Sunday, March 27, 2016

Trump, Honeybees, Climate Change

I’ve been trying to follow honeybees around my neighborhood, like some weird interspecies stalker. It isn’t as easy as it sounds.  I baited a small box with honey and sugar water, and I sit next to it impatiently, waiting for a bee to come.  When she does, I slam the box closed and keep her for 10 minutes while she fills up on the treats I’ve offered.  When I open the door, she flies out, zooms around for a minute to orient herself, and then, belly full, heads directly for home to share the bounty.  I watch and try get a compass bearing to learn where she lives.  I lose sight of her quickly, but I suspect she’s heading towards a neighbor’s house.  This isn’t surprising, because my neighbor is a beekeeper. 

It’s fun to do this catch-and-release bee game, at least for me.  I hope the bees are enjoying it too. I’m fine that they fly toward a tended hive.  But what would be really exciting is to find a feral hive in the woods.  This would contribute to the pool of hope in the world, or at least my world.  And what’s wrong with a little extra hope?  Because while this is going on in the bee world, the humans are toying with the idea of making Donald Trump the most powerful man on the planet.

The instructions for beelining, as my new hobby is called, say that after releasing a bee, wait for the same insect to return.  By timing how long it takes, you can get an indication of how far away the hive is.  

A few problems that I’m encountering:
  1. I can barely recognize my own children out of context, so to distinguish one bee from another is a bit of a reach.  The experts tag bees, but I’m not sure I could do that without harming her, and this isn’t real science; it’s not worth killing anyone over. 
  2. I can’t see very well.
  3. I have no idea how the time before her return equates to distance to her hive. 

But, I persist, the way one does with obsessions.  I’ve been obsessed for a while, but my interest ramped up when I learned, upon reading an excellent book by Thomas Seeley, Honeybee Democracy, that honeybees make democratic decisions. A group of bees will consider options, debate amongst themselves, and make the best choice for all concerned.

They do this most notably when swarming.  A bit of background in bee biology:  the way a colony expands its genetic influence in the world, which is the goal of all species, is to swarm.  When bees are well fed, presumably happy, and getting crowded, half of the hive takes off with the queen, and hangs out in a giant cluster.  From this mass of bees, the oldest and most experienced females leave to scope out options for a new home.  They return to the swarm to report on their findings.

Honeybees can’t survive alone.  Labor is precisely divided, each bee contributing their bit for the good of the whole.   The individual has no place in a beehive. You never hear about a bee going off alone to write poetry or to find themselves.  As far as we know, bees aren’t throwing up their wings, looking skyward and moaning, “what’s the point?” As someone who spends a fair amount of energy trying to keep that impulse at bay, I’m drawn to the bees.  

I wonder if they have tiny personalities, special friends, bees that they feel particularly close to, and others that give them the creep vibe.  If so, it isn’t obvious.   They all work to support the colony so that the species, and in particular, their mother’s genes, will persist into the future.  I wonder if humans look that way from outside our species.  So industrious!  Everyone working so hard on their computers all day!

The queen is the only bee who can lay fertilized eggs, but she relies on workers to feed and raise the babies, and drones, who spend their miserable life not having sex, or if they do, die in mid-air, as their barbed member gets ripped from their body. 

The humans have also become highly specialized.  Some gather food, others do heart surgery.  Some build houses, some bear children.  Some design complicated video games, others tie plastic flagging along jurisdictional boundary of wetlands.  Some have their finger on the nuclear bomb that could kill millions, most don’t.

At the swarm, scout bees venture out to look for a new home, and return to the group to direct others to their site, communicating through dances.  The bees have identified specific criteria that makes a good home:  cavity size, orientation of the opening, etc. that will increase their odds of survival.  They ultimately make a group decision to move to the site that most closely matches their criteria.

The humans, using the primary system, are coming up with Donald Trump as one of the most qualified to lead the country.  It’s unclear what criteria we’re using.

I’m glad we have the capacity to search for meaning, write poetry, make music, invent things, and think independently.  I’m grateful that our needs are more complex than cavity size and orientation of the front door. 

But one thing the bees do that makes them successful decision-makers is listen to other ideas.  After a bee finds a potential nest site, she returns to the hive, announces it, and then rests.  She doesn’t campaign.  She doesn’t get staunch about promoting her site; she doesn’t try to convince everyone that it’s the best site ever.  In fact, compared to our elections, it looks pretty  half-hearted.  Like, “look everyone, I have an idea. Check it out if you feel like it.  I’ll be napping.”  Eventually, though, she rouses and, rather than doggedly sticking to her site, she explores sites announced by other bees.  If their potential new home is superior to hers, she promotes it by dancing.  In this way, each bee responds to new information to improve the decision until a critical mass agrees, and they relocate to their new hive.

The humans don’t seem to have the capacity to be truly open to new ideas and information.  We get locked in.  We’re loyal, ridiculously so, to things we discovered first, to our candidate, or our belief system, even when it’s proven wrong.  

I think that trait comes along with the painful knowledge of our mortality.  The depressing fact that we’re all going to die is mitigated by a ridiculous, beautiful capacity for hope and faith. We don’t like the idea of getting old, losing one thing after the next, and then dying, so we believe in things to ward off despair.  Whether it’s an afterlife, a football team, or oregano oil.  Or, in this terrible instance of belief gone awry, it’s believing the preposterous statements of angry rich white guy.  Building walls will keep us safe from terrorists! (Because of course, all of the terrorists will be on the OTHER side of that wall.)  The climate isn’t changing, it’s just weather!  I think that this capacity, to deny the terrible circumstance we’re in, is a result of our awareness of death.  It’s hard to grapple with the fact that every one we love will die, possibly before us.  It’s even harder to live with the idea that we’re responsible for creating conditions leading to the mass extinction that’s in progress.  Who wants to believe that?  Some find it reassuring to believe in powerful men who simplify our problems, and suggest the world can be fixed by activating our dark capacity to hate.  

What would reassure me is discovering that a swarm of bees decided to live in a tree near my house and made it through the winter, oblivious to their mortality, just doing what they do, listening and working together to make good decisions.  I wish we had the capacity for that AND poetry.

Friday, March 18, 2016

The Scope

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  How cell phone providers work: You arrive with a tiny problem, like, your phone won't charge because the plug doesn't fit snugly anymore.  And before you know it, they give you more minutes, a new phone, a tablet, some speakers, a new sink, an ankle bracelet that reports your movements to Verizon, and your monthly bill goes down.  It's not normal, but it happens, like time travel and Jimmy Hoffa sitings, and we're cool with the ankle monitor, because why not?  Enjoy what we must, Pisces.  

Aries (3/21 - 4/19): So, there's a situation with the rats in NYC.  First, a rat observed dragging a piece of pizza into the subway.  Then, selfie rat. Followed by pita rat.  I'm for it.  Either:  a) the rats are getting smarter, or at least more concerned about moving food around, or b) Zardulu is creating a strange permeable boundary between real and not real, staged and natural, trained rats and a rodent take-over of the world.  I don't really care which way it goes, but I do find it fascinating.  Aries, be fascinated this week. Why not?

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Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  When I was a wide receiver for the NFL, I ran around every day trying to get the ball from the other guys, and then one day, Taurus, the NFL was like, "um, you aren't really wide enough to receive anymore."  So, poof, just like that, I took my $57 million (or was it 58?) and went home.  At first, I was all, "I AM SO WIDE ENOUGH!"  But eventually, I realized I didn't care one whit about their stupid ball or their $58 million.  That's what we call giving up acceptance, Taurus, and it's where we find the sweet spot.  Drive directly for it.

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): I want to laugh more.  If I had my way, I'd be out of breath from laughing for 15 minutes out of every hour.  Wouldn't that be great?  But it's not happening.  I tried to watch videos about laughter yoga, thinking it might help.  Oh, Gemini.  It was so creepy.  So very very creepy.  (Be glad I didn't link to the other video where the guy looks like ET.)  And such a sorry sign of the times.  This week, Gemini, Do your part!  Make me laugh if you can.  (I'm really pretty easy.  It doesn't take much.)

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I sometimes wish I were the sort of person who pronounced it "eyether" rather than "eeether", and, more longingly, "dat-uh" rather than "date-uh". It sounds easy to you, Cancer -- fer goddsakes, just start saying it the other way!  But it isn't easy.  I come from a long line of people who say eeether and date-uh, and it would be fake, like laughter yoga, to switch.  The work at hand, as usual, Cancer, is to accept who we are with generosity and grace.  So what if you aren't wide enough to receive for the NFL?  Who cares if you say tomato?  Be your lovely self, Cancer.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22)I was walking in the woods behind my house yesterday, the way I do most days.  It's kind of a weird forest, as I've written about before.  I usually don't see anyone out there, but yesterday, I encountered a man, 45ish with a very large German Shepherd.  Now, as all women past the age of about 13 know, there's that thing that happens every time you find yourself in that situation, alone in a remote area when a man shows up, you think, well, here goes.  Whatever happens is going to happen.  But I pretend it's all good, smile and chat, explain the trail system to this guy, and walk on.  But as I start to walk away, he yells after me, "I hope you're carrying.  Lot's of creepy guys out here."  I didn't go on my rant at him, and I'm not going to here either, but jaysus.  Ok, just a mini rant:  1.  Does he think guns are the answer?  2.  Does he think he's more aware of the way it could go down than I am?  3.  Oh, and slightly off topic, but why was he wearing sweat pants?  Speaking of creeps, who does that?  Leo, always put pants on if you're leaving the house.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  One of my pet peeves (why am I even using that term?  I don't like it!) is not adjusting our opinions based on new information.  Oregano oil probably won't cure clubfoot, vaccinations definitely don't cause autism, and the earth is round.  Life would be so much more fun if I believed, if I truly embraced all the happy stuff out there, like god and eternal youth and the power of positive everything.  Like this!  Check out how gorgeous the young woman looks after just three or four weeks!  (Ignore the ring of blood.) That being said, there is magic out there, and we can study it!  (Did I tell you I bought a blood pressure cuff?)


Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I've been following bees around lately, which isn't working out so well, but no one can say I haven't tried.  There will be more on this later, but for now, I'd like to say that, besides all the trendy, "we love the pollinator" sentiment that's going around, we really should love the pollinators, not for the services they provide, but because they're so damn interesting.  Libra, do what you can to be interesting this week.  Ask about others, listen, care.  See what's going on out there.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I read that they have a new kidney transplant method where the donor and the recipient don't really have to match.  There's some blocking of the defenses that they turn on so you can accept any old kidney as your own.  I'm confused about how I feel about this.  Could we use that same method to just accept one another more in general?  Wouldn't that be good?  There would be no walls, just longer tables, all around the globe and beyond.  So yes, I'm for it, Scorp.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): But, I will add, selfishly -- I'm so glad this happened after I finished raising my children, because it would have taken the wind out of my primary parenting lecture.  Which I'll share here in it's entirety, and you may use as your very own.
"You two are closer to each other than any other humans in the entire galaxy.  There is no better genetic match on this planet or any other, and you may require a kidney one day.  Each moment, behave as if you're about to ask that enormous favor.  Live so that your sibling will say yes enthusiastically." 
A tiny bit of poetry from Antonio Machado

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):  I dreamt my hair was falling out in big clumps, and at first I was pretty horrified, but after a few minutes I was like, whatever.  Who needs hair, who needs health?  We're all on the same ride, we know it's slowing down, which is as good a reason as any to love fully, show up as ourselves, be who we are.  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18) Remember last year, when we thought it would be Hilary vs. Jeb?  And we thought that was discouraging?  Back when The Donald was just a funny joke, and we had no idea how much hate was brewing in the hearts of our fellow citizens?  I know.  

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