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Orca Profiles in Captivity: The San Diego 10 – #2

This is the second in a series of ten in which we meet one of the San Diego 10 orcas and hear from an advocate who continues to be one of the voices of these imprisoned voiceless, never stopping until the whole world listens.

Prisoner #2: Kasatka

Age: About 36

Captured off the coast of Iceland, on October 26, 1978, Kasatka was just one year old when torn from her pod. Kasatka, whose name comes from the generic Russian derivative of the word “orca,” is 17.7 feet (5.4m) long and weighs 5,950 pounds (2,700 kg.)

Orca Kasatka
Orca Kasatka

Each of Kasatka’s children is captive born. She gave birth to four offspring: Takara, Nakai, Kalia, and Makani. Nakai, born on September 1, 2001, is the first orca to be born as a result of artificial insemination. While his mother, Kasatka, lived in California, his father, Tilikum, was in Florida. Tilikum is featured in the documentary, “Blackfish.” More on Nakai later in this series.

Kasatka’s first child, Takara, was born at Sea World, San Diego on July 9, 1991. Takara’s father is Kotar, like Kasatka, captured in Icelandic waters in 1978 very young, probably less than one year old. He spent his first couple years of captivity at SeaWorld San Diego, moved to SeaWorld Orlando where he bit another male orca’s penis (Kanduke) and was then moved to SeaWorld San Antonio (1988). On April 1, 1995, Kotar died from a fractured skull and severe blood loss caused by a gate closing on his head.

For the first 13 years of Takara’s life, she and Kasatka had a very close bond and spent a lot of time together. In the wild, orcas generally live in close-knit family pods consisting of several females, calves, one or more males and/or juveniles. There are some pods that consist of a mother and her offspring who stay with her for life. Many pods have been documented as stable, consistent matriarchal family groups with several generations traveling together.

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Orca Profiles in Captivity: The San Diego 10 – #1

Activists Gear Up for Easter Protest at SeaWorld

Dame Jane Goodall (famed British primatologist, ethologist, anthropologist, and UN Messenger of Peace) was asked a question. “Why did she do what she did for the chimps she has advocated for all her life?” She answered by sharing a true story.

A captive lab chimp had never lived outside a cage his entire life. Now freed by Jane and her team of researchers and scientists, the frightened primate sat and watched the other chimps in a large zoo compound—free of cages and offering grassy, rocky, chimp-appealing offerings, including the sight and sound of others like him. He was terrified by such a contrast—from darkness to light.

A growing crowd of onlookers watched silently as the terrified chimp was being acclimated to his new world and then in a united gasp of disbelief witnessed the chimp run and fall into the watery moat surrounding the enclosure. Not knowing what to do, never having experienced being in water before, he began to flail in terror and sink.

At that, a man in the crowd instantly jumped over the railing, dove into the water and pulled the huge ape up and out of the water to safer grounds. The man was even able to get there faster than the watching zookeeper who was as horrified as were all the on-lookers. The man made sure that the chimp was breathing alright. Climbing over the railing back to the crowd he turned to see the chimp yet again running in fright and falling back into the water. Again, the man jumped over the railing, lifted the heavy, flailing chimp back up onto the grassy enclosure and waited until now the chimp seemed to realize that he was home and calmed down.

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Moon Eclipse

Goodnight (Red!) Moon…

C’mon, let’s stay awake and watch it outside not on TV. Really? Now? Yeh, it’s not like it happens all the time. More like once in a blue moon. But not. This is the red one and we’ve got to see it.

So at midnight-ish Pete and I stole into the night. Our huge apartment complex now silenced from the pounding echos of never-ending renovations from the rooftops to every unit to the streets below with the brain-screaming sounds of jack hammers eating up tons of cement and asphalt. The temporary silence was soothing. Pete and I whispered passed rows of empty housing as renters already have relocated. The two of us felt like we were walking on the Universal backlot. Or in a scene from The Truman Show. Everything felt abandoned and surreal. And then we looked up and watched.

Red moon

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Fallen Soldier – A Moment to be Shared…

“Every instant of time is a pinprick of eternity. All things are insignificant, easily changed, vanishing away.”
Marcus Aurelius , 121-180, Roman emperor and philosopher

Life is so unpredictable. I must share with you a recent experience that holds on to my heart and won’t let go. I’m just so aware of how each minute see-saws into the next—high to low and then back again. Let me explain.

I had one of those extraordinary weekends surrounded by loved ones and a welcoming group of people who came to hear my talk about Otto Frank. The conversations afterwards with complete strangers soon morphed into heartfelt connections that seal us into warm embraces so quickly. I was rich—even heady—filled with the wealth of such acceptance.

SunsetAnd so the weekend unfolded as such. I was able to temporarily suspend my deep pain over the suffering of animals and people and wishing I could do more to right the wrong. For a tiny moment I was free. And then the unbelievable happened. Now at the airport, while Pete and I waited to embark on our plane there was an announcement. The voice said there would be a brief delay because of a ceremony that was about to take place on the tarmac below. We could all witness it from the windows. It was a Fallen Soldier being carried from his flag-draped casket off the plane to an awaiting military service of armed guards and naval officers lined up in a united salute.

I sat on the floor next to Pete surrounded by a large group of passengers. All so silent you could barely hear a sound. Until the tears began. As the casket was gently carried to the awaiting vehicle, a woman’s voice whispered, “God bless you. Thank you for your service.” We inhaled together and wiped our eyes. I knew that a young soldier, probably younger than my sons had been killed. In a blink. A moment. A shattered second that made the difference between laughter and tears. Hellos and goodbyes.

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The Olympic Fine Line…

Years ago I remember watching a Timex watch commercial in which we see a man and a woman walking towards each other in a crowd and the voice-over tells us that soon these two will meet, fall in love, get married, have a house in the country, tremendous careers, children, the whole dream-come-true…however, we watch them pass each other without a flicker of recognition at all. The voice-over tells us that because one of them wasn’t wearing a Timex watch they were just seconds from missing each other. The dream never materialized. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen. Maybe it was and it was sabotaged. Maybe…

That commercial had a huge impact on me. The idea that the line between this and that is so fragile. A blink. A cough. Missed seconds. If I hadn’t taken that road I never would have… Because he missed the plane… She stopped to have one more cup of coffee and…

You know what I mean? That’s how I feel about the Olympics. Such a fine line between a great run and a dead-end defeat…

I don’t know if you’re as crazy an Olympics fan as I am, but for me this is an every four-year true addiction. I absolutely LOVE the Olympics. Each time I watch them—summer and winter—I vow to reincarnate as a world class athlete. Maybe next time around I’ll have the discipline and strength and stamina and fortitude and vision and grace and above all COURAGE to go for the gold no matter what. And even though I find myself watching a younger and younger world of athletes (forget the fact that each time I’m older and older!) I still work on stepping outside of my ego—and the mirror—and am given so many gifts by watching these young warriors fight to win while the entire world is watching.

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I Yam More Than I Thought I Yam… And So Are You

“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.”
― Socrates

Yam
Lessons from Mama Nature

If you’re as slow-going into this New Year as I have been, welcome to the club. Facing a year-end birthday and all of the triggers of getting older and feeling purposeless on this planet, I dragged along boxes of tissue into 2014, along with Vick’s VapoRub, decongestive teas, and in lieu of a stick of dynamite to blast out my stone-walling sinuses I was forced to set aside that “To Do List” and just propped up my self-pity-party along with a poor clogged head and scrunched down under piles of blankets and my cuddly cats (and Pete when he came home from work) and just get over this thing. Which I’m happy to say looks like is happening day-by-day. Tissue count is less and less. Spirits lifting. Great book-reading opportunity the best.

So now that my head is slowly clearing and I’m re-focusing on this thing called Life I just wanted to offer you a mental tidbit that is helping me. You know how I learn just about all my lessons from Mama Nature, and so far she hasn’t let me down? Well once again I received a double whammy Lesson from two tubers—“two-bers?” a yam and a sweet potato, which I swear are the same thing and I still don’t know the difference other than their size and color? But anyway, I digress.

I wrote a blog post some time ago—I Yam What I Yam— about the power of a once-about-to-be-tossed-out-worthless yam who got its second wind. Well it happened again. To that very same yam. The little tuber completely exploded with viney greens winding all across the counter top to my delight. And then as it began to wane, its leaves yellowing and falling it looked like The Grim Yam-Reaper had cast the final death knell.

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The Cabin People

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
~ Anais Nin

There it is tucked deep within the forest. A big, rough-hewn cabin. The air heady with the clean smell of aged wood intermingling with the spike of smoky pine and the savory contents of a brimming pot of thick, spicy soup. A fireplace fills the room with crackling layers of kindling. Shadowy sparks and flames cast a dance of light and dark images on the walls, high-beamed ceilings, and upon the faces of those gathered within the snug confines.

Cabin woods winter snow pictures, backgrounds and images

Panning from floor to the comforter-filled loft high above, one can see clusters of people everywhere. They are sitting on large woven rugs, the colors of muted hues hidden by those huddled together. There are people in every corner, in room-after-room, upstairs and down. Scrunched into pillow-packed rocking chairs and stuffed couches and generous colorful beanbags. The sounds of laughter and whispers weave in and out, peaking from high guffaws to inaudible murmurs – like lovers in the night.

“This is my latest painting…” “Let me read you a poem…” “I have a song I want you to hear…”

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Maybe SeaWorld Will See the Light After BLACKFISH

I once wrote for SeaWorld and after watching the Blackfish movie, I’ve been devastated to have ever been a part of such horror. I sent a letter to the Orca Project. If you agree, please share it with others. We need to save these magnificent beings from their torture. Now.

San Diego, California – Years ago when I was a copywriter for an advertising agency in Los Angeles, one of my favorite accounts was writing for SeaWorld. I could barely contain my joy writing the ads, radio and TV spots that touted the “touching experience” of SeaWorld. Oh the delight I felt when I first met Shamu and was able to experience a world of magnificent marine mammals supposedly there for the edification of humans to see the sea wonders up close. A devout animal-lover, I thought (as did most of the creative team) I was participating in the preservation of Orcas seemingly delighting in this magical environment of hands-on trainers soaring through the choreographed acts with them. Oh how very wrong I was. And oh how deeply ashamed I am today for being a part of this vile travesty. I never knew or saw SeaWorld in the truest sense. I bought the lie…

Blackfish
Documentary film BLACKFISH

Today, I can no longer remain silent in my fury and anguish after just viewing the extraordinary documentary, Blackfish, which reveals the profound cruelty of Orcas, primarily those at SeaWorld. This is a film that must be seen by the world because it uncovers that which most of us never knew nor wanted to believe, that these “happy” whales flipping and breaching on command are indeed, miserable, highly stressed, sickly, going insane, deeply grieving, separated from their natural habitats, their familiar pods—babies and mothers screaming for each other, all isolated in cruel and abusive ways that are unfathomable. We can no longer sit by nor support this immoral madness and applaud in delight. It would be no different than cheering on the destruction of life itself.

I can’t contain the massive sorrow that I feel right now knowing that those brilliant mammals, with complex brains, languages and family structures equal to and even superior to humans, are living out their brief lives so horrendously. All because of greed under the umbrella of “family entertainment”—making fat the coffers of the SeaWorld corporation and destroying these gentle beings before our very eyes. When left alone we are learning, Orcas never kill or attack humans; they live long lives in close-knit family bonds—vocalizing in unique ways of communicating in distinct languages that we’re only now beginning to understand. This is true for dolphins as well.

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About TIME

“The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.”
James Taylor

Fall trees
Season of Nostalgia

Time. It’s such an ephemeral thing, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t hold it or frame it and place it on the wall except in photographs indicating the way we looked then as opposed to now. Try and explain it to a child. I mean, yes, a clock or watch tell us the time but really what IS time? Minutes. Seconds. What are they? What do they look like? How do we even know they really exist? What is the purpose of time other than to let us know we’re either late or early to this thing called Life.

I suppose if I had Einstein’s genius I could come up with a wise retort, but my brain is seriously lacking in the brilliance department. Not a wunderkind, I’m simply left with a mind filled with wonder. And that’s what brings me to this moment of contemplation. Possibly it’s because of this season of nostalgia. Autumn always does this to me. I love it so. The multi-colored leaves falling to the ground prodded by wafts of sun-tinged breezes. The fire-place smells and everything changing, leaving the summer days behind and everyone beginning to snuggle down and wrap into the coming cold. But I tend to fall into that state of longing. For what? I’m not sure. But I long. And I remember. And I feel both energized and resigned. Seeking out that ancient, inner cave to retreat into and redefine my place here, there, everywhere.

Maybe it’s all that as well as me facing an end-of-the-year birthday signaling the fact that chronologically at least my hour-glass is piling up at a steady downward pace. I can no longer say, “Someday I will, blah-blah-blah…” I mean none of us should say that. The moment is NOW, like the author/master teacher Eckhart Tolle says so wisely. But my point in time is telling me that I really can’t say that. I need to act on my dreams this very moment. My mirror is telling me that too. (Just not making mirrors like they used to!!!)

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Rock Wall Reflections…

Life is the sum of all your choices.
~Albert Camus

What was it about that wall that caused me to turn around and photograph it? Tucked along a quiet street it faced me. And I suddenly got it. “That is me,” I thought. A jigsaw puzzle of large and minuscule chunks of life each settled into each other like they were destined to be side-by-side life partners. How evenly uneven each crevasse buttressed the one above and below. As if meant to be as such—so disparate and yet working so well together. If one small rock or larger bolder would be absent the wall couldn’t stand up against the weathering seasons with such strength and purpose. Each has a place within the design of it all. Life moves around and within it embracing each chiseled-out choice with an almost indecipherable velvety green moss as sinewy vines wrap through and over it like a lithe dancer. As if to say all is forgiven. It wasn’t so bad now was it? And guess what? It’s still growing and thriving.

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