Alien Earth by Kathryn Magendie

I am thinking of all those Science Fiction movies where the Blob or some Alien life form hurtles to our planet and then begins to destroy it; when instead, maybe these teeny little aliens came and were no more than the building blocks of life that led to Us and every living thing. These teeny aliens created instead of destroyed. Maybe we are the aliens! wow!

If one believes God had a hand in it, well then, maybe a happy God played marbles with the debris and as objects clanged one against the other, the Earth, and more, was formed, and out of that seeming Chaos was the Grand Design that is beautiful and awesome and should be protected and cherished. I keep the Open Mind, that Earth and the Heavens were formed by God the Great Scientist or by Science-Chaos Only—makes no matter to me for these purposes, for I am here, typing this to You. I exist. I am a ball of energy – a scientific wonder, connected to You. Who made me isn’t as important as, Will I Survive? Who made the earth isn’t as important as, Will Earth Survive Intact? But, then again, who made this, or what made this, or how it was made could be very important to survival, for all I know—since we could be going round and round and round back to our beginnings and then around again, never quite Getting It. If all of this is by Design, then what has the Design in mind for Earth and its inhabitants? Or, if Earth was formed out of some chaotic chance, then what has Chaos of the Universe in store for us? For surely we must pay attention. Surely we must feel a sense of Gratitude for our existence, and, a responsibility to sustain what is in our own control. What is out of our control simply is that.

Think of this: we all come from the same thing. We are the same thing. We all were formed from the same Stuff of Life, and this is forgotten as we celebrate our differences. Well, some differences are good; differences are what make the world interesting. The differences come not exactly organically, but through our thoughts and how and where we were raised, or what species we are. It is how we decide to react to those “differences” that will decide our future, perhaps? All I know is I am grateful to whomever or whatever or however our Earth became into being and allowed for such wondrous beauty and ideals and the kaleidoscope that makes up Earth.

Diversity Rocks by Barbara Quinn

The other night I was too tired to cook, and too tired to go out to a restaurant. My husband and I took to the streets of our small town of Bradley Beach, NJ in search of our meal. It’s a short walk to our downtown. Our first stop was the Thai restaurant where we placed an order for Tom Yom soup, and Quail with Five Spices and veggies. After chatting with the owner and his nephew, which is always enjoyable, we headed down Main St. again, this time stopping for the chicken tamales with red sauce at the Mexican spot. With those in our bag, the next stop was the Colombian restaurant where we picked up two of their special tiny individual corn with kernels bread, and a cheese roll that is the size and shape of a large golf ball. Once outside we ran into the owner of the Thai restaurant again who was taking a stroll. More leisurely chitchat and then he accompanied us to the Italian bakery where we picked up dessert: a cup of tiramisu, and a cannoli. Then we headed back to the Thai spot where our entrée was waiting. At home we had a fine meal, accompanied by a nice red from the Cote du Rhone, so France too got into our global dinner, which we topped off with an espresso and sambuca.

Bradley Beach is home to many different cultures. The foods are all authentic, just like the people who make them. There are also Italian, Japanese, Chinese, and American spots in the town whose population is under 5000 and is only .6 of a square mile large. I love living in a melting pot where everyone fits in and adds a bit of spice to the zesty stew!

What The World Needs Now by Barbara Quinn

I’m grateful for this earth we live on. Every breath we take, every vista we view, is part of an amazingly complex system. I’m glad that more and more people are starting to realize how fragile this system is. When I saw a video of polar bears drowning in the Arctic due to too much of their habitat melting, I couldn’t take my eyes from the screen. It was horrifying. From where I sit, it seems that in one generation global warming has accelerated at a far more rapid pace than anyone ever imagined.

I’m grateful to have seen the shift toward acceptance of the fact that we do have a global warming problem. We have a problem, and we are capable of figuring out solutions to ensure the lives of future generations. Willie Nelson’s biodiesel (called BioWillie) is finally gaining some attention. There are hybrid cars, solar power, wave action, and wind power. Hydrogen fuel cells are starting to appear. We have a long way to go, but there’s no reason to believe that we can’t succeed. Hey, I don’t want my car to smell like French-fry oil, but I’ll accept that if that’s what it takes. Buy stock in that Little Tree car air-freshener company!

I’m also grateful that we have a dialog with China. Without China adopting some environmental rules, this mission to save the planet cannot succeed.

Here’s to the great science minds. You are what the world needs now. May your solutions spread throughout the world as quickly as you can think them up.

Melancholy, Baby by Kat Magendie

It's a hollow place we go sometimes, don’t you think? There is an indention in the soil, and we curl into the indention where it's safe and comfy—even though we lie about how comfortable it is, since there are pebbles pressing into our skin, there is a chill in the night, and there is dirt under our nails that aggravates. We ignore the lamenting low howl of the wise wolf, calling us back calling us back calling us back, don't we? Because we’re snuggled into our hollowed out space, curled just as we did before birth. The place in the soil upon the earth, in the hollowed out hidden forest, where we pretend how comfortable we are, and alone, don't forget how nice it is to be alone. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Who doesn't like a bit of melancholy from time to time?

Melancholy is an old friend, a good ole chum (unlike depression, that mean spindly spirit of woe). Melancholy won’t fuss at us, and even allows us to eat too much bad food, or drink too much bad liquor, and shut out everyone who is important to us, even our own voices. Our melancholy has a bit of imp to it, an angsty charm, a cute way of winking at us, a way of drawing us into the indention. Funny how one can be flying through the sky, feeling the wind, and some twist of synapses, some bitter pill, some disappointment, and next we find we are falling. Melancholy catches us, then wraps around us its familiar soft blanket.

But wait! Just as we think we will stay huddled forever, melancholy takes its blanket from our shoulders, pulls us up by the hand, gives us that wink, and says, "I've got to go now. Ta ta!" And there we are, rising up from our hollowed space. There we go, the sun on our face, blinking in the light, brushing the dirt from our clothes, trying out a grin, flexing our fingers, pointing our toes, saying "Hey, I'm hungry for life now, give me a big ole plate of it! With a side of hope and a glass of thank you may I please have another." A stretch upward, a glimpse of blue oh so blue sky. A squirrel blinks at us and we laugh. And just like that, the earth turns turns turns and we dance around on the head of a pin.

Pain and Me by Kathryn Magendie

In nights of physical pain, I lift from my body, hover above, and watch my weakness with disdain. I dream without sleeping, float in a sea of nerve endings glowing red. I write beautiful words in the dark; they are slender threads of silver and gold, pulsing with meaning and truth. Pain purifies thoughts, sharpens the senses. In the night hours, I pity the part of me that demands attention to the fiery current racing down my spine and legs. I toss, turn, and wish it would stop so I won’t have to take more of the white pill. I argue my case, and pain argues back its own. One night, Pain opened up to me and said, "At times, I’d rather be called something else, like beauty, or hope, or joy. Do you think it's easy being hated and feared? I do my job and that is what I do. Who told you life is lived without pain?" I answered, "Do your worst! I am strong!” And I lay there, and I felt Pain, and thought, who would I be without Pain? It’s become a part of me, attached to me as if an extra body part. It's mine. And I can take it. I am strong.

In the quiet dark, I think how one day I will be a very old woman. I’ll walk crooked to the coffee pot, pour a cup, and holding the cup with trembley hands, I’ll shuffle to the porch, carefully sit in my rocker, pull a throw over my knees, and rock rock and think about pain and me and how we had a long good life together. I’ll wonder, did pain take away or did pain give insight, and empathy? I will drink every bit of my strong black coffee and I'll be grateful for its taste and heat, and I'll say, "Come on pain, today we will write, and then we will rock some more, and then we will read, and then we will rock some more. Life is good." And it won't seem but a minute that I am on Earth, just a minute. Just a minute. A minute. Minute.

This Moment. This Now. By Kathryn Magendie

The mountain is warm for January—a light sweater is all I need. Last week, I bundled up in long underwear and down vest, the temperature high only got to eleven degrees. Record cold then record heat, within two weeks. No matter. This is the earth and the earth turns. The earth changes. The earth breathes. As I walk our dogs, I’m not listening to the creek singing, to the birds calling out, or the way the bare branches rub together—I swear it sounds like a whale’s call. Instead, I’m thinking about all I have to do. I walk quickly, ticking off in my head: edit, write, go, be, do, find, email, call…

Kayla and Jake trot beside me, at turns sniffing the ground and then raising their snouts to the air. Kayla is getting old, her limping walk makes me sad, but her brown and tan fur remains thick and beautiful. Jake is panther-like, the muscles rippling beneath his shiny black coat. Kayla stops to sniff the grass and I tug her leash a bit. She doesn’t move, but keeps sniffing. Impatiently, I tug again, and say, “Come on, Kayla!”

And it is at that moment I catch up with myself. I see myself as from above. What’s happened to the woman who walked this mountain every morning and listened, enjoyed, experienced? Where have I gone? My dogs look at me, see that I’m not going to tug them away from new smells, and both begin excitedly sniffing in the grass—a coon? Bobcat? Deer? Bear? A visiting dog? It could be anything at all! I close my eyes, take in a deep breath. Listen. The creek rushes, filled from last night’s rain. A dove coos. To my left, old brown leaves rustle. To my right, branches touch, saw rub saw. I sway in the wind as it pushes against me, enters my ear and whispers: “I am here. You are here. This is all that is now.”

I open my eyes and spot Roger walking towards us. My husband smiles, raises a hand that says, "I’m coming. Sorry I’m late!” I smile back. I am filled—I am full. The moment catches in my chest and I inhale all the air I can to keep the moment held there. This moment. This now. This is what matters.