plastic bag with 21 pearls in it. She said that they were her grandmothers, and that I would receive them when I was 21, and that she had fought tooth and nail to keep them hidden from my father (who had pawned the rest of my mother’s jewellery to pay for his gambling debt). It was one of the few memories I have where I felt important, although it was made very clear that this was yet another sacrifice that my mother had made for me and I had better grovel and show up most gratitude otherwise I would get what for.

I never received those pearls, and now believe that they were sold to pay for my mother’s and stepfather’s boat.

Anyway. The dream I believe was a culmination of the past few weeks, my conscious and unconscious merging to crystallise what is going on at the moment. Things have been tough lately, with a near enough constant barrage of situations that heighten and sharpen my insecurities to popping extent.

Light bulb moment

The dream was a poignant depiction of what I have always wanted; a sense of safety and security within a family setting, where individuals cared for each other, have a past, present and future, where communication occurred.

But this is not going to happen. Maybe I really am just one of these people who needs to have their face smashed in time and time again before they start to look where they are going. I am always going to be insecure, I am always going to want a family, I am always going to be defined by and live my life according to what has happened to me. My dream pointed out all that will not be, all that I continuously search for.

So, what to do? It is said that to free yourself from your past you have to forgive, otherwise you simply end up bitter and twisted, constantly reliving the wrongs done to you. I have no intention of forgiving my family members, ever. Yes I am very angry, but it is this anger which allows me to be far more compassionate and caring than the majority of chumps out there because I try to not behave like they do. But it isn’t the wrongs done that make me angry. It’s the fact that they have no idea that they have done wrong. And near enough everyone appears to suffer from this particular mental deficit.

I am not going to sit here and say that I am perfect, that I haven’t made mistakes, that I’ve never hurt anyone. Of course I have. But I say sorry! And, once more, if I don’t have anything nice to say, I don’t open my bloody mouth! I live my life by a certain set of rules, rules that encompass taking care of my fellow man often to my own detriment. I watch people, I learn their foibles, I enquire, if they are upset in the morning I make sure I make them a cup of tea and ask how they are in the afternoon. If I make plans with someone for the following week I don’t forget about them the instant the conversation is over. I don’t make idle threats, I watch my language, I try not to come across as overpowering or opinionated or overly judgemental. I don’t press my ideas and my ways of doing things onto others.

I’m starting to think that maybe my family are not the problem anymore. I know what they are like, I know what to expect from them for the best part. But I expect others to be different. I view my parents as the extreme, and they are, but I forget just how prevalent their psychological traits are, albeit to a lesser extent, amongst the majority of society. I suppose that I have been very unlucky in that between all of my blood relatives, I was exposed to just about every negative behaviour and very few positive. There was no buffer; all of them were cocks. I am now sensitive to ‘cockish’ behaviour (I’m so turning that into a real word).

I am happiest when I am alone. When I am with others, I feel uncomfortable, I feel on edge, I worry about how I look, what I say, is my facial expression appropriate, have I got anything to say that will be of interest to anyone (often I haven’t, I am hardly the life and soul of the party), and this is without all the residual insecurities about having to explain my career choice (no one seems to know what ecologist means) go through the whole ‘why have you got all those tattoos?’ ‘what do they mean’ ‘you’ll regret those when your older’, and what on earth do I do with my time if I don’t watch east enders or X factor NOR do I get drunk every night with mates down the pub because of course, at the age of 26, isn’t that what I am supposed to do?

I am not a normal person by today’s standards. I have not had a normal upbringing, I do not think like others do, I do not dress like others do, I do not view the world like others do. I am very happy with this, with my aims in life, with how I have managed to overcome my past and deal with the constant bollocks that I have to face today. Yes I have tattoos. No I am not going to regret them. No I do not care that will have 8 years of university education behind me and still only earn 18k. No I will not spend hours every day cleaning my house and my car. No I will not live and let live. No I will not sit quietly. No I will not look the other way. Yes I will write, laugh, love, scream, cry, learn, live, and be me.

And if you don’t like it, then please go, because I am tired of trying to fit to ideals that have nothing to do with me, and I cannot move forward if I have to keep trying.

Man's Search for Meaning

This post aims to highlight the revolutionary ideas of Dr Viktor Frankl. This inspirational psychiatrist and true hero of our times, was a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps, and shared his horrific experience and his methods of surviving it in the amazing work ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’.

In this slim volume, Dr Frankl describes in graphic detail, the atrocities that he and his fellows had to endure, and offers extremely powerful methods for how the human psyche is able to cope and indeed thrive under such conditions. He provides important insights into man’s dignity, freedom and meaning; insights that we should all take heed from and try to incorporate into our lives.

Dr Frankl’s key idea was coined by the term logotherapy, an alternative to traditional psychotherapy which focuses on the outer rather than the inner. Logotherapy states that man’s primary concern is his will to meaning, rather than the fulfilment of drives and instincts also known as the pleasure principal and the power principal. Instead, man’s purpose in life is to find meaning in every moment.

In order for man to live his life with a much meaning as possible, Frankl argues that we must be fully responsible for that life. Each man has his own particular mission that he has to fullfill. His life cannot be replaced nor replicated. It is unique. He argues that man is questioned by life, and can only answer by answering for his own life. He therefore can only respond to life by being responsible and actualise the meaning within it.

There are three ways to actualise this meaning. By achievement or accomplishment, by experiencing something (beauty, goodness) or someone (love), and by the attitude we take to unavoidable suffering.

Frankl gives a number of examples, written with outstanding humility, of how he and his fellows were able to actualise meaning in their lives in the above three ways. One particularly poignant part for me was how he described picturing and holding conversations in his head with his wife. His imaginations filled his heart with the love that he felt for his wife, and allowed him to endure working in sub zero temperatures, exhausted, malnourished, with next to no clothing on, and in extreme pain. His daydreams took him to a happy place, where he was able to escape albeit for the briefest of moments, from the torment of reality. He suggests that these moments of reprieve allowed him to continue, and combined with the hope of realising them, gave his life meaning and the will to survive.

This is the second time that I have read this book, and I shall probably do so again and again. You cannot fail to be awed by this man’s strength and generosity. His account of his time in the concentration camps is both horrific and inspiring, primarily because there is not an ounce of self pity in his writing. He is writing to share, to help others deal with their own silly neuroses. He isn’t doing it to boast, but to genuinely offer something back to the community. He has actualised his meaning. Everything he went through was worth it, because now he can use his experiences to help others.

I wish I could take copies of this book and shove them down the throats of my family members, each and every dam one of them. Whilst they would gain nothing from his psychological theories (that would involve using brain cells), it might make them realise that their petty little problems really do not compare with true suffering that has gone on in this world.

Frankl’s ideas have become a mainstay for me at the moment. The familial situation has reached a point where it has become starkly clear to me (yet again, but hey we like flogging a dead horse don’t we) that my existence means next to nothing to my blood relatives. I do not exist as a person with feelings, emotions, desires or needs. I exist purely to serve. If I do not serve in the correct manner, then I am discarded. Even if I do serve in the correct manner, I am discarded should another more pressing need (most notably the need to hurt another family relative) arise.

Families often help us actualise our will meaning. We overcome hardships, we face trials head on, we survive because of our families. Because we don’t want to hurt them, we don’t want to leave them behind, we want to make them proud. It is no secret that I am defined by my lack of relevance to my family. I also have very few friends, certainly none who would notice my absence. The one person in my life who allows me to actualise my will to meaning has a close and loving family, and so I therefore view my link even with him as tenacious. The knowledge that without him I am nothing, yet he has a place without me, is a heavy burden at the best of times.

I therefore have to look for meaning primarily in other places. I manage this sometimes, but not always. It is my main struggle, to extricate myself from the concept that without acceptance and acknowledgement from others I do not have meaning. My main source of soul food is to sit outside and feel the sun, wind, rain, whatever Gaia happens to be doing at the time. I find that you cannot but admit life is worth giving your best shot when listening to a robin sing or feeling the sun warming your skin. I also try to view my situation as positively as possible. I know that I can stop myself feeling bad, I do it all the time. Problem is, it gets tiring sometimes, and I continue to look for a level of salvation that does not exist. I torture myself with people’s kind words, taking them to heart, expecting them to offer and be what I need them to be even though they do not know me nor know the extent of my pain. All that they offer, and all they can offer, are kind words.

I cannot actualise my will to meaning through others. I simply don’t think I am capable of it, I cannot have a 'normal' interaction with another person. I will always place others within the contextual framework of my upbringing and young adulthood, and so will always hurt myself and / or get myself hurt. But I can actualise meaning through action, accomplishment, experiencing something, and my attitude to my suffering. If Frankl could do it in Auschwitz, I’m sure that I can do it to.

I urge all of you to buy and absorb “Man’s Search for Meaning”. It is an amazing tale of survival, and offers all of us a way to improve our outlook and therefore our lives.

Run

Torn from inside and cast into flame

Burnt at birth and baptised in pain

Claw through some semblance

Some version of what should be done

I cannot face this

This never should have begun

Light up

Light up

As if you have a choice

It’s funny how some things never let us go

Or maybe just tragic?

Maybe its all just for show

My cracked and blistered feet

Take baby steps all the way

Bloodied tears and permanent fears

Shredded scars all here to stay

Even if you cannot hear my voice

I am right beside you dear

Sometimes I get taken aback

By just how much I hate you

By just how much I want to hurt

To cast you out and desert you

To call the titans from the sky

And drive a stake through your heart

To desecrate all that you are

To end that what you had no right to start

Louder louder

And we'll run for our lives

I am sculpted by your heresy

Trussed up by your tragedy

Defined by your depravity

Given substance by your animosity

Chained by your rejection

Falsified by your projection

Beaten by your derision

Still you never see me cry

I can hardly speak I understand

Why you can't raise your voice to say

The wheel of time will always turn

And I will always disappear

Feathers fall from broken wings

Your spectre always near

I cannot be you

However much you beg

I will always disappoint you

And one day, this might end