GRENDEL AND ME (January '09)

Bernie Moore

Zzzzzz...

I was talking to Grendel the other day, and he expressed disappointment that we have not dragged in a Christmas tree to watch in its final throes of decay and degradation.

“Boss,” he said, “I really miss the glitz of the tree.” Even though I’m basically colorblind, I do like the twinkling and sparkling. Reminds me of the gleam of a mousie’s eye trembling in a corner.”

“Your talking through your hat,” I replied, “There has never been a mouse in this house.”

“Just doing my job,” he smirked. He had me there. I know he’s active at night, else why does he sleep all day? Still, I’ve never seen any spare mouse parts rotting about.

“Not a creature was stirring, not even…you get the drift?” Continuing his smugness.

“Yes, yes, but still no tree. It’s too much work. Especially vacuuming broken ornaments under the tree.”

“Boss, I have no idea how that happens.”

How a cat can lie with a straight face!

By now his eyes were drooping and soon he was fast asleep, ass over teakettle.

Well there I was, thinking about Christmas and not all too happy about not being able to find the box of Christmas cards I bought to house the gift cards I dispatch every year, because I am one of the world’s worst gift selectors. You know the cards with scenes of Past Christmases that not one of us has ever known. Sleighs and fireplaces and ten room houses on no less than ten acres reminiscent of the time Sears and Roebuck and Industrialism and that bastard Dickens conspired to convert Christ’s birthday into the centerpiece of the gross national product.

My wife is frustrated about gifting me, as the scuba gear I have is carefully selected and then reselected as safety advances through our product inventory. The chances of her hitting on the perfect gift are remote. So I guess it is among many of us; if you’re not a diver, it’s hard to buy for a diver. So I guess it is with skydivers. Used chute; plenty of jumps left in this old baby. Opening bid $1. Of course there is the old
give me a list option, but I have always balked at that. There have been a few surprise gifts in my lifetime where someone got me what I didn’t even know I wanted. The sheer delight of someone else getting ahead of me in my own mind

is a rare and delicious experience. And even more so when you can pull it off on someone else.

Rare.

So rare. Like having a French Angelfish swim into your focal plane just as you snap the shutter leaving you with a full frame, sharp, head on portrait. Like finding a massive cancellation on a luxury dive cruise leaves you and three others the sole divers on a weeklong voyage. Like finding a dozen twenties in you dive bag, left over from the last trip.

But the days are getting shorter. And darkness is creeping up inexorably, and I fear it will overwhelm us and drive us into oblivion where we will perish and stiffen for all the ages. This is serious business. We must bring back the light. So let us light fires, and candles, and lights, and dance and sing through the darkness. Make revelry and hope we are amusing enough to please the powers of darkness, so that we may be kept around for another season, another year.

Do not go gentle into that good night…

Rage, rage against the dying light

Thomas

And the triviality of gifts will pale to the joy of longer days and the promise of warmth. If there is one thing that New Englanders are, we’re long on optimism. The darkest day is temporary and only lasts but a single night. This piece is being clicked out on the eve of that day with the full knowledge that things will get better the day after tomorrow. With a foot of snow on the ground and another promised for tomorrow I am going to lug the golf clubs in for cleaning, have my regs serviced, check the hoses, the bladder on my BCD, change the battery in the dive computer, check the bottles for vis dates, so I’ll be ready when the first opportunity shows itself, and hope the wetsuit doesn’t shrink too much over the winter. Somehow a piece of dive gear in the hand in January is comforting; the offices of husbandry reassuring.

I have again sworn off going to Boston Sea Rovers and Beneath the Sea, but I know I will yield and head for them when the bell rings. Got to see the shiny new gear, the old faces, and the pics and videos that fuel the appetite, and make an appointment or two to paradise. With a little luck the air fares may go down.

Ah, that man’s reach should exceed his grasp,

Else what’s a heaven for.

Browning

GRENDEL AND ME February ‘o8

Bernie Moore

Pats Fan

I was talking to Grendel the other day, frankly looking for a bit of sympathy, since my beloved Pats came to within a fingernail of touching the moon, and I was emotionally a wreck, vacillating between disappointed and betrayed. I Monday morningized a dozen scenarios where fate could have been kinder to me over and over again.

Grendel, I reasoned, who has, like most cats, a very high emotional IQ (that is to say cats are sensitive to emotions around them) would certainly comfort me. But he was totally indifferent to my whiney misery. It must be, I reasoned, due to his not understanding the game and the roll devoted fans play in the big picture. So I set about rendering a tutorial that would enlighten him.

“Imagine a bunch of cats,” I started.

“What? A bunch? We’re not talking dogs here.” he glared. “Cats lead, never follow.”

“Well…just bear with me here for a moment. Just to get the concept!

“Bear?” he shuddered.

“Not that kind, relax.”

“Where is this bunch?”

“About a hundred miles, a place called Foxboro.”

“A hole full of Foxes?”

“Not that kind.”

“No matter; they’re small and don’t bother us; not like those damned Coyotes.”

“It’s just a place where men play football.

“Is that what you spend Sunday afternoons watching while you hoard the couch and drink that terrible smelling stuff and that salty food that makes me sick?”

“I don’t hog the couch!”

“Hog?”

“Hoard, then.”

“Yeah! I know what you mean. That’s where they take something about the size of a good cat and kick it, and stomp it, and jump on it, and throw it around. Yeah! nice game,” he snarled, his eyes narrowing to demonic slits.

“Don’t get ticked!”

“Ticks?

“Now, cut that out!”

It just goes to show you that we superior beings cannot explain the glory of getting upset about what a bunch of guys do on Sunday afternoons on “…Darkling plains, where ignorant armies clash by night.”

It wasn’t that long ago while such a contest was being waged, that I was drifting along the wall of a reef, camera in hand, peeking into the windows and crannies of tenants who were both curious and wary of me. They would nervously fin out for a closer peek and bolt back the next time I released a quart of bubbles.

Or later to approach a coffee table sized coral mound, and just settle into the sand, and wait for the “all clear” to sound, and the little community would resume its business: burrows to clean, nosey neighbors to fend off, food to catch, prance about to impress a mate. Each exhalation brought about a tic, a momentary check to see if anything critical was about.

Occasionally a large visitor finned by which put everyone on edge, but this too would pass and life returned to normal as the visitor settled onto the sand and yawned waiting for a good cleaning. In one small crevice I espied a large eyeball peering back at me. I couldn’t make sense of it until I realized that only an octopus would have such eye. As my own eyes studied him I began to recognize the various parts that he had camouflaged so well. Ah, but this was a dive for which I hadn’t properly connect my flash, so no record of this splendid encounter is extant.

“Why don’t you get an aquarium?” purred Grendel, his eyes narrowing and the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. “Since you like fish so much.”

“Forget it. You’d probably drown yourself in it.”

“Perhaps a small one?” this unctuously.

“No way. You’ll just have to be satisfied with expensive canned tuna.”

“Ahhh,” he sighed, “Where’s the thrill of the hunt?”

“Watch football; sublimate like me.”

As a matter of fact I’m having a tough time understanding watching sports football my self. What should I care what goes on a thousand miles away in Arizona with bunch of men I have never even met nor probably ever will.

Hereafter I resolve to do something more worthwhile with my time.

Still…

The Uconn Huskies won the last seven, and the ladies have only lost one all year.

GRENDEL AND ME (01/08)

Frustration

I was talking to Grendel the other day, which I might add was difficult as my objective was negotiating, and cats will have none of it. I wanted some rear window time to shoot pics of tweety birds, and squirrels on the rear deck, a place where he feels compelled to monitor at Homeland Security Level Orange. I had burned a lot of genius cells contriving a way to get the critters close enough for some portrait shots, but I hadn’t factored in 11 pounds of territorial pussy cat.

Here’s the plan.

My rear lower deck looks like the Rockefeller Center skating pond at Christmas just under the bird feeders hung from the upper deck. All manner of cute critters frequent the spot, some of which I would like to photograph. It would be simple enough to shoot through the thermo pane slider but that would add four surfaces of non photographic glass distortion and I have decided to be finicky on this project reflecting a desire to see what my overpriced lenses are really capable of.

Brilliant solution #1. Leave the slider open 6” and shoot through the opening.

Problem #1: Lying down and getting up from a prone position is difficult and painful.

Problem #2: While I’m in the prone position Grendel runs up my back, over my head, and over the camera and becomes a fugitive (our condo law) while frightening all the critters away.

Problem #3: The 6” opening in the slider becomes a turbo vortex and freezes the room in about 30 seconds.

Brilliant solution #2. Draw the vertical blinds and stick the lens through them.

Problem #1: Lying down and getting up from a prone position is difficult and painful.

Problem #2: While I’m in the prone position Grendel runs up my back, over my head, and over the camera and becomes a fugitive (our condo law) while frightening all the critters away.

Problem #3: The turbo vortex blows the fabric slats about frenetically, thus flailing me about the head and shoulders.

Brilliant solution # 3. To abandon the deck shots and shoot right at the bird feeder and block Grendel from another prison break, which I accomplished by getting a 6’ 1X6 #2 pine plank (hereafter known as the board) to block the space between the slider and the door frame. Combined with the partially drawn blinds things would be perfect.

Problem #1: Grendel protests being cut out of his view by parading back and forth between the blinds and the slider thus disturbing the critters.

` Problem #2: The shaky Rube Goldberg contraption I assembled to get me and the camera and the tripod high enough to clear the plank provoked Gail into warning me that she would rather kill me herself than have me break my neck in such a ridiculous contraption.

Brilliant Solution # 4. Propping my 1X6 board up with tome on ancient religions and returning to the prone position. The opening is too small for Grendel to bolt through, bur big enough for my lens to protrude.

Problem #1: For some reason the lower deck critters have gone directly to the bird feeder now and I can’t raise my lens to that angle.

Problem #2: By the time I remove the tome. Lower the board and poke the lens through the upper opening the critters are full and have gone and will not return until their afternoon feeding.

Some shots just aren’t worth it. Taking pictures underwater, following a rare critter, going for the perfect shot, can take our minds off the real objective of underwater activities: staying alive. I never thought it would happen to me, but once, diving the Blue Hole in Belize, I chased my viewfinder down to almost 150 feet, and thought my gages were whacko until I noticed everyone was way above me. I immediately reverted back to a diver, a frightened one at that, and started ascending slowly. On that dive I had a small pony, so I was able to do my safety stops and get back safely on my original tank with out too much concern. But, wouldn’t you know, those whacko gages registered 0 lbs. of air when I got back to the boat. Imagine that!

Grendel and Me 02/07

GRENDEL AND ME (02107)






I was talking to Grendel the other day, trying to get a sense of what I might get him for Valentine’s Day. I didn’t want to ask him directly, as I have always believed that if you have to ask you don’t know the cat well enough to be buying him anything anyway. Gifts are an acknowledgement of secrets between personalities, at least in the ideal. I know he has his heart set on a plump mourning dove that visits the bird feeder several times every day, but even though I love to watch predators, I believe they should never be assisted in their endeavors. While pondering this I was emailed from Amazon-you-know-who with the invitation, “Gifts from the Heart”.
“Hmmmm”, methunk, “This could be the answer.”
So I scrolled down and found nine categories: (1) For her, (2) for him, [“Oh, my stars and garters,” Thunked I, “They’ve done it all with only two categories, what on earth could follow?” wondered I], (3) Friends and Family, [Well, OK I guess, though I think that’s pushing it a bit. Isn’t Valentine’s supposed to have romantic overtones?] (4) Fresh flowers, [That seems like a little gender specific.] (5) Jewelry, [Difficult to imagine wearing anything but an octopus around my neck or anything other than a D ring. (6) Gourmet, [You know How we guys all like those little gourmet treats, especially when we have to pay for them.] (7) Love Stories, [What guy doesn’t like a good cry now and again?] (8) Mood Music, [Am I detecting a rise on one side of the playing field?] and finally (9) Romance on Film. I’m thinking “Apocalypse Now” isn’t going to show up on that list.
Daunted but ever optimistic I clicked on “For Him” to see what therein might yield. (These can be activated by clicking control and clicking on the url.)


Vera Wang For Men 1.7 oz Eau de Toilette Spray [A little Wang never hurt anybody.]
Intimo Men's Classic Silk Robe, Black, Medium [Goes well with our silk undies. Notice there is no large or extra large. No doubt they sold out!]
Rubbermaid Tough Tools 70320 56-Piece Portable Tool Case [Love the juxtaposition of “maid” and “tough”]
An Evening in Tuscany [fine wines and cheeses for the guys]
Logitech Harmony 880 Remote Control [One of the most explicit phallic toys I have seen in a while.]
Sling Media Slingbox PRO ( SB200-100 ) This is a little different. I even went to the description and couldn’t figure out what it is.]
The Melody At Night, With You [How much better the Scubabum’s trip would have been with this.]
~ Keith Jarrett
Molton Brown Re-Charge Black Pepper Bodywash [Purge that stench of neoprene. Probably a good substitute for “Sink-the-stink”.]
Acqua Di Gio By Giorgio Armani For Men. Eau De Toilette Spray 3.4 Ounces [Here I confess I don’t like scents that come in sizes smaller than a fifth.]
All Chocolate & Sweets Decadent Gift Tower - Gift Basket [How guys love to be told we’re sweet. It’s usually followed with a “but…”
Anthony Logistics Preshave Oil 2oz [Shave????]

Alas! I could find nothing for my emasculated feline companion. Not even surgery could bring him down this far, and it’s looking rather bleak for my dive buddies too. I’m going to keep my eyes open for fathers’ day though. I wonder if the same products will be offered.
Grendel, m’boy, looks like you’ll get a little extra tuna and a scratch behind the ear. After all, what could be better than that?

Grendel and Me 08/06

I was talking to Grendel the other day (not that he was in a talkative mood since my wife and I spent the weekend at a luxury spa, and he spent it confined to quarters with a stacked bowl of dry food and plenty of water). Anyway, back at the spa, being an early riser, I spent the early (like first light) morning disturbing the fitful dozing of the night crew with well-timed coughs as I approached their stations. I finally settled by a small table with a view of a well-manicured gardenscape complete with a waterfall and a lawn cut shorter than my fingernails.

“Grendel,” I said, which was all the motivation he needed to curl up into a feline ball, wrapping his splendid, bushy tail around any identifiable cat parts and rendering himself into an amorphous black shadow.

“You should have been with us.”

A small green slit appeared from within the darkness and slowly blacked out. Here I must point out Grendel’s aversion to automobiles. When confined to one he sets up a keening that would be the envy of any Greek widow. That’s why we can’t take him along.

“There was a great garden that you would have loved to hunt. One green slit opened and fixed on me. I had him hooked.

It was just beyond first light, and the darkness was being squeezed out of the sky, and I noticed a steady rain falling; not the gully washers of the day before but the light steady rain that in New England can go on for days without pause. Just enough to keep you indoors; just enough to render the great outdoors close and intimate. Gone the blue skies, distant clouds, hillsides; just the immediate world, which as I said earlier was a proper English-like garden. The leaves vibrated with the cadence of the rain and the sound came through the windows hushed and insulated.

On a blue sky day you look up and around; today you looked down into the immediate.

How well the gardener’s hand sculpted this little patch.

I cranked the window just a bit and the tiny waterfall swelled into the room with its calming rush across the rocks placed almost as carefully as wind chimes. I can sit like that for moments that defy measurement. OK in this setting but distressing to my wife at lusty highway speeds on the interstate.

The iridescent green slit began to seal, as Grendel started to zone, himself.

A couple of strokes across his well burnished head brought him back to the immediate, as the green slits popped into full almonds.

In a way it’s a lot like a coral reef.

“What!?” he intoned with a single raised eyebrow, “Is a coral reef?”

It’s like the garden I just described but with a lot of fish everywhere.

Grendel sat up and leaned forward, “A garden of little fishes? Just flopping around”?

“Well no. They are swimming in the water. The coral reef is underwater.”

“You go underwater?”

He was shocked.

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“We like to see things like that,” but I know I didn’t sound convincing to him.

“Hmmph,” he blew through his nose as he curled back up. He had a lot to think about.

But isn’t that the reason we go through all that trouble and expense?

It’s one thing to look at a picture, even a prize winning picture, but who can convey to a cat or even another person what lies beneath.

The panorama, the endless variations of coral and critters, color and form, size and shape, the ever changing kaleidoscope of the reefs call us back to gawk yet again at visions we were never designed to see, but have been fortunate enough to see through our technology.

In a week some of us will return to Curacao. Most of us burdened with various cameras, hoping perhaps for that magical picture that can convey to a non-diver what drives us to the far corners of the world. Millions of photos clutter the walls of the landlocked, and I have not yet seen the one that captures the feeling of hovering weightless in a world we have stolen as sure as Prometheus stole fire from the gods.

But what the hell, we gotta try.

“Zzzzzzz.” Grendel was on his back, fast asleep.

Grendel and Me (July '06)

I was talking to Grendel the other day. The weather was dismal, had been for several days, and we were starting to get cabin fever. Well, he was, because he’s the one who doesn’t want to get his lovely Turkish Angora coat wet and soppy.
“Appearance is everything,” he blinked, slurping an out of place tuft back into line.
Judging from the time he spends grooming I would think that one’s from the heart.
“Well, you need to get out…chase something…run around the front door with a mouth full of critter,” I advised. You’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a weight watcher’s elevator.”
“Please! Not those stupid cat metaphors,” he moaned rolling his eyes, and stretching his chin onto his forepaws, sighing audibly and looking ahead and not at me, as if thus ensconced he might encourage me to go away.
“How about a little catnip?” I asked. “You always enjoy that.”
“Occh! How can you suggest that when it’s not even noon, and you know that makes me sleepy.
“Just trying to help”
“How about the string toy”, he purred with very little conviction.
You mean the one where I run around the living room dragging a piece of string like an idiot, and you just sit there looking interested enough to keep me going?
The corner of his mouth curled up just a little bit, as he contemplated the imagery of that last remark.
“You do that more than Charlie Brown tries to kick that silly football,” he grinned.
“I don’t know where you got the idea that it is my mission in life to keep you amused,” I offered. “After all, …”
“Wait a minute!” his head levered up. “Who entertains whom? Who climbs into impossibly small boxes and plastic bags with only his tail sticking out so that you and Gail can yuk it up?” he blinked triumphantly, his ears pointed forward to catch my response which he had serious doubts were forthcoming.
I just stared at him. Drives him nuts.
“Well,” he went on, “Who plays soccer with those stupid Christmas nuts you’ve got stashed all around this place? That never fails to crack you up.”
“True,” I replied. “You got me there.”
“The point is,” I added, “You’re moping around complaining that you’re bored, and yet whenever I offer something to do there’s always something wrong with it.”
I gave him some serious eye-to-eye and he turned his head away. No response. Didn’t want to hear about it.
“You remind me of some of the dive club members,” pushing the point beyond reasonable limits for a cat’s patience, but the thought popped up because it makes an appearance every now and then.
Sometimes divers in the club complain that they don’t get enough wet time, but we never see them at one of our local group dives. This year we have a nice selection. Let me remind you:
1. Doggie dives monthly. Comes with a great lunch and socialization and compressed air. What more could you want?
2. July 21st : Night squid dive with Woody at Wetherill
3. August 26th : Nubble light dive in Maine with hosts K&L A great trip.
4. September 26th : Another Nubble light dive. If you went to the last one I doubt you’ll miss this one. “Get ‘er done!

The shore dives have a record of being easy and fun and great get-togethers.
I looked up and saw that Grendel was fast asleep. Nothing cures insomnia like a self righteous moralist.