Author Archives: Maggie C

Unknown's avatar

About Maggie C

Stained glass artist, writer, respecter of life.

Nautilus: the Golden Marvel

Posted on by
4

i4

I mentioned last week that I featured a nautilus design in a stained glass panel I made for my granddaughter because of the shell’s meaning to me.

A [chambered] nautilus is a cephalopod of the genus Nautilus that has a spiral, chambered shell with pearly septa. Now doesn’t that sound totally inspiring? I mean… pearly septa! It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Okay… at my level of understanding: it’s a mollusk with a spiral shaped shell that consists of individually partitioned chambers. As the nautilus grows, it continues to enlarge its shell and create more partitions as it goes. Each chamber contains a gas that helps give the animal buoyancy.

When the nautilus inhales the gas from its chambers, its voice sounds really high, like Mickey Mouse’s. Nautiluses love to do this at parties, as it usually gets a pretty good laugh.

Okay, I made that last part up. Just the Mickey Mouse part. They really do have gas. And they don’t even eat beans.

But they are whizzes at math. See, the nautilus shell, with it’s spiral shape, is an example of the “golden ratio,” a mathematical ratio based on the number Phi. Phi (with upper case “p,” Greek letter Φ) represents the number 1.618… It’s reciprocal, phi (with lower case “p”, Greek letter φ), equals 0.618…

n2

Approximation of the golden spiral (drawing in public domain).

 

Since math is all Greek to me anyway, I can’t really grasp the concept of Phi, but the ratio it represents can be seen in relationships all throughout the universe, in:

proportions of the human body, proportions of some animals, DNA, plants, music, art, geometry, the solar system, movements in the stock market, the designs of the Egyptian pyramids, raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens (just testing to see if you’re paying attention)… and as noted, in the shape of the spiral of the nautilus shell.

Some may argue that the application of the golden ratio, in many instances, is based on arbitrary points of proportion that happen to match the equation. Kind of the idea that when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. If you set about looking for a particular pattern or ratio, you can find ways to fabricate – er, I mean discover – its appearance in almost anything.

So that’s the “golden spiral.” But, not to be outdone by the Greeks, the French (specifically French mathematician Rene Descartes) came up with the “marvelous spiral.” Something about logarithms and more math stuff.

n3

Logarithmic “marvelous” spiral (drawing in public domain).

As with the Golden ratio, the logarithmic (“marvelous”) spiral occurs in many forms in nature. Examples:

the shells of mollusks (i.e. the chambered nautilus shell); the approach of a hawk to its prey; the approach of an insect to a light source; the arms of spiral galaxies; the bands of tropical cyclones; patterns in sunflower heads; the nerves of the cornea…

I guess you could say it’s everywhere you look! (See what I did there? Cornea… everywhere you look… pretty funny, huh?)

So what is the significance of all of this?

To me it indicates that there is a strong interrelationship between virtually everything in nature (and the aesthetics of some things manmade); that there are forces bigger than we can imagine at work in the universe; and that on some level there is a grand design to everything.

A golden, marvelous design.

Note: This is a revision of a post I published on another blog I had going in a previous lifetime. Any plagiarism of myself has been done with my full knowledge and permission (to myself). I think.

N  N is for Nautilus.

Wait! Don’t Eat That!

Posted on by
4

bee

I’m not the most neighborly person in the world. And recently I seem to be gravitating toward lawn and garden projects that involve fences, privacy screens, hedges, wide moats filled with man-eating piranhas… well, I would if I could.

Last weekend I invested in a number of boxwood shrubs to create a hedge between my driveway and the driveway of the house next door. Once I got the shrubs planted, I gathered up the containers they had come in, the tags I had cut off of them, and the little stick things that get shoved into the containers to identify the plants and tell you how to water them.

dinner1

Stick Thing

 

I never really read the stick things. I let nature decide when to water the plants, intervening only when I hear the plants hallucinating that the mailbox is a shimmering waterfall.

I happened to glance down at one of the stick things in my hand, and my eye caught a word that began with “neon.” Idly wondering if my hedge was going to glow in the dark or light up with beer signs, I took a closer look. The stick thing read:

This plant is protected from problematic

  • aphids
  • white flies
  • beetles
  • mealy bugs

and other unwanted pests by Neonicotinoids.

These pesticides are approved by the EPA.

Since I try to avoid pesticides in my yard, I was not impressed that someone had taken it upon themselves to determine which pests were wanted or unwanted in my hedge. But I’d already planted the boxwoods, so I made a pledge to read the stick things more carefully in the future, and went inside the house to clean up.

After scrubbing the dirt (and pesticides, apparently) off my hands, I opened my laptop and checked my Facebook feed. The first post to grab my eye was one by The Mother Nature Network. A photo of bees crawling over a honeycomb was accompanied by the heading:

Lawn Care Giant Announces Plan to Phase Out Bee-Harming Pesticides

Very cool! And about time. The declining bee population is a major problem for the environment.

Then I read the first line of the click-through article:

“Ortho’s decision to nix neonicotinoids is an important one.”

Neonicotinoids… hmmm… where had I seen that word? Neon—

OMG!!! My glow-in-the-dark boxwood hedge was going to turn me into a bee killer!

I started researching.

⇒ Maybe I could just rinse the pesticide off. (No, you can’t).

⇒ Maybe the effects of the pesticide are short-lived. (Wrong again.)

⇒ Maybe boxwoods don’t have flowers that will attract bees to them. (Yes, they do. In fact, bees love boxwood flowers.)

The only “solution” I could find: pluck off all the blossoms in the first blooming season so the bees don’t get to them. In subsequent seasons, the poison won’t be so harmful. So they say.

You know what a boxwood flower looks like? Yeah, neither does anyone else. They are described as “inconspicuous.” Small and yellow-green in color, they pretty much just blend in with the leaves.

I’m at a moral crossroad here. Do I:

  1. dig up the plants, dispose of them, and find some that aren’t going to be lethal? Or
  2. swear an oath that I will make daily searches during blooming season, scouring the hedge for hidden flowers to remove? I’m willing, but would that be enough?

The hedge runs along my dandelion/clover-infested yard where it abuts the neighbor’s always green, utterly weed-free lawn. Maybe his weed killer sprays or granules (or whatever form of poison he uses) will leach over and kill my bee-killer pesticide-drenched boxwoods. One could hope.

I have a feeling I will be ripping out my hedge this weekend. Maybe it will bring good bee karma. Maybe the bees will pay me back by asking their wasp buddies to leave me alone this year. I could recommend a nice relocation site nearby. One with a very, very green lawn.

Yeah, as I said at the start, I’m just not very neighborly.

The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Dinnertime

Manifest This!

Posted on by
4

m1

I know, I know. I’ve done this rant before. But obviously I didn’t rant thoroughly enough to get it out of my system. So here we go: Manifest Rant, the Sequel.

Manifest is a verb (used with object). It does not mean to attract like a magnet in a steel ball bearing factory. It is not a synonym for “magic trick,” where getting what you want is as easy as reaching into a magician’s top hat. And my favorite anti-definition – gleaned from an internet search: Manifesting is NOT “goosing the quantum field” to create a world in which “everything you desire is yours for the taking.”

Based on an internet search using the phrase “how to manifest,” I discovered that people are searching for ways to manifest…

  • money
  • love
  • whatever you want
  • instantly
  • anything
  • your desires
  • your dreams
  • winning the lottery

True confession: I used to use the term “manifest” in pretty much the same fashion, although I never goosed anything, quantum or otherwise.

I do believe we can create what we truly desire in life. I do believe there are forces – both seen and unseen – that can and will assist us once we are clear on what it is we truly want, once we put that energy “out there” with confidence and trust.

But I don’t believe that whatever we desire is “ours for the taking.” Ever.

So what does the verb manifest really mean? Here you go:

Manifest – verb (used with object)

1. to make clear or evident to the eye or the understanding; show plainly:
He manifested his approval with a hearty laugh.

2. to prove; put beyond doubt or question:
The evidence manifests the guilt of the defendant.

Alrighty, I feel all ranted out now. I’m going to go manifest my curiosity now, by trying to figure out just how one really goes about goosing a quantum field.

M  M is for Manifest.

Light Bulb Moment

Posted on by
2

l1

So I had a “light bulb moment” the other day. You know, that moment when you have a sudden realization, an enlightenment of sorts, when the metaphorical light bulb turns on in your brain and you say, “Aha!”

Oh wait… that’s an “aha moment.” But anyway, that light bulb moment when you are struck with a sudden insight or inspiration that leads you on to new discoveries?

Yeah… that’s not what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about a real light bulb. You know… bulbous, light-producing… something that you screw into a socket so that someone doesn’t come along and stick their fingers in it. That kind of light bulb.

Okay, on to my moment. I bought a light bulb that is supposed to have a 27 year life span. I can’t remember how much I paid for it. That memory is probably repressed to protect me from the trauma.

Nor can I remember what I was thinking when I decided that I needed this acme of amperage, this wonder of wattage, this lion of lumens.

Perhaps I just felt that, at some point in my dotage, I might want to switch on a lamp, and I could rest in ease knowing that my trusty light bulb would be there waiting to brighten my day. Or night.

So here I was, in possession of this almost ageless light bulb, and – as luck would have it – there was a burnt out bulb in one of my lamps. A perfect opportunity to begin my decades-long relationship with Brighton. (I figured if we were going to be together that long, the light bulb should have a name.)

I pulled Brighton out of my light bulb storage area (I seem to have quite a collection of light bulbs), and began wrestling with the packaging that was doggedly defending Brighton from harm. With a sudden shift of surrender, the packaging gave way, the bulb sprang free…

and began its unstoppable freefall to the hardwood floor.

The bulb crashed to the floor. My dog Chules came running to see what happened. I began to have visions of doggie blood spurting everywhere if Chules stepped on shards of Brighton. In one swift motion, I pushed Chules aside and bent down to assess the damage.

There lay Brighton. In one piece. On the floor. Where he landed after a four foot long plunge.

I tenderly picked Brighton up, held him to my ear, and gently shook him to see if I could hear that tinkling little noise that light bulbs make when their filament has broken. Mind you, with Brighton being the Superbulb that he is, I don’t even know if he has a filament. But I figured no sound is good sound.

I took Brighton to my bulb-less lamp and with trepidation screwed him into the socket. Holding my breath, I reached with quaking hand to flip the switch.

And then there was light!!!! Brighton’s alive! Metaphorically speaking, of course.

As I sit here basking in Brighton’s warm glow, I have every confidence that we will be together for a long, long time.

Hey, wait! Did someone turn out the lights? Brighton…?

Brighton?!?

L  L is for Light bulb.

Jetsam: Lightening the Load

Posted on by
2

j1

Flotsam, Jetsam & Lagan: sounds like a prestigious law firm, doesn’t it? Or maybe a 1960s folk rock group? But no, these terms have a more nautical theme.

I’ll let dictionary.com explain:

Flotsam — 1. the part of the wreckage of a ship and its cargo found floating on the water. 2. material or refuse floating on water. 3. useless or unimportant items; odds and ends.

Lagan — anything sunk in the sea, but attached to a buoy or the like so that it may be recovered.

Jetsam — goods cast overboard deliberately, as to lighten a vessel or improve its stability in an emergency, which sink where jettisoned or are washed ashore.

⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕

I won’t be channeling my inner pirate here; I get seasick in the bath tub if I take my eyes off the horizon. The thought of people chucking things into the ocean intentionally is also rather sickening, but I’ll save that for another post.

The point of this post is:

 Life is like a shipwreck.

Wait, that doesn’t sound quite right… Anyway, I’ll wade in with my analogy:

Sometimes we go about life having taken on a lot of unnecessary “odds and ends,” and when we get hit with – “stormy weather” shall we say — we founder and end up floating about, all wet. The “useless and unimportant” baggage we were needlessly hanging onto bobs about pointlessly in the waves nearby as we frantically dog paddle and wait for rescue. That’s flotsam.

j4

Sometimes we get the “ship” kicked out of us and lose our footing on dry land, but we manage to take stock of what happened and what’s important to us, and we can devise a plan for how to recover from our losses. That’s lagan.

j2

And then there’s jetsam, when we rid ourselves of the unnecessary baggage that’s weighing us down, impeding our progress, or endangering our stability. And having done that – and continuing to do it – we sail through situations that might otherwise have sunk us.

j3

I’m striving for jetsam; lightening my load of unnecessary stress, worries and material “stuff.” It’s definitely an ongoing process. Stuff seems to seek us out at every port, clinging to us like barnacles on a boat.

Okay, swabbies, I think this ship has sailed. I’m off to the galley for some chow. I suddenly have a hankering for fish and chips.

J  J is for Jetsam.

The I’s Have It

Posted on by
8

i8Inertia: I want to make a stained glass panel for my soon-to-be-born grandbaby. But:

  • I haven’t done stained glass work in a long time and I’m pretty rusty;
  • I’m downsizing so I don’t want to go out and buy a lot of new materials;
  • I don’t want to end up making something that looks horrible.

Inquisitiveness: What could I make that would be fairly simple, using materials I already have on hand, while challenging my perfectionism?

i3

Idea: I have a sample box of multi-colored rectangles of glass. I have lead came. Straight lines are simple.

i1

Inspiration: When I lay out the sample pieces, they remind me of a patchwork quilt. I could make my new grandbaby a “quilt.” That’s a grandmotherly gift, right?

i2

Imagination: What if I added a symbol of some sort? Something meaningful to me that would make the “quilt” more personal… like… a nautilus! [You’ll have to wait for the “N” day to find out what makes the nautilus meaningful to me.]

i4

Implementation: Get the lead out (literally), and go for it!

i5

Insight:

  • I’d forgotten how much fun it is to do stained glass and I want to take it up again;
  • simple designs can be just as effective as elaborate ones. I don’t have to plan big projects that require a lot of materials;
  • when my grandbaby is old enough to appreciate this gift, her thoughts will likely not be about how “horrible” it is. Her thoughts might even have to do with recognizing the love that went into the making of this gift.

i6

Incredible!!!!  ⇒ The way that I feel for having overcome the inertia, impediments and insecurity I felt before taking on this project!

i7

Isla: The name of my first grandbaby.

I  I is for Incredible.