nontoxic archives

"Fly me to the moon and let me play (swing) among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars..." ~Bart Howard

Frank Sinatra brought the lyrics of "Fly me to the Moon" to life. It's one of those famous melodies in which mere mention instantly brings this air-bound tune to life.

You know how it goes...if you dream about it you'll recall the way the "Chairman of the Board" slurred words into personalized, memorable configurations masterfully paired with the sounds of saxophones, flutes, and drums in support of his elongated and punctuated crooning.

Much like Ol' Blue Eyes, you might not only sing about flying you might dream about flying as well...I do. While I'm dreaming, I imagine that I'm soaring through the night air lost somewhere between the moon and the stars, flying over my personal "Neverland" like Wendy, John and Michael from "Peter Pan."

When using Peter Pans' combination of "happy thoughts" and "fairy dust," apparently anyone can fly to Jupiter and Mars...even the unlikely duo of Amelia Earhart and Gene Simmons. Good thing, too. It seems that almost everyone, at some time or another, had wished they could fly.

Just look around -- our popular cultural landscape is littered with references to flying. There are those who swear to have seen flying saucers, super-spiritual flying nuns, the super-brave who wind-sail, hang glide, bungee jump and skydive, super-limber fingers that fly across a piano's keyboard, the super-paranoid who fear flying altogether (and for those who have no apparent fear of anything -- flying or otherwise -- we have "the mile high club"), and the Super Heroes of Marvel and DC Comics that can also fly.

The paintings of Marc Chagal are also filled with images of folks flying, feeling lighter than air, soaring...literally...imagining human flight vividly like an uncertain swimmer doing the back stroke in mid-air or as a kite-tail waltzing in the wind -- much like the vanished pilot Amelia Earhart and famed washed-up head-banger and lead rock-and-roller of the infamous band KISS, Gene Simmons.

Amelia and Gene share more than a coincidental date, August 25th. (They ironically also share music too...songwriter Jim Vallance wrote "Rock 'n Roll Hell" for Gene Simmons and "Amelia Earhart" for BTO -- that's Bachman Turner Overdrive). What they also share is a passion for flying.

As "Queen of the Air" Earhart became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic (not once but twice!), was the number one female to receive the Distinguished Flying Cross and the first lady to fly non-stop from numerous destinations, breaking records all along the way. Feminist icon Amelia Earhart was a widely known international celebrity during her lifetime. Her bashful yet magnetic charm, courage, self-determined doggedness, composure and guts along with her disappearance have offered her lasting fame.

Bass guitarist and birthday-boy Gene Simmons led his rock band KISS to mega-stardom in the 70s and 80s with pyrotechnics, demonstrations of his over-generously proportioned tongue, his audacious self-delusions, profusions of fake blood, wacky costumes, all that goofy make-up and of course -- his never ending in-ability to disappear. But it's his soaring aerial choreography and stage flying that firmly connects him to Amelia Earhart. With his license to be outrageous the charismatically repellant, persistently agitated, and turbulently excitable (I'm imagining him "literally" breaking all of his own records.) Simmons is -- in my opinion -- the Yin to Earharts' Yang. They're total opposites with a passion for flight.

We all live in the modern world and from time to time it's necessary to fly. It's an exciting and convenient way to travel, though not the eco-friendliest. Either "flying to the moon" or to some other destination, we can all reduce the amount of waste produced in-air by passing on anything served in disposable packaging. Instead, pack your own reusable container filled with a beverage of your choice (which you'll probably have to buy after you pass through security), some healthy snacks from home stashed away in even more reusable containers and then deposit and recycle your own trash once you've landed.

"The average dog is a nicer person than the average person." ~Andy Rooney

The average Joe annually eats 30 pounds of lettuce...give-or-take a little. (Ancient Egyptians even had a god dedicated to both sex and lettuce...maybe that's why we have Green-Goddess dressing?) Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, third president of the United States, notable architect, noteworthy gardener, and obvious foliage fetish-ist had tons of lettuce growing in his gardens at Monticello, too.

Alvin Teo / Istock

Why all of this talk about lettuce? (Give me a minute...I'm only at the tip of the iceberg!) While educating people about vegetarian-ism and plating up scrumptious veggie chow, PETA's "Lettuce Ladies" are decked out in only this particular purposefully positioned plant life. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is the world's biggest animal-rights organization, and the "Lettuce Ladies" help boost public consciousness about the millions of destitute critters who are in need of compassionate quarters, as well as the significance of spaying and neutering pets.

PETA, of course, is concerned about cruelty to all types of animals (rabbits, chimps, cats, etc), something we remember this August 21 for National Homeless Animal Day. So while they're not the only mistreated species, many canines endure abuses in factories, farms, laboratories, breeding mills and even as household pets. And that's how we came to our pooch -- Jack.

Ten years ago, this sweet-yet-wacko high-maintenance cocker spaniel came into our lives. He'd been confined in a basement in hopes of someone eventually taking this "gaping wound of need" (it's what I sometimes lovingly call him) off his current owners' hands.

Enter stage left, my partner Richard and me. (Actually? Much more him than me...did I just hear the Mighty Mouse theme song "Hear I Come to Save the Day"?). He's a sucker for a dog no matter what it looks like, smells like or acts like, and he'll pet anything that wets on a sidewalk. (Luckily we live in a dog-friendly town.)

"Confession is good for the conscience, but it usually bypasses the soul." ~Mignon McLaughlin

Adore her or despise her, whether you think she's "on the loose" or been wrongly reprimanded, one can't help admiring the felonious domestic-diva known simply as "Martha."

"Martha who?" you ask? Well...she's not old enough to be Martha Washington and not large enough to be Martha's Vineyard so it must be our birthday girl of the week (August 3), Martha Stewart. She's a one-named pop phenomenon - sort of like Coolio, Eminem, Jewel, Usher, Bjork, Britney and Cher. (But just try to keep a straight face imagining any of them in an apron!)

Martha's the omnipresent OmniMedia mogul of print, cyberspace, radio and television who clawed her way into our hearts and "good things" by reframing the ten commandments of cleaning, organizing, nutcups-n-partyfavors, trolling for antiques (we prefer to call it gay-fishing), extravagant meal preparations, crafting and glue-gunning 101, flower arranging, everything housekeeping, and even child and pet "management."

And what would a birthday party thrown for the queen-bee of organization, maintenance and tidiness look like? I'm imagining a tony late-afternoon event somewhere in the Hamptons on a freshly manicured lawn behind a century-old home with 15 foot-high privet hedges and opulent ocean views. I envision the property dressed with buttery-yellow and white striped tenting and tablecloths, twinkling paper lanterns dangling from every bough, a temporary dance floor with ample room for a small jazz ensemble, and a buffet piled high and tall with lemony cupcakes, bowls filled with lemon-drops, personalized buttery-yellow napkins, vintage-inspired tableware (no doubt from her new WalMart line...ca-ching!), lemon topiaries, and of course...lemonade.

And nearer the water's edge, for the youngest guests, all dressed in matching yellow gingham outfits, a slide, jungle gym, a swing set and maybe even a sandbox -- filled, no doubt, with special buttery-yellow sand.

Of course what separates us mere mortals from the Goddess of Good Taste, is that she can make a command, clap her hands, wave her magic wand, and poof -- all of the above can easily happen -- right down to the perfectly colored sand. Now, for the other 99.99% of us, we settle for the sandbox sand schlepped from Home Depot. But regardless, custom sand or run-of-the-mill sand, once it's in the sandbox it's instantly magical and special because it can be formed into numberless shapes -- castles, mountains, mermaids, and even the occasional imaginary birthday cake -- and keep us amused for hours on end.