GREED: CAN WE PREVENT ANOTHER GREAT RECESSION? (Spoilers Alert)

Movies such as THE BIG SHORT show us greed at the macro level--collusion of big banks, brokerage firms and mortgage companies to artificially inflate subprime mortgage lending rates, or, why the housing market tanked and the "Great Recession" occurred--from the inside.

Yes,  Mark Baum (as portrayed by Steve Carell) embodies the vocal "moral" conscience in the movie who decries the inevitable: small-scale investors, consumers, the under-privileged getting the shaft. However, Baum and his colleagues (SPOILER ALERT) make, in sum, a billion dollars from anticipating/betting on the devaluation of subprime bonds. Other savvy foretellers also rationalize their profits or learn the price many Americans will pay for banks' corrupt lending practices. These men, however, will become very rich.*

And that's the rub. (SPOILER ALERT) Two inexperienced men, the "little" guys in the film, bet their life savings that the market will crash. They win, but do they? [Will they learn from being lectured by Ben Rickert (Brad Pitt)?] If wrong, the amateurs would have been forced to sell their few remaining assets and potentially be impoverished or underemployed for years to come, all of which would cost the average taxpayer (by taking away economic stimulus and increasing the price of debt).

I confess, these issues were a bone of contention for my boyfriend and me after we saw the movie. I surprise myself by writing that I took the more cynical position. For I believe once a person earns or receives large amounts of money, they often change. Investing is gambling. And investors allow financial institutions to use their money to garner profits. Of course, many investors didn't count on their bankers and brokers to make millions of dollars for personal profit via unethical practices and thereby sacrifice their customers' assets in the process.

Yes, the institutions, e.g. big banks, created an artificial culture encouraging, enticing people to buy homes with little or no credit, no down payments knowing that in time, with the adjustable interest rates, these consumers would never be able to pay their mortgages. Worse, brokers knowingly sold "synthetic" bonds that had no real value.

Revenge wields its ugly head in fair-minded people who want justice for the Great Recession. Bailing out banks, in particular, has inflamed the anger of even passive observers who wanted the government to let commercial banks falter. And yet, we're told to learn from history. In the 1929 market crash, banks did go bust and the Depression dragged on for almost a decade. Many who lost everything had their savings tied up in these banks and/or in the stock market. The already poor got poorer. The middle class disappeared. Sound familiar?

(SPOILER ALERT) The end of THE BIG SHORT alludes to a probable return to the very practices which brought down our economy and other economies around the world. Moreover, Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders and others have warned if banks, brokerages, mortgage lenders aren't closely regulated average Americans will pay the price, again. The struggling middle-class and working poor have little leverage to change the system and self-regulation only benefits the top one percent.

How can a citizen stop the impending catastrophe? VOTE for candidates, from the local level to the federal government, who support economic reform. Although it may take five minutes from your day, go on-line and use social media to express your opinions or better, become an activist to help create change.

If people can't or won't follow through with the above recommendations to act, if they continue to invest in real estate, the stock market and subprime bonds without understanding the consequences, and/or, if they walk around enraged at corrupt institutions and the government but live a life where they spend, spend, spend and don't teach their children--the future of our planet--the value of restraint, then they encourage greed.

For in the end, it's the desire to make more and more disposable income that has fueled our corrupt culture, the underpinnings of the very system many wish to change: capitalism.

*Women in THE BIG SHORT are portrayed as either being blind to or part of the corrupt institutions. However, at least one woman did see what was coming, Meredith Whitney.

Bending vs. breaking the rules is a theme in my first book: Shadowwater. For more info, go to: www.shadowwater.net

GREEN RIBBONS FOR CHILDREN'S FUTURE

 Yesterday, I mustered my energy and participated in Provincetown's March for Climate Change and recognition of the current CO2 summit in Paris.

We arrived early at the UU church on Commercial Street. I worried that the turnout would be small and ineffectual, unusual for me as I carry hope in my heart despite the dire predictions. Like children peeking in a store window, some people began to tentatively approach the meeting place. Whereas others didn't hesitate to walk toward us, boundless energy bursting--all ages; a human menagerie. Some participants carried signs, others wore hats or garlands of green leaves.

The cold temperature, around 37 degrees--not counting the blustery wind skirting across the flat, hooked appendage and the northernmost-point of Cape Cod--forced marchers to bundle up against the chill. But we carried our banners, posters and green ribbons to show our solidarity.

Among the diverse collection of marchers, were teenagers; young adults who waved their banners and cheered on the procession, giving me hope that the Cape's youth will continue the cause.

What were they/we fighting for? Within one generation, Nauset Beach--as scientists have predicted--will have eroded to the point of no return. Liams, an Orleans seafood shack on the border between the parking lot and the beach, will have disappeared. My childhood oasis and others' will become "dust in the wind." Scattered fresh-water ponds will change to saltwater via the encroaching sea; health concerns will rise significantly as pollutants from Boston, surrounding states increase. (For specs, please refer to The Cape Cod Times' special section  Cape Cod Times on Climate Change )

And if a motley band of politicians, entertainers, writers, small business people and environmental activists can remind those who have no regard for our cause why stemming climate change is imperative, then I foresee a small victory for our beloved Cape Cod and a better future for residents, young and old.

Below are more pics from our march, Sunday afternoon:

Our fearless leader!

State Representative Sarah Peake and I.

Musicians led the way.

Two spirited activists.

The end of the March but not our deep passion for the cause.

PARIS: JE T'ADORE

Dedicated to the people of France:

The first time I went to Europe, age 15, I'd saved money which my parents matched to take a whirlwind student tour. I have two unfortunate memories during our visit to Paris. My fellow travelers' first priority centered on visiting McDonald's, as other countries we'd been to didn't offer the fast food whereas I chose not to go, for which I received my peers' censure. Secondly, I ruined a roll of film by opening my Pentax 35mm camera to change rolls in what I'd hoped would be a darkened space, the cupboard--large enough for me to enter and close as there were no closets--in our hotel room. Needless to say I ruined the film that contained pics of France. A happy jaunt to L'Tour Eifel and Museé de Louvre, sans I.M. Pei's pyramid, helped ease the disappointment.

Years later, after college graduation, my friend, Sarah, and I traveled to four countries, in three of which we had hosts. We stayed with family friends in St. Cloud, in the Hauts-de-Seine, a suburban region six miles (9.6 km) from Paris. When not babysitting the couple's young children, we appreciated the charm of the village within walking distance where we'd buy fresh baguettes. But like anxious sprinters, we couldn't wait to get to the city.

We navigated the Paris Metro map and went to many sites and arrondissements (or districts), the most memorable provided delectable places to eat. One restaurant had been recommended to us by our hosts: La Gallant Vert, a Michelin-rated restaurant with excellent service, except for the sommelier. He could see by my rudimentary French (Sarah, a first generation Dutch-American spoke fluent French; she had an ear for Russian and Chinese, too) that I was a young American woman whom he assumed had little experience with ordering wine, unaware that my French-speaking friend knew only the basics. I asserted my knowledge of vin to Sarah and told her what I'd pick if given the opportunity. We decided to see what the expert had to say. The sommelier returned, Sarah asked for his suggestion and voila! He recommended the same wine I had a 1978 white Bordeaux. Sarah couldn't stop laughing until she had to explain to the stoic gentleman my original choice. He left unamused.

By this point, I'd fallen in love with Paris yet I couldn't bring myself to pick up my bags and move there, too embarrassed to go without speaking commanding French. I did take several classes. Nevertheless, I didn't return again to Paris until seven years later, in route to a destination in Germany where I planned to teach English. In la belle cité I stayed at the same hotel my parents had discovered: L'Hotel Regina, a boutique hotel renowned for its locale across from the Tuileries Gardens and being home to the statue, Jean D'Arc. I loved the hotel with its warm staff. Later, I enjoyed a lovely home-style meal with a banker, whom I taught when in England, and his family. Since his wife didn't speak English, I mustered the courage to utter phrases which finally brought a smile to the woman's skeptical face.

With luck, I returned one more time, a decade later. As a teacher I had long vacations, which gave me breathing room to savor my travels. I flew into Paris, had a delightful cab ride with a driver who patiently bore my still unpolished French and returned to L'Hotel Regina (No longer an undiscovered and reasonably-priced accommodation. And, since this last trip it has been rated with five stars--too bad). After being promised a room with a view--yes, just like the movie I politely but firmly reminded the manager about my request--I received a new space where I opened my shutters to a diagonal view of the nighttime sky lit by the synchronized lights on la tour Eiffel. Straight across from my window the Grand Roue or Ferris Wheel, a relatively new attraction added to the Jardin des Tuileries, tapped my child-like glee.

Traveling (see my video on YouTube: Around the World in 15 Years ) challenged me only on occasion when I felt isolated. Still, I rarely experienced loneliness in Paris or France for that matter. For my openness to French culture, its art, cuisine, books, music, and most importantly its mercurial people emanated from inside. The French in turn accepted me: my elementary language skills (at least I tried, I'm sure they reasoned), flair for simple and elegant fashion, love of their food, charming shops and the beaming smile I gave them whether they wanted it or not.

No need for me to explain this week why I have shared these stories or my passion for France. I will only end with this French expression, my mantra: Joie de vivre!

###

You'll find brief fictional references to the French and France in my books Shadowwater and Dark Sea www.shadowwater.net

WICKED

Photo by Martin Kahn

(In honor of All Hallows’ Eve and those spirits who are still with us)

WICKED

A wicked gale, 1841,

Took all souls, both old and young.

Among the shipwrecks off the Cape,

No sadder story leaves mouths agape.

Seven ships were swept like splintered trees as

Sailors fought the rising seas.

Fifty-seven lads left that cursed day,

From Truro Harbor through Cape Cod Bay.

With farewells to families and prayers of thanks,

To fish for cod along George’s Banks.

Headed nor ‘east at full sail,

The hopefuls met that dreaded gale.

Soundings dropped as winds blew wild,

And fear spread from man to child.

For closer their vessels approached the shoals,

Which cut their hulls with ripping rolls,

Nature took victims without remorse,

And most were lost who’d set the course.

Legend has it that on autumn nights,

Amidst Truro’s moors, below the heights,

Ghosts of sailors mourn their ghastly plight,

With frightful wails across the night.

So if you dare to brace that wicked wind,

You may hear cries of those doomed kin,

Brothers of the sea who dared to go,

Where others still venture and fight the foe.

NOTE: This poem is based in part on real events off Truro, MA in 1841 (Source: Provincetown Banner, June 28, 2009). The legend is fiction. Originally posted 10/15/13 Poetree Creations.

LIKE THE ABOVE? GO TO: www.shadowwater.net and discover original adventures,  Shadowwater & Dark Sea (Shadowwater II).

NO ONE IS IMMUNE: THE ART OF IMAGERY

As a child, reading challenged me. Few stories captured my heart and my mind as James Fenimore Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans. I know now that the visual interpretations crafted by N.C. Wyeth for the hardcover book  brought me into the epic (Alas, my copy disappeared). Debate continues as to whether Wyeth's work, and others such as Norman Rockwell's, is considered "art."

Being an active Tweeter, in a circuitous way another Tweeter asked me to compare Andy Warhol to John Singer Sargent (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, has a large collection of Sargent's paintings). The conversation led to a consensual conclusion that Andy Warhol changed the boundaries of "What is art?" in the sixties and seventies. Not to disparage Warhol's contributions, if his silk screens are now accepted as modern art, why do current art historians question N.C. Wyeth's distinctive, classic illustrations?

When the satirical magazine Charles Hebdo hit the news, I remembered my brother's copies of MAD Magazine and how much the visual artistry of the cartoonists stayed with me far beyond the captions. Maybe as a visual learner, pictures impressed me more than words. The humorous and sardonic imagery made an impact.

N.C. Wyeth's illustrations had the same effect. Look at the cover he did for The Last of the Mohicans: Chingachgook, father of Uncas, is featured.  Heartbreaking as I remember (SPOILER ALERT) Uncas’ death, as the fictional death of  a bloodline, a tribe, and the eventual demise of a people.

When illustrators’ work reaches into the soul of many, I argue we must put subjective tastes aside. Many will agree that art IS subjective but the cover above reaches beyond the individual. And if a drawing, painting, photograph; an illustration or even street art awakens our numbed senses, deadened by over-stimulation via technology, then the work should be elevated to the status of art. Any hand-made, hand-captured image which makes a community stop and think has more value than any masterpiece hanging in a museum. Awakening the sleeping public is priceless.

It’s been often said that great writers paint pictures with their words. Powerful speakers do the same. For in the end, visual imagery which underscores historical, contemporary and personal events lingers in our consciousness.

WATERCOLOR SEA

(Copyright 2012 Wendy Shreve)

Teal, aqua, sky blue,

Seafoam, emerald, wisteria green,

Tawny, sienna, chocolate brown,

Mauve, lavender, lilac purple;

Intermixing as colors in nature do,

Sparkling with sunlight and misty hues;

Raging, dark, infinite depths,

Sometimes shallow, polluted; imposing deaths;

Watching myriad-colored fish amid tidal pools in the sea,

Water reflects eternal wisdom: all colors are equal; all living things are free.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED (Originally published 2013)

PLEASE GO TO: www.shadowwater.net for more information on my books, SHADOWWATER & DARK SEA.

MARS & WATER: Edgar Rice Burroughs and Percival Lowell

If you're anticipating a blog about Tarzan of the Apes, you'll have to look elsewhere. This commentary will explore the once popular serial by Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars (titled in the 2012 movie John Carter) the first book in Burroughs' Barsoom Series. Why is the popular American author and his fiction relevant? Because Burroughs' associates, scientists of his time, predicted that Mars has water.

A Princess of Mars, set in the 1870s, depicts the red planet dying after once being covered by oceans. The remaining water has receded and disappeared to a point where rival societies fight over water rights. And, an American, John Carter, is accidentally transported to Mars to become a respected hero in this strange, new world. (Wikipedia)

Burroughs learned that lauded astronomer Percival Lowell, discoverer of Pluto, believed that Mars had once been alive with living organisms millions of years ago and had become a dying planet with only water remaining at the polar ice caps. Lowell wrote Mars in 1895. Edgar Rice Burroughs read the publication but didn't directly borrow the scientist's detailed theories, though the author did adopt Lowell's basic premises.

If you skipped Disney's John Carter, I recommend going back and watching it or reading Burroughs' A Princess of Mars (the first book in the Barsoom Series). You will be astonished at Burroughs's depiction of a place not unlike our southwest--where the story begins--and what Mars could have been, fantasy elements aside, in its ability to sustain life.

To conclude, the recent discovery of "water" on Mars by NASA scientists could be the keystone to unlocking secrets long hidden by the cold red soil of a planet once considered dead by real-life scientists but never by Percival Lowell or his sci-fi interpreter Edgar Rice Burroughs.

WHAT'S ALL THE FUSS ABOUT? CLIMATE CHANGE REVISTED

(Wrote this draft January 1, 2015)

Went to a discussion three weeks ago on climate change, a follow-up to a sermon given by a minister that day at a local church. I participated because I walked in the People's Climate March in New York City. The speaker commented that climate change encompassed all the world's problems but didn't elaborate on that grandiose statement. Eventually, a woman, ninety years old with lots of moxie, asked how could it be that climate change is tied to all the world's problems? He replied with brief examples--he had to leave for another commitment--including hotter climates producing hotter tempers, devastating floods, and so on. However, the woman's question has resonated since that discussion.

CRYSTAL LAKE
(During drought, Summer 2013)

Informed, long-term followers know two critical points: that scientists have warned of climate change long before our current crisis. And, science fiction predicted scientific fact (a topic I mentioned in an earlier blog). What weakens the controversy is how, like an extended outline for a research paper, the subheadings, i.e. direct and indirect effects of climate change have been overlooked. To simply my premise, I will list these consequences, in random order, and then provide my observations about some of these current/future effects.

1.     Housing

2.     Jobs

3.     Income

4.     Health

5.     Discrimination

6.     Poverty

7.     Global conflict/International relations

8.     Displaced refugees

9.     Censorship

10. Security

Of course, the above represent a short list of the immediate challenges our changing weather patterns have produced, will produce. Moreover, each could be a topic for a scholar's dissertation. To address these challenges with an academic's eyes, however, would be for naught. Most politicians have ignored scientists' warnings for years, and scientific data goes over their heads. And, for anyone in our global community who works just to survive, the list above means little until we look at real world, concrete examples that will forever change their lives.

Think about this: the population of the Maldives (an island group, south-west of India in the Indian Ocean) is @345,000 people. Within our lifetime, their lifetimes the islands will be swept away by rising seas. Where will they re-locate? How will these refugees be sheltered, fed, given opportunities for work?

Americans know from Super Storm Sandy that thousands lost their homes in New Jersey, Staten Island and elsewhere. The cost to rebuild skyrocketed as some businesses saw their chance to capitalize on the disaster. Flood insurance rose significantly not only there, but along the eastern seaboard. Many first homeowners who've lived their lives and worked their trade along the coastline will be unable to return.

Already illnesses related to increasing temperatures will only worsen as pollutants percolate in the already thickening smog from local industries. Nuclear plant run-off, depleting or threatened aquifers, and agricultural run-off will threaten water supplies. Steep increases in respiratory-related illnesses, such as asthma, allergies, chronic diseases, as with Lyme, have and will continue to rise.

Yes, these examples have been highlighted; nevertheless, Congress, the media, the power elite refuse to see the now short-term dangers of ignoring climate change. In fact, Congress just agreed to slash the EPA's budget when the agency had finally begun to make strides to reduce carbon emissions and other pollutants.

Climate change must be a major issue in upcoming presidential platforms. Let’s all contribute our voices to insuring politicos hear the call and continue to act on preserving our planet for generations to come.

HUBRIS: HUMAN NATURE HASN'T CHANGED

Wikipedia image of
Pentheus being torn apart by two of  The Bacchae

Euripides' Pentheus characterizes hubris in the classic Greek tragedy, The Bacchae. I've never considered the play to be sad only tragic, here's why.

Human beings, men and women, educated or not, continue to ignore their hubris--in simplified terms "pride." Whether they achieve greatness or not, humans instinctively believe that in the course of overwhelming obstacles they know what's best, even when told their tactics will eventually result in their demise.

No one is immune to hubris. This optimistic cynic has to tussle with her instinct to embrace cynicism and deny optimism on a daily basis. I'm sure I'm speaking in behalf of many people who face the same temptation. Politics, religion, medicine, environment and daily strife push us to the edge where we wish to raise our voices in anger and knock down the walls that keep us from living contented lives. And that's the problem: our pride, and modern media, lead us to believe we deserve to live an easier life especially as we age, an idyllic existence.

Pentheus, Euripides protagonist, sees the world as his manufactured oyster. Self-delusion also haunts Pentheus. He wants to taste the bitterness (war) and ignore the sweetness (love). Yet, anyone who lives near fresh oyster beds and gets to slurp the delectable bi-valve knows that oysters come in a wide variety to tempt the palate, degrees of sweetness to bitterness. Here on Cape Cod, the prized Wellfleet oysters taste differently depending on where they've been cultivated. If you attend Oysterfest, a yearly October tradition in Wellfleet, and sample oysters offered by different shellfishermen (and women) you will indeed taste the differences. No one can guarantee that their oyster will satisfy you. And that's the rub.

The Cape, and much of New England, sometimes reminds me of the Old West. Long time Yankees (not the team, this is Red Sox nation) "pride" themselves on being rugged individuals who can stand on their own and live their lives without depending on others. A sense of community does exist, sprinkled here and there, men and women willing to give back and help those in need. Yet, like the lone protagonists we find shouting out their defiance, especially on the national political stage, we have individuals here who strut their self-reliance and how they don't need anyone. These humans' overconfidence have undermined not only their own existence but also their family's, friend's and so on. How can this be?

Yes, free spirits have floated around since the rise of homo sapiens. From the ones that we know of in history made significant contributions, Alexander Humboldt or Emily Dickinson, to those who destroyed the people around them, Attila the Hun or Benito Mussolini. Whether they be past presidents or subsequent global leaders, if these men or women are unable to listen to others, to hear the voices of their people or in a micro example, heed advice from loved ones, especially when their world is falling apart, then their self-destruction will affect everyone around them.

Euripides, warns us in the The Bacchae I. 480:  “Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish." Or it's variant translation (which I prefer):  "To the fool, he who speaks wisdom will sound foolish."

Life for any human being will never satisfy regularly. The misconception that wealth, power, fame will solve our own fallacies continues to assert itself in our precarious world. And if, like Pentheus, we believe that we can prevail on our own without help from others or we can be citizens of the world without contributing to its future, its community, we too will be ripped apart by our own hubris.

MY FRIEND THE "KEEPER"

On Cape Cod, we have beekeepers, pond keepers (e.g. Orleans Pond Coalition), gardeners, nature volunteers and climate activists. And then there's my friend who does all those activities and more. Older than I, though most wouldn't believe it, with endless energy; determination, she commands your attention with quiet gravity but smiles with grace. Also, in today's jargon, she'd be called an ambivert.

B.'s also a wife, mother and grandmother. I get to see B.'s family on special occasions. Needless to say, she's garnered enormous respect from her children and their spouses; squeals of joy from the grandchildren.

Illinois Indian roots along with northern European: long, razor-straight dark hair, now sprinkled with salt; sharp eyes that open wide with defiance when challenged, there's no question that my friend has strong opinions. She occasionally adopts strays like her blind, arthritic mutt that sounds the alarm when visitors enter the house, yet calms quickly when he detects a friendly presence, and humans like me who don't fit society's mold but bring curiosity to the table.

More so, my friend has artistic precision. Her woven rugs (see above) and tapestries demonstrate fine attention to detail without clutter and great sense of color. This woman dresses in clothes that understate her personality and do away with fanciful accessories. Although she does accessorize, minimally, she saves her energy for her commanding personality and creativity.

Of all her interests, I'll call her B. to maintain her anonymity, something she'd want I'm sure, B.'s love of beekeeping mesmerizes me. How does one decide to take on such a challenge? After attending a workshop, B. became interested in preserving nature's pollinator's, particularly after learning about honeybees dying off in droves. Ever the nature-preserver, B. became a beekeeper. Clearly, to me at least, a hobby she has undertaken with inner calm and careful authority. Like a queen bee, no setback will deter B. from maintaining her colony.

Yes, B. can be a taskmaster: questioning, sometimes simple responses--a reporter fact-checking her source's story. Exacting standards sometimes bow even the normally unflappable, though her wanting perfection doesn't mean others will achieve it.

With that said, having a friend one can rely on to listen, do and act, if available, demonstrates an ability few people will embrace these days. As friends go, B. is a "keeper."

For a description of more of B.'s tapestries, read my book DARK SEA (Shadowwater II). www.shadowwater.net

PURPLE FLAG WARNING

When potentially dangerous ocean animals have been spotted, you'll see a dark blue or purple flag. These flags fly either on their own or with other colored flags. If you see a blue or purple flag, but the water is not closed to swimming, use extreme caution and keep a close watch for dangerous animals. (USA TODAY)

(Google Image)

A hidden, life-long goal had been to relocate to Cape Cod. I didn't come close until Summer 2002. Moved here permanently in 2007 and have felt lucky. Living near the sea has brought magic into my life that I never thought possible. Yet, there's always a "but," isn't there?

Walking Nauset Beach and watching seals popping their heads up to catch a breath and get their bearings delighted me, though my head told me the playful pinnipeds were eating all the fish, affecting recreational and commercial fishing. My heart savored every moment. Then, an ever-increasing threat, once a concern in other parts of the world has since been acknowledged here: climate change. I heard your groans and moans as you read those words. Today's blog will be more anecdotal than evangelical.

This time, I will focus on how climate change has affected my lifestyle and that of others who love to frolic in the waters off of Nauset Beach. Planet Earth is a living organism which, like shifting sands, changes at a moment's notice. Human beings have precipitated changes and we have to live with that. Still, beauty abounds even among danger and chaos, at least that's what I tell myself. My point? Sharks have invaded the Atlantic coast, off Cape Cod. At first, I joined the ranks of the curious. For example, Mary Lee and Katherine, regular visitors, have been tagged and studied by Atlantic White Shark Conservatory and Greg Skomal, PhD. Occasional visits by threatened Great Whites seemed fanciful and necessary to cull the overpopulated seals which, like me, had decided to move to Cape Cod. 

I'd forgotten why seals came here, however. The Atlantic Ocean temps have warmed, bringing sea-life not seen off Cape Cod and not in such record numbers. Well, nature has a way of restoring balance, so more and more Great White sharks have discovered their cornucopia. Damn. Purple flags, as described above, have been posted regularly at Nauset and other coastal beaches. One of the efficient predators was spotted in Nauset Inlet recently. That's right an inlet!

Left-side brain in charge: I'll approach the Great White shark phenom with a rational observation. The more sharks, the fewer seals, and more fish for our struggling commercial fishing industry. We who live on the Cape, especially those whose ancestors came here and our indigenous peoples, settled here because of the ocean's bounty. A way of life has been saved, right? Well, temporarily, but organisms must adapt to survive and based on predictions from the global scientific community, more drastic change will come. Besides, shark attacks are rare.

Right-side brain banging: no one would dare swim when purple flags have been posted. News and social media show people standing by the water's edge, waves brushing their toes, eyes looking out to sea wondering when they will be able to return. Overreaction? Not when last reported twenty-three Great White sharks have been seen trolling the coastline for seals, fish and a nibble of a bitter-tasting human. No longer being able to swim in the waters that my family and friends swam in cuts to the bone. Uh, unfortunate idiom, makes a point though. Thus, nostalgia has been wiped away by pre-historic predators. I feel for children, families that can't swim regularly off our coastal beaches. They at least have the Bay beaches (Cape Cod Bay and Nantucket Bay). 

Ironic. In my case, health issues--potentially caused by climate change (see earlier blog, dated 2/9/15)--keep me from stepping foot in the ocean. Feeling sorry for myself won't fix the problem for others. Therefore, I'll finish with these comments. I will take the changing marine environment as an opportunity to observe, to retain and then use the material for my writing. After all, human beings are animals, and like other species we must adapt.

Fascinated by the sea? Cape Cod life? Read my Shadowwater books. Details: www.shadowwater.net

"TRUMP L'OEIL" - DONALD TRUMP REDUX

First, apologies to mes amis français, art historians and those devotees of trompe l'oeil, the phrase meaning "to deceive the eye," for the above. Second, I'm a native New Yorker who grew up reading and hearing about, and finally seeing Donald Trump ever-present in the media. Also, I grew up in Cornwall, NY, important because the "on-the-Hudson" part of the town is home to the New York Military Academy, Donald Trump's alma mater. Last, I'm astounded how many people have forgotten that Trump has been and always will be a salesman or, in more basic terms, a shyster.

"To hell with the truth! As the history of the world proves, the truth has no bearing on anything. It's irrelevant and immaterial, as the lawyers say. The lie of a pipe dream is what gives life to the whole misbegotten mad lot of us, drunk or sober," spoken by Larry, a character in Eugene O'Neill's The Iceman Cometh.

Moreover, Hickey, the loudmouth salesman in the play enthralls his boozin' buddies with dreams of a better tomorrow. By the end of Act One, even the audience has been dazzled. However, like life, Act Two reveals what's beneath Hickey's propaganda. The result? All are deflated, including playgoers, and become silent with disbelief.

Donald Trump makes a great pitch but does he deliver? Trump has those qualities which, if O'Neill were alive, the playwright would recognize and probably put on paper. Donald Trump, the real estate mogul sweeps his audience away with clear talkin' platitudes. How quickly followers have forgotten Donald's foray into reality television with, The Apprentice. He and the show's producers convincingly bamboozled viewers into believing that show had real people, unscripted and undirected. However the devilish Omarosa later revealed otherwise: she displayed a much softer side, so much so the great, late actor Michael Clarke Duncan asked her to marry him. Known for his gentle, kind nature it's unlikely Duncan would fall for a she-devil. Still, the illusion continued. The Apprentice became the focal point for Donald Trump's larger-than-life personality and not a revelation of his real character.

Trump's outrage and nanosecond reactions, now seen on the political stage, do reveal his inability to stop, think and make rationale arguments for or against particular issues. Reactionaries rarely make effective leaders. Demonstrated in Trump's business practices, many in-the-know have reported that allegedly turn-over among Trump's staff rival Leona Helmsley's. As his empire grew, stories about Trump's ruthless management style have often seen in New York dailies.

We can't dispute that Trump knows what he wants and talks to the people without flourishes or stilted language. Qualities which helped him build his wealth and seen among many New York real estate moguls and brokers, too. These pitch-people have the street smarts and sales language to convince the most incredulous buyer to invest in properties. Hence, the major building boom which has attracted wealthy investors, many of whom rarely use their residences, and has pushed out regular workers from Manhattan properties.

And, like this picture, Trump has mastered the art of deception:

"Time is Money" by Gayle B. Tate (via Google Images)

Trump believes the hoopla which he speaks, making his fans believe in him. We can't dismiss an artist who creates convincing illusions, but we can look beneath the showmanship and see a candidate whose platform or stage lacks a solid foundation. Donald Trump's success has been giving his audience what they want to hear--as Hickey did in The Iceman Cometh, only to show his flaws when pushed to desperation. Lesson learned? Too dangerous to risk, enabling false idols such as a fictional character or a reality-show star.

I know you become such a coward that you'll grab at any lousy excuse to get out of killing your pipe dreams. And yet, as I've told you over and over, it's exactly those damned tomorrow dreams which keep you from making peace with yourself. So you've got to kill them like I did. (Hickey, Act III, The Iceman Cometh)

CORMORANTS UNDER ATTACK

Read my books and you'll find occasional references to tall, streamlined black birds which dive into and swim in the sea like Olympic athletes: their long beaks, spears that cut through the water as a chef's sharp knife through fish fillets, and their shiny wings stretch out like a lady's fan to dry. Cormorants often catch my attention when near their habitats: either off the shores or inland, where they congregate in large flocks.

If you look at my website, you'll see this pic above of the sophisticated "fishermen" along a Provincetown jetty. I took this shot as we "whale watchers" motored out of the harbor toward Stellwagen Bank in a large vessel. Most passengers were as oblivious to the seabirds as the double-crested cormorants were toward the human hordes dwelling on the decks.

The intended picturesque description above, a nod to my next book in the Shadowwater series, explains my admiration for these birds but, sadly, others don't share this fondness. Like their land-dwelling cohorts the common crow, cormorants have received a bad rap.

Many moons ago, NSTAR, now named Eversource, our electric utility on Cape Cod, decided to place towers on the north and south sides of Cedar Pond in Orleans, MA. Through the towers, the utility then threaded power lines on which cormorant flocks perch seasonally, from April through September. The avian multitudes' guano, however, has polluted the pond with nitrogen and phosphorus, creating algae blooms. Articles and editorials in The Cape Cod Times and other local papers that decried the deluge resulted in Eversource refusing to move or bury the power lines--too expensive--and the Orleans asking the USDA to come in to assess the situation. The department's solution? Shoot noisy rockets, or what officials euphemistically call "pyrotechnics" across the pond to scare away the offending cormorants. In fairness, the USDA had used this technique to frighten cormorants with some success. (www.capecodtoday.com )

Problem: cormorants knew better this time. They either left and returned in tentative waves of smaller flocks or moved to a nearby pond with power lines, Depot Pond. Meantime on top of the electrical towers, ospreys had nested, evidently ignored by the local officials and federal agency, for a friend discovered a dead osprey juvenile alongside the pond. I also read that a truck had been allegedly hit by a rocket but the driver not injured (Cape Cod Times, August 2014).

Now, I support the Orleans Pond Coalition and their fight to keep our town ponds clean. In addition, I can see the Orleans town officials' viewpoint by working out a solution that would be cost effective, expedient as well as harmless, in theory.

However, the basic problem has been overlooked: the utility placed the power lines, without considering the entire environmental impact. Moreover, the town's leaders didn't intervene at that time to raise objections--if there were protests they haven't been cited in recent reports--to the power lines. Now it appears the once endangered species, the osprey, have paid the price.

Scare tactics don't justify the end. Only accepting responsibility and correcting mistakes made in the beginning will solve the problem. And yet, the cormorants have been bullied but not beaten. Cormorants will return or move on but will always be here--at least I hope so.

NOTE: I chose not to submit this article as an editorial to local papers because I had an opinion piece published two weeks ago.

My passion extends to my books. Please check out: www.shadowwater.net for more information. Thanks!

HAPPENSTANCE & THE LOSS OF A LEGEND

Learned recently that Tony Stezko, Jr., a legend not just among those who follow fishing, but also as an Orleans fixture at Nauset Beach, had died in March. Surreal as Facebook still had Tony posted on my page as a "friend," including IM. As reported recently in the news, Facebook doesn't remove a user's account if the person has died. They assume a family member or friend will discontinue the account. In Tony's case, I'd like to believe that the person or persons chose to leave Tony Stezko's page open for others to post their condolences or stories, which they have. Readers may ask why didn't I know Tony had died through social media, the local papers or his Facebook page. No one posted a story via his site and I missed the announcement in the local papers about his death. Discovering therefore Tony Stezko had died, via a woman I hardly knew on a trip to Boston, floored me.

If I mentioned Tony mainly practiced catch and release, would you dismiss his past-time as being uneventful? Well, besides reading an earlier blog post of mine (FISHING REDUX, 6/23/14) which extols the joy of fishing, you might be interested in knowing that in the fishing world, and I mean the global community, Tony Stezko was and is a legend. He had a talent (holding the World Record at one point) for catching the largest, by weight, striped bass.

Why would someone whom I coincidently had met near his favorite saltwater fishing spot, Nauset Spit (Nauset Beach, Orleans), leave a sorrowful residue as I reflect upon his death? First, I have to credit my boyfriend for sparking the conversation about the best places to fish off Nauset. Neither of us had any idea that the man standing beside us with his clamming rake and bucket was an experienced caster, let alone renowned.

However, those reasons alone don't account for my sadness at his passing. After a brief conversation, he asked that my boyfriend--a fellow, passionate fisherman-- and I "friend" him on Facebook, leaving us struck by Tony's willingness to share. I would later take on the responsibility to befriend Tony as I follow social media, my boyfriend doesn't. Remarkably, Tony's few posts involved his family and friends, not, endless pics of his catches. I did IM Tony occasionally and as expected heard from him in a month or so. He didn't have ulterior motives--he had shared with us he had a girlfriend--he only wanted to answer questions about fishing

No, that day on the beach when I met Tony Stezko, his life-force struck me like a rogue wave breaking over me and catching me unawares. Affable, animated, genuine and generous, I couldn't stop listening to his stories and expertise. Like many notables, I have since heard about his vices and weaknesses which may have led to his untimely death at sixty-four (official cause: pneumonia after a long stretch in Cape Cod Hospital). Yes, a human elevated to legendary status for his passion, not necessarily for his personal behavior. That said, his pride when Tony spoke to us about his son, relatives that day on Nauset spit relayed Tony's endearing love for family.

As a writer, I wrestle with incorporating quirky characteristics Tony displayed and/or his tips about using lures, bait and other priceless information he imparted to my boyfriend about catching his prized stripers. Too soon, I think. Tony Stezko, Jr. died in March 2015. I have only had days to process the belated news. Then, I recall why I admired him. What made him different. He included me in his conversation as much as my boyfriend. I held equal weight, though fatigue had slowed me down and he noticed immediately I needed to sit, which I did. A keen observer, Tony Stetzko demonstrated a trait inherent to the best fishermen, and a skill any author would admire.

CRYSTAL CLEAR MEMORIES OF BELOVED LAKE - OPINION

LINK to article below: http://capecod.wickedlocal.com/article/20150803/NEWS/150809500

Via Orleans Pond Coalition

ORAL TRADITION RENEWED--WITH ONE CATCH

Attending live readings of books and/or poetry here on Cape Cod brings me back to the days when adults were able to sit still and listen for more than fifteen minutes. Last night when I went to a similar event in Brewster to deliver a reading, I re-discovered why that evening worked whereas other readings seldom do.

Delivery: any comedian will tell you the material has to be good, the timing better. Having coached students and business people on how to do presentations, I learned that preparation means not only practicing your copy in order to give oneself moments to make eye contact with the audience and to project the voice, but also how to perform. Whenever I've seen stories spoken by Native Americans in person or on the screen, I've been struck by the storyteller's cadence, mesmerized by their voice, their rhythm; their eyes.

The Greek poet, Homer, wrote his verse, The Iliad and The Odyssey, to be spoken, as were, centuries later, Shakespeare's plays. What did these performers have in common with past and present Native American storytellers? They expressed words as if they were using their voices to paint a canvas. They chose to be heard and seen.

In the setting of an intimate reading, however, some poets and writers don't feel obligated to "sing" their poetry or perform passages from books--a mistake.

Being a film fan, I've often been asked why more accomplished actors have come from England, and more recently Australia, than in the U.S. I respond the performers have been trained in the oral tradition, whether it be theatre, more often than not, or schools where the actors had to deliver speeches in class from a very early age or drama clubs. Even some of our country's acclaimed actors: Meryl Streep, Denzel Washington, Tom Hanks, Robin Williams, etc. started their careers in acting schools, theatre or improv. When I've heard these actors perform dialogue, I've never thought to myself: I wish he or she would speak more clearly. Or, they're saying the words but nothing comes out. My latter point being, speaking the written word cannot be equated with performing it.
On the Pulse of the Morning, at former President Bill Clinton's inaugural, she left her audience breathless. An actress, poet and writer, Angelou knew her audience. She showed when done with passion, reading a poem aloud will get listeners' attention.

Poets write for themselves; they share with the world their inner hearts and thoughts. Writers often also bare their souls as well as entertain. In a public forum, we mustn't forget an audience wants to listen, though only if we go beyond the paper and speak images. Animation or drama in the register of the voice or the expression of the eyes brings the audience into the picture.

BIRDS & A FEATHER: INSIDE THIS AUTHOR'S HEAD

 

Copyright 2015 Wendy Shreve

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

In my Shadowwater series, land and seabirds play a central role in the books. Yes, I love birds and like other nature admirers I think "Ahhh..." when I see a mother barn swallow feeding her young (video above). Yet, how often does the average bird-observer stop to watch the many battles which ensue between similar and disparate avian species?

When I find a feather on the ground, I not only ask myself from which bird did the feather fall but also, why? Often I can't answer the second question unless I've seen the action myself. The confrontations, particularly between smaller birds and larger ones, fascinate, to the point where I'll be that passenger in a car who'd yell,"Did you see that?" I'll have seen two or more sparrows chasing off a crow, e.g. Friends say that with my eagle eyes, forgive the unintentional alliterative pun, I can spot and identify several species within seconds of espying them at long distances. 

I've kept a secret well-hidden until today: I'm not an amateur or professional bird watcher. Don't wish to be. Others may savor walking around our tick-infested woods, binoculars slung around their necks and ears on the ready to hear a distinctive, high-pitched bird song. Aural identification will never be a preference. And binocular technique is for quickdraws.

No, whether sitting on a bench or running neighborhood errands I use built-in long distance vision, a.k.a. my eyes. In my books, many avian events either in descriptive narrative or discussed by characters are based on empirical observation. Of course, imagination comes into play when writing certain scenes--the paranormal element can go either way--but I try to stay as authentic as possible, including the disturbing moment I recounted in last week's post. I had actually seen the crow's brutal death and received corroboration via phone from a friend who looked up the raptor to confirm its identity. Then, I remind myself I write preternatural fiction.

When you watch a seagull hovering over a bay because it has noticed a tiny ripple on the surface, a sign dinner may be ready to be plucked, think about the drama that's about to play out; put yourself in the role of the predator and/or the prey. And if you find a feather on the ground, don't assume the bird has shed the feather--for a writer that quill becomes the instrument to a world of possibilities.

Others had their eyes on the whale ( I do love Humpbacks)
but I couldn't ignore the seagull feeding frenzy.
{Copyright 2015 Wendy Shreve}

Want more? For an author bio, more about my stories and reviews go to: www.shadowwater.net Or, buy books, Shadowwater & Dark Sea, Shadowwater II at your local indie bookstore. Also available via Amazon, Barnes&Noble, Smashwords or other on-line retail providers.

EXCLUSIVE: Excerpt from DARK SEA, Shadowwater II

The following provides clues to my third book in the Shadowwater series (draft in process):

(Photo: Wendy Shreve)

"He couldn’t see through the foggy haze until the curtain of mist flew open to reveal his darkest fear: The crow sat with one eye open as the sun rose along the eastern horizon. His comrades, branches away, were separated into groups: those who had families to care for, or singles, like himself who served as sentinels. And then the ruckus began, a wave of warning calls coming closer and closer to him. A juvenile on the verge of becoming an adult, this crow had allowed itself to be distracted—by an attractive beauty shining in the sun—and as the crow felt it had lost its ability to fly, he discovered why. A sea hawk—though an observer wouldn't have been able to clearly identify the bird—had the poor victim in its clutches, diving rapidly to the ground underneath a parked RV which offered a comfortable hiding spot from the on-comers.

Hoards of the young bird’s friends had begun diving down toward the eagle, waves of fighters trying to get the eagle’s attention. A cacophony, which had awakened the radius of birds and some humans, had been incessant. However, this raptor had been too smart. Still the hawk kept the crow under its strong talons as the juvenile struggled to free himself. When the din of his friends died down, the crow knew he would be dead soon. As the raptor began pulling away the crow’s tufts of feather from its chest and pulling out its entrails, the eagle cried out in triumph. As the dying crow gave up its last breath the hawk turned into an osprey—with green eyes.

Cal awoke, sweat covering his body, as he noticed his dream catcher had fallen from its hooks. He took several deep breaths and steadied his nerves before getting out of the bed. Often, in his dreams, Cal could reach out to his uncle or Spirit Chief when he had been troubled or disturbed. Sure enough, he heard a knock on his door. Welcoming him in, Cal saw that Spirit Chief’s silver hair had begun to turn white. The tall, commanding man, however, still retained mesmerizing eyes and an indomitable character." (Copyright 2014 Wendy Shreve/ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)

DEAD CROW (pantherpro-webdesign.com)

DARK SEA, Shadowwater II available in paperback and e-book. Follow link: www.shadowwater.net for more information.

HOLIDAY WEEKEND? WRITERS NEVER STOP

A misconception regarding writers is we have loads of free time, take breaks for holidays and have an easy life. Bullocks! Half the creative process involves observing, listening, reflecting, note-taking and constructing, even before we put our thoughts on paper (and part-time jobs).

This weekend, I will continue blogging about my book and post more photos that have sparked my imagination. Let me share an excerpt from my newest book in the SHADOWWATER SERIES (title to be determined), and accompanying images which sparked my imagination, hence this scene:

She could smell the heat. The dense, dewy moisture brushed her nostrils as she inhaled. The crescent moon, close enough to catch but not bright enough to light her way.The feline ignored the shadows, as did the human walking beside her, both imperceptible, flanked by tall grasses and planted bushes, palm trees.

Google Image - Belize at Night

Google Image*

Google Image - IntrepidReporter - Mayan Woman

*READ MY POST: "THE CAT: A Night in the Tropics" (October 2014) regarding my imaginary, though always possible, encounter with a jaguar in Belize. Watch YouTube visual presentation of "Around the World in 15 Years for more about other encounters in Belize." https://youtu.be/RaYwJm9Cz5I

FOR MORE ABOUT MY SHADOWWATER BOOKS: go to www.shadowwater.net

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

VISUAL BLOG: SHADOWWATER REFLECTIONS

This week I want to showcase the backdrop to my Shadowwater books. 

As one critic put it: "Shadowwater draws its readers into the magical world that is Cape Cod." (San Diego Book Review). 

And another: "The tale [Dark Sea: Shadowwater II] encompasses treasure, boats, spells, shark attacks, impending casinos, medicine wheels, the legendary Puma of Pamet and Cape nature. It’s make-believe, fantasy, as the author places a different colored lens over reality (giving herself liberty to do so by a chapter heading quote from Black Elk)." (Barnstable Patriot)

SEE FOR YOURSELF, THE MAGIC THAT IS CAPE COD:

FEEDING FRENZY

SWEEPING SURGE (Nor'easter)

THE CALM

Cal with his surfboard?

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Go to: www.shadowwater.net for more information on my books.