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May 24 2009

I hate clusters. Hate hate hate. Some people hate heights, some hate depths, some hate spiders. I don’t hate spiders, I just hate a lot of them together at once. Ever since we picked out a kitten from the shelter who, for some reason, the fleas would flock to. She was too young for flea repellent, so my mom had to use a glass of water to empty all the fleas in. It was disgusting. As a consequence, I had dreams that I bargained with the fleas for things like custody of the apartment, say. They could have the apartment during the day, and but they had to go back down the drain at night. Anyway. I avoid clusters when I can, which is most times. Sesame seeds on hamburger buns? Taken off. Ants congregating in the front yard? Scattered. But I had no control over these bees and their desire to completely cover their honeycombs. So I stood in the front row at the Bee Institute, located about 40 minutes (by train) outside of Prague. The man in the orange shirt, Dalibor, was so enthusiastic about his bees. I’d almost think they were best friends until we saw him prick two for their baby-bee-making cells and, once obtained, throw them, dead, into a plastic cup. He did love them, though. I stood, looking, in front of those bees for about an hour, and I was so proud of myself. Occassionally I’d feel a bit like the bees were covering me, not the combs, but it was fine. I did eventually have to head to the back of the group, where I couldn’t really see the horde of bees, but it took a much longer time than usual. And I didn’t even have to make custody deals with them in my head. Dalibor made a soup that looked really good — I couldn’t eat it because it had chicken and pork in it — from vegetables he grew on his own. He also made about seven pizzas in less than 20 minutes in a stone oven he built. The pizzas, which took two minutes to make each, were made from scratch using flour he made, cheese and herbs from a garden. Now that’s sustainability.

I hate clusters. Hate hate hate. Some people hate heights, some hate depths, some hate spiders. I don’t hate spiders, I just hate a lot of them together at once. Ever since we picked out a kitten from the shelter who, for some reason, the fleas would flock to. She was too young for flea repellent, so my mom had to use a glass of water to empty all the fleas in. It was disgusting. As a consequence, I had dreams that I bargained with the fleas for things like custody of the apartment, say. They could have the apartment during the day, and but they had to go back down the drain at night.

Anyway. I avoid clusters when I can, which is most times. Sesame seeds on hamburger buns? Taken off. Ants congregating in the front yard? Scattered. But I had no control over these bees and their desire to completely cover their honeycombs. So I stood in the front row at the Bee Institute, located about 40 minutes (by train) outside of Prague. The man in the orange shirt, Dalibor, was so enthusiastic about his bees. I’d almost think they were best friends until we saw him prick two for their baby-bee-making cells and, once obtained, throw them, dead, into a plastic cup. He did love them, though.

I stood, looking, in front of those bees for about an hour, and I was so proud of myself. Occassionally I’d feel a bit like the bees were covering me, not the combs, but it was fine. I did eventually have to head to the back of the group, where I couldn’t really see the horde of bees, but it took a much longer time than usual. And I didn’t even have to make custody deals with them in my head.

Dalibor made a soup that looked really good — I couldn’t eat it because it had chicken and pork in it — from vegetables he grew on his own. He also made about seven pizzas in less than 20 minutes in a stone oven he built. The pizzas, which took two minutes to make each, were made from scratch using flour he made, cheese and herbs from a garden.

Now that’s sustainability.