Actually, just a few random thoughts today.
I'm beat - a habit I have when under stress is to work maniacally, get minimal sleep and wait to crash. I acknowledge that that's not a real healthy way to manage stress, but it's my way. After all, I can't use either food or booze, so I gotta improvise.
This church thing is getting weirder and weirder. An apostate like me in a church? Look, I went along with this to provide some company and support for my mother - a couple of hours a week for something that's important to her is not that big a deal. But now I seem to be looking forward to the experience. We went to a no-kidding church supper tonight. What's next? Gathering around the TV to watch Milton Berle? The darn place is accepting, even of me; loving; there's no macho posturing; nobody seems to be guarded in their interactions. It just ain't my kind of environment.
Huge blow-up in the WV Masonic organization - This is not Masonic, it's moronic. One would think that such people would sit down and talk and reason together and actually practice the brotherhood that gets taught, rather than go at one another hammer & tongs.
Darn it, I need a bag of cookies. I need a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. This clean living is going to kill me. I need somewhere to swing my tomahawk.
"All the things of my life are present, and it is a good day to die."
Mizpah.
R
Monday, November 26, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Purposely being vague . . .
. . . is sort of what I do, and it's a habit. (Sorry, Rosa!) And I wrote the last post in great haste owing to urgent need to tend to things. (Rather like multi-tasking several lines of chaos. No, Chaos. It deserves the cosmological designation.) The circumstances to which I refer are a very serious ongoing confrontation (I may have mixed tenses there) (ooh, I made an unintended funny!) with a (genetic) brother that's (bothering the hell out of me? heck, I don't know how to describe the level of either cause or effect), am stuck by my own nature to the high road, and I'm having to keep an energetic "game face" on so that our mother doesn't twig to the existence of (or viciousness of) the discord, because that would upset her tremendously.
I should have specified that my health is great (down 140), that of my family ditto, and it's sunny in my mountains, and I'm hiding in my room at No. 3 today because the County Historical Society is conducting all day tours of historic houses, and apparently this is one of them. The place is spotless and totally neat, with the exception of my room which is closed and in which, like on the deck of a laboring boat, one finds the line, hooks, winches and other implements I use.
Today is the first day in several that I'm thinking clearly and looking for the learning that this situation has to present. Haven't found it yet, but it's there.
Endeavoring to persevere (I love that phrase, comes from Outlaw Josey Wales with Clint Eastwood),
R
I should have specified that my health is great (down 140), that of my family ditto, and it's sunny in my mountains, and I'm hiding in my room at No. 3 today because the County Historical Society is conducting all day tours of historic houses, and apparently this is one of them. The place is spotless and totally neat, with the exception of my room which is closed and in which, like on the deck of a laboring boat, one finds the line, hooks, winches and other implements I use.
Today is the first day in several that I'm thinking clearly and looking for the learning that this situation has to present. Haven't found it yet, but it's there.
Endeavoring to persevere (I love that phrase, comes from Outlaw Josey Wales with Clint Eastwood),
R
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Wanted: Guest Blogger
I know I haven't posted for a while, and I have a good bit in the pipeline. Due to some unexpected adverse personal circumstances, I'll be out of touch for a while.
A great holiday wish for everyone.
Mizpah.
R
A great holiday wish for everyone.
Mizpah.
R
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The pique of spirituality; or, Is the Pope just another guy with a funny hat?
It's been an interesting weekend.
Me and Jesus, we're buds. We have an understanding, I think. I don't demand to know the details of The Plan, and he's OK with me being human. It's a good working relationship. Church, however, is another matter. As a kid, I grew up in the Methodist Church. Frankly, I don't have a clue about the details of Methodist doctrine. I assume that it doesn't include transubstantiation, but I'm not clear on the issue of predetermination, predestination, or total free will. Some people find that important. I grew up with varying ideas of God, and frankly I think I always tried to keep a low profile. It didn't seem right to proclaim piddling items of faith as the Absolute Truth, when I really didn't have a clue. Church was, to me, about friendship and connection with society. As you know, I've always been socially retarded, and that certainly applied to me as a kid. I remember an "interdemoninational youth group" that I was a part of in high school. It was ethnically diverse, in retrospect, and I'm amused that I even remember that. We certainly weren't aware of that, we were just friends, learning the basics of independent interaction and loving friendship. (Note elsewhere, I've said that the current prohibition against teens touching each other is moronic.) The youth leader was Al, a senior at PHS, a big fellow with an outrageous sense of humor and who showed about as much fellowship and love as was permissable for a high school kid. I remember when he was killed when he rolled his little red MG convertible on Route 50. That did not make sense at the time, and still doesn't. Was that ordained by God? If so, He needs glasses. Why couldn't he have killed a young Saddam Hussein or Usama bin Laden? Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think Al would have been a much better human than either of those two. (And here I remember a song by . . . by . . . damn, I forget - Springsteen? Anyway, one line was "Only the good die young," and when it was popular, it was sort of an anthem for paramedics. Many a drunken episode in a nice bar was livened up with that song. It may even be true. It was true for Al.) I remember showing a senior girl the way up to the dome of the church, and fantasizing about "getting lucky" up over the stained glass. When she bent over to look down the long way down into the sanctuary, my eyes were focused intensely on the tops of her legs. (This in the days before panty hose, which are both ridiculous and not too darn enticing.)
Both yesterday and today have been spiritually thought-provoking for me. Yesterday, I was at No. 3 most of the day, doing the Saturday routine, which frankly isn't all that strenuous. I.e., I spend some time screwing off in the cushy chair in LaElu's office, reading. I went to my desk and was sorting through some papers. I came upon a postcard (remember those) from my Masonic Lodge which announced the "Past Masters Night" for that evening. It is hard to get away from No. 3 in time to go to lodge during the week, and when the meeting runs very late, that makes the next day's schedule all the more difficult. But whenever I see that we're having a Saturday meeting, I do my best to attend. So, I stayed late at No. 3, found a blazer that fit, and went to lodge. (I'm going down in clothes sizes quickly now - the nature of solids and geometry is that at a lower weight, the same weight loss produces larger linear reductions.) I got there early, because parking is a bear there, and sat through the dinner. That night, it wasn't prepared by the "stewards" of the Lodge, it was prepared by ladies from the Eastern Star, to make money for their organization. (That's bothersome to me. It feels like they are taking a subservient role. Note elsewhere my extreme -- if occasionally ruinous -- love of women.) The meal was "traditional rib-sticking American food," i.e., way too much and loaded with grease. (I'm soooo concerned about the diet long term - for this to be successful, I have to keep that stuff out of my life.) We went upstairs to the Lodge room, and held a "Master Mason's Lodge," in which there is ritual including prayer. (dear friend is a lawyer here, whose grandfather was Master of my Lodge in 1921, and whose father was Master in 1950. I'm going to mail her the little program of remembrance that was printed up.) As I've noted elsewhere, you can find versions of Masonic ritual in hundreds of places online. Every time I am a part of it, it gives me an opportunity to reflect and learn. LaElu surprised me today - noting that she thought I was an atheist, given my avoidance of church services. In fact, no atheist can be a Mason. I was disturbed during the meeting and afterwards when I learned of the illness of four brothers I'm close to. My "coach," Billy R., is in the hospital with severe respiratory problems probably due to years and years in the coal mines. The Lodge chaplain, Bob E., is a fellow I dearly love. He was an assistant scoutmaster in a troop I belonged to nearly 40 years ago. He came over during a break, and was telling me about just being diagnosed with prostrate cancer, and what the medical mill had in store for him. He talked about the fact that he has always prayed every day, and doesn't expect something miraculous of the burning-bush variety. Rather, he prays for the strength to fight. He is a man's man. Then there's Butch, who occupies a post called the "tiler." Butch is a contractor who smoked for years, quit 3 or 4 years ago, but got cancer anyway. He has cancer of the jaw, throat and tonsils, and he too has been tossed into the medical grinder. He's doing pretty poorly. He's a great guy. Due to my legendary ineptitude at fixing things, he's taken care of my Mom's house since Dad died in 1999. He stops in to visit her every month or so, usually bringing a bag of hamburgers from a greasy spoon near the college. And finally, there was Harold. I really love that guy, he is giving and loving and altogether pleasant. He has long been a brittle diabetic, and a couple of years ago, had to have a pancreas transplant. (I'd never heard of a pancreas transplant before that.) This cured his diabetes, and he's had a couple of great years. Now, though, the immune-suppressing drugs that he absolutely must take to avoid organ rejection are now causing squamous cell skin cancers, which are accumulating faster and more aggressively than surgeons can remove them, and he is truly screwed and he knows it. There's an interesting conundrum, what is the right thing to say to someone who is dying and knows it? Oops? Bad luck, old boy? Well, I told him I didn't know what to say, and he laughed because he enjoyed my perplexed look. Then I told him that I'll be there to help his wife "when the time comes," and that was a comfort to him. Here are 4 guys, 4 brothers, who have lived really good and decent and productive and honest and worthwhile lives, and they could each conclude that God has deserted them. None of them are saying that, and I pray to God that I'll be able to buck up like them when my Time comes. I left rather sad, and not understanding the justice or fairness of this. As if I believed in justice and fairness.
Then, today, I started with the typical Sunday routine. That means getting up when I damn well feel like it (although, as I age, it gets earlier and earlier), heading for No. 3, putting on the coffee and reading the Sunday paper. That doesn't take a great deal of time, I only read the local paper. Oh, I cannot claim originality in the use of "mizpah" at the end of most posts, as that comes from a local columnist who writes in a way that shows he absolutely doesn't care what people think about him, he's saying what he wants. I like that attitude. (A girlfriend once got me to read the New York Times and Washington Post on Sundays. It took too much time, and didn't cure my cultural isolation, and besides, CV News, the only place in town I know of that sold them, closed a couple of years ago.) I got dressed up again mid-morning, because I promised my Mom that I would take her to church. She's been depressed because the people she has sat with for years have either died or sickened to the point that they cannot attend services. Given my adult-life record of formal church attendance, she didn't believe that I'd follow through until I showed up at her door. To feed my caffeine addiction, I stopped at McDonad's and got a "senior coffee," which annoys me but still saves 41 cents. While I was there, I saw a grizzled, bearded fellow go inside and then emerge with his own coffee. The car thermometer said 38 degrees F., so I figured that he would go back to his car and take off. He went to the little balcony overlooking a simple, working-class neighborhood, wiped the dew from the railing, and stood there drinking coffee, leaning on the railing and "observing the scene." I'm not sure why I mention this - it struck me as significant at the time.
I confess to some nervousness as we went into the church. I hadn't been in there since my Dad's funeral, and I busied myself with examining the physical plant. There are laminated wooden arches which create an impressive free span. On the sharply curved ends of them, there are whatever the modern equivalent of flying butresses distribuing the load, and that both amused and impressed me. It was some comfort to me that I know the pastor pretty well. It's Jim N., a very pleasant retired Methodist minister who is the temporary preacher at this Disciples of Christ Church. He was Bro. Dave's pastor for years, and that's how I met him. He's a sort of philosopher of "Flexidoxy," my word for love and not iron-bound doctrine, not to be confused with a hooker who has been a gymnast. Early in the service, he asked if he had any "young friends" he could talk to, and several little kids came forward. (I was impressed that this church doesn't banish the kids to some alternate room for the service, they understand that sometimes kids make a fuss, and it's not a big deal.) One of the children brought a "lava rock" for him to look at, and he gave what I think was an impromptu sermon (I hate that word for some reason) about science and how it is consistent with God. He talked geology and somehow transitioned to cosmology. Actually, he didn't do a bad job, even touching upon the contra-intuitiveness of relativity. He did opine that the universe is eternally expanding, and I need to talk with him about that not being settled. It depends on the presence of currently-unmeasurable "dark matter" as to whether the universe we know is open or closed. Some of the rituals of the church aren't so flexible, but I guess tradition supports them without requiring that they be taken seriously. One is a song or chant or something, the name of which I don't recall, which promises "world without end." Personally, I find Carl Sagan's concept of a "last perfect day" on Earth to be pretty convincing. Indeed, it's inevitable. The sun is going to run out of hydrogen in a few billion years, begin to burn helium and expand beyond Earth's orbit. So it's not "world without end," but of course I won't be corporeally here to confirm that. I think. (Aside: The new novel by Ken Follett, World Without End, is totally superior and I highly recommend it.) There was, of course, singing, which I don't really understand. I had a couple of problems. Where my Mom had to hold the hymnal to see it, I couldn't make out the printing with my bifocals. Also, I have an untrained but decent baritone voice, but I've never really read music well enough to follow accurately the baritone line. So, I just went with the flow without singing. Another confusing part of the service is the "Lord's Prayer," where God is implored, among other things, to "lead us not into temptation." I wonder why that's still a part of that prayer. Prayer may be answered in some respects, but I don't know that this phrase has ever gotten an affirmative response. A better request, in my opinion, would be to "help us have the strength and good judgment not to jump at temptation like a cliff-diver at Acapulco." God hasn't always answered that one affirmatively, but it strikes me that it has a better chance of working.
I enjoyed the service. For some reason, I was reminded of my favorite bit of e.e. cummings.:
.
i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything wich is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;
this is the birth day of life and love and wings:
and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake
and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
.
This afternoon, I was reading a bit of Scott Adams' new book. One essay talks about religion and how the adherents of each of the world's faiths "pray to different invisible friends." The First Amendment is healthy and vibrant in some respects (those which do not threaten profits).
.
I'm gearing up to drive to a far-away jail tomorrow to talk to Tina the Crack Dealer. Perhaps the acid test for a belief system is one that will help her make sense of her life, and live in peace and love in the future. She certainly has the potential for that - she is a nice person. But I do so worry about all of the horrible influences in her life, and her willingness to put them aside. Here is the test of religion: How does this spiritual body treat Tina the Crack Dealer? If the only people who get saved are the meek, pious and lucky, the whole thing strikes me as a sham.
Oh, I'm going back to church with my Mom next week. Go figure.
A worrisome thought for today: This is Veteran's Day, formerly Armistice Day, marking the end of World War I. Whoever decided the terms of the peace determined that there was some sort of important symbolism is ending the war at 11:00 AM, so that it ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. In McCullough's bio of Harry Truman, he says that Truman's battery fired their 75 mm cannons right up until 11:00. Who's dumbass idea was that? Rather, fucking immoral idea. Who was killed simply because some symbol-bound moron decided to delay peace by a few hours. God wasn't on the ball on this occasion.
What also impressed me a lot is that Pastor Jim pronounced "gunwale" correctly when he was citing Kierkegaard. Not many ministers know how it's pronounced.
Pippa passes. Mizpah.
R
Me and Jesus, we're buds. We have an understanding, I think. I don't demand to know the details of The Plan, and he's OK with me being human. It's a good working relationship. Church, however, is another matter. As a kid, I grew up in the Methodist Church. Frankly, I don't have a clue about the details of Methodist doctrine. I assume that it doesn't include transubstantiation, but I'm not clear on the issue of predetermination, predestination, or total free will. Some people find that important. I grew up with varying ideas of God, and frankly I think I always tried to keep a low profile. It didn't seem right to proclaim piddling items of faith as the Absolute Truth, when I really didn't have a clue. Church was, to me, about friendship and connection with society. As you know, I've always been socially retarded, and that certainly applied to me as a kid. I remember an "interdemoninational youth group" that I was a part of in high school. It was ethnically diverse, in retrospect, and I'm amused that I even remember that. We certainly weren't aware of that, we were just friends, learning the basics of independent interaction and loving friendship. (Note elsewhere, I've said that the current prohibition against teens touching each other is moronic.) The youth leader was Al, a senior at PHS, a big fellow with an outrageous sense of humor and who showed about as much fellowship and love as was permissable for a high school kid. I remember when he was killed when he rolled his little red MG convertible on Route 50. That did not make sense at the time, and still doesn't. Was that ordained by God? If so, He needs glasses. Why couldn't he have killed a young Saddam Hussein or Usama bin Laden? Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think Al would have been a much better human than either of those two. (And here I remember a song by . . . by . . . damn, I forget - Springsteen? Anyway, one line was "Only the good die young," and when it was popular, it was sort of an anthem for paramedics. Many a drunken episode in a nice bar was livened up with that song. It may even be true. It was true for Al.) I remember showing a senior girl the way up to the dome of the church, and fantasizing about "getting lucky" up over the stained glass. When she bent over to look down the long way down into the sanctuary, my eyes were focused intensely on the tops of her legs. (This in the days before panty hose, which are both ridiculous and not too darn enticing.)
Both yesterday and today have been spiritually thought-provoking for me. Yesterday, I was at No. 3 most of the day, doing the Saturday routine, which frankly isn't all that strenuous. I.e., I spend some time screwing off in the cushy chair in LaElu's office, reading. I went to my desk and was sorting through some papers. I came upon a postcard (remember those) from my Masonic Lodge which announced the "Past Masters Night" for that evening. It is hard to get away from No. 3 in time to go to lodge during the week, and when the meeting runs very late, that makes the next day's schedule all the more difficult. But whenever I see that we're having a Saturday meeting, I do my best to attend. So, I stayed late at No. 3, found a blazer that fit, and went to lodge. (I'm going down in clothes sizes quickly now - the nature of solids and geometry is that at a lower weight, the same weight loss produces larger linear reductions.) I got there early, because parking is a bear there, and sat through the dinner. That night, it wasn't prepared by the "stewards" of the Lodge, it was prepared by ladies from the Eastern Star, to make money for their organization. (That's bothersome to me. It feels like they are taking a subservient role. Note elsewhere my extreme -- if occasionally ruinous -- love of women.) The meal was "traditional rib-sticking American food," i.e., way too much and loaded with grease. (I'm soooo concerned about the diet long term - for this to be successful, I have to keep that stuff out of my life.) We went upstairs to the Lodge room, and held a "Master Mason's Lodge," in which there is ritual including prayer. (dear friend is a lawyer here, whose grandfather was Master of my Lodge in 1921, and whose father was Master in 1950. I'm going to mail her the little program of remembrance that was printed up.) As I've noted elsewhere, you can find versions of Masonic ritual in hundreds of places online. Every time I am a part of it, it gives me an opportunity to reflect and learn. LaElu surprised me today - noting that she thought I was an atheist, given my avoidance of church services. In fact, no atheist can be a Mason. I was disturbed during the meeting and afterwards when I learned of the illness of four brothers I'm close to. My "coach," Billy R., is in the hospital with severe respiratory problems probably due to years and years in the coal mines. The Lodge chaplain, Bob E., is a fellow I dearly love. He was an assistant scoutmaster in a troop I belonged to nearly 40 years ago. He came over during a break, and was telling me about just being diagnosed with prostrate cancer, and what the medical mill had in store for him. He talked about the fact that he has always prayed every day, and doesn't expect something miraculous of the burning-bush variety. Rather, he prays for the strength to fight. He is a man's man. Then there's Butch, who occupies a post called the "tiler." Butch is a contractor who smoked for years, quit 3 or 4 years ago, but got cancer anyway. He has cancer of the jaw, throat and tonsils, and he too has been tossed into the medical grinder. He's doing pretty poorly. He's a great guy. Due to my legendary ineptitude at fixing things, he's taken care of my Mom's house since Dad died in 1999. He stops in to visit her every month or so, usually bringing a bag of hamburgers from a greasy spoon near the college. And finally, there was Harold. I really love that guy, he is giving and loving and altogether pleasant. He has long been a brittle diabetic, and a couple of years ago, had to have a pancreas transplant. (I'd never heard of a pancreas transplant before that.) This cured his diabetes, and he's had a couple of great years. Now, though, the immune-suppressing drugs that he absolutely must take to avoid organ rejection are now causing squamous cell skin cancers, which are accumulating faster and more aggressively than surgeons can remove them, and he is truly screwed and he knows it. There's an interesting conundrum, what is the right thing to say to someone who is dying and knows it? Oops? Bad luck, old boy? Well, I told him I didn't know what to say, and he laughed because he enjoyed my perplexed look. Then I told him that I'll be there to help his wife "when the time comes," and that was a comfort to him. Here are 4 guys, 4 brothers, who have lived really good and decent and productive and honest and worthwhile lives, and they could each conclude that God has deserted them. None of them are saying that, and I pray to God that I'll be able to buck up like them when my Time comes. I left rather sad, and not understanding the justice or fairness of this. As if I believed in justice and fairness.
Then, today, I started with the typical Sunday routine. That means getting up when I damn well feel like it (although, as I age, it gets earlier and earlier), heading for No. 3, putting on the coffee and reading the Sunday paper. That doesn't take a great deal of time, I only read the local paper. Oh, I cannot claim originality in the use of "mizpah" at the end of most posts, as that comes from a local columnist who writes in a way that shows he absolutely doesn't care what people think about him, he's saying what he wants. I like that attitude. (A girlfriend once got me to read the New York Times and Washington Post on Sundays. It took too much time, and didn't cure my cultural isolation, and besides, CV News, the only place in town I know of that sold them, closed a couple of years ago.) I got dressed up again mid-morning, because I promised my Mom that I would take her to church. She's been depressed because the people she has sat with for years have either died or sickened to the point that they cannot attend services. Given my adult-life record of formal church attendance, she didn't believe that I'd follow through until I showed up at her door. To feed my caffeine addiction, I stopped at McDonad's and got a "senior coffee," which annoys me but still saves 41 cents. While I was there, I saw a grizzled, bearded fellow go inside and then emerge with his own coffee. The car thermometer said 38 degrees F., so I figured that he would go back to his car and take off. He went to the little balcony overlooking a simple, working-class neighborhood, wiped the dew from the railing, and stood there drinking coffee, leaning on the railing and "observing the scene." I'm not sure why I mention this - it struck me as significant at the time.
I confess to some nervousness as we went into the church. I hadn't been in there since my Dad's funeral, and I busied myself with examining the physical plant. There are laminated wooden arches which create an impressive free span. On the sharply curved ends of them, there are whatever the modern equivalent of flying butresses distribuing the load, and that both amused and impressed me. It was some comfort to me that I know the pastor pretty well. It's Jim N., a very pleasant retired Methodist minister who is the temporary preacher at this Disciples of Christ Church. He was Bro. Dave's pastor for years, and that's how I met him. He's a sort of philosopher of "Flexidoxy," my word for love and not iron-bound doctrine, not to be confused with a hooker who has been a gymnast. Early in the service, he asked if he had any "young friends" he could talk to, and several little kids came forward. (I was impressed that this church doesn't banish the kids to some alternate room for the service, they understand that sometimes kids make a fuss, and it's not a big deal.) One of the children brought a "lava rock" for him to look at, and he gave what I think was an impromptu sermon (I hate that word for some reason) about science and how it is consistent with God. He talked geology and somehow transitioned to cosmology. Actually, he didn't do a bad job, even touching upon the contra-intuitiveness of relativity. He did opine that the universe is eternally expanding, and I need to talk with him about that not being settled. It depends on the presence of currently-unmeasurable "dark matter" as to whether the universe we know is open or closed. Some of the rituals of the church aren't so flexible, but I guess tradition supports them without requiring that they be taken seriously. One is a song or chant or something, the name of which I don't recall, which promises "world without end." Personally, I find Carl Sagan's concept of a "last perfect day" on Earth to be pretty convincing. Indeed, it's inevitable. The sun is going to run out of hydrogen in a few billion years, begin to burn helium and expand beyond Earth's orbit. So it's not "world without end," but of course I won't be corporeally here to confirm that. I think. (Aside: The new novel by Ken Follett, World Without End, is totally superior and I highly recommend it.) There was, of course, singing, which I don't really understand. I had a couple of problems. Where my Mom had to hold the hymnal to see it, I couldn't make out the printing with my bifocals. Also, I have an untrained but decent baritone voice, but I've never really read music well enough to follow accurately the baritone line. So, I just went with the flow without singing. Another confusing part of the service is the "Lord's Prayer," where God is implored, among other things, to "lead us not into temptation." I wonder why that's still a part of that prayer. Prayer may be answered in some respects, but I don't know that this phrase has ever gotten an affirmative response. A better request, in my opinion, would be to "help us have the strength and good judgment not to jump at temptation like a cliff-diver at Acapulco." God hasn't always answered that one affirmatively, but it strikes me that it has a better chance of working.
I enjoyed the service. For some reason, I was reminded of my favorite bit of e.e. cummings.:
.
i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything wich is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;
this is the birth day of life and love and wings:
and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake
and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
.
This afternoon, I was reading a bit of Scott Adams' new book. One essay talks about religion and how the adherents of each of the world's faiths "pray to different invisible friends." The First Amendment is healthy and vibrant in some respects (those which do not threaten profits).
.
I'm gearing up to drive to a far-away jail tomorrow to talk to Tina the Crack Dealer. Perhaps the acid test for a belief system is one that will help her make sense of her life, and live in peace and love in the future. She certainly has the potential for that - she is a nice person. But I do so worry about all of the horrible influences in her life, and her willingness to put them aside. Here is the test of religion: How does this spiritual body treat Tina the Crack Dealer? If the only people who get saved are the meek, pious and lucky, the whole thing strikes me as a sham.
Oh, I'm going back to church with my Mom next week. Go figure.
A worrisome thought for today: This is Veteran's Day, formerly Armistice Day, marking the end of World War I. Whoever decided the terms of the peace determined that there was some sort of important symbolism is ending the war at 11:00 AM, so that it ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. In McCullough's bio of Harry Truman, he says that Truman's battery fired their 75 mm cannons right up until 11:00. Who's dumbass idea was that? Rather, fucking immoral idea. Who was killed simply because some symbol-bound moron decided to delay peace by a few hours. God wasn't on the ball on this occasion.
What also impressed me a lot is that Pastor Jim pronounced "gunwale" correctly when he was citing Kierkegaard. Not many ministers know how it's pronounced.
Pippa passes. Mizpah.
R
Friday, November 9, 2007
I have nothing worthwhile to say
Well, not much.
If I explain how everything is wonderful, I'm lying. If I bitch, I'm whining. I'll do neither. Sooo, some random observations:
I've noticed that those Shelfers I've talked to on the phone have distinct regional accents. Am I the only one who speaks without an accent and with perfect English?
Tomorrow is a parade in town, and of course the politicians are turning out. I told both Bro. Dave and Partner Amy today to look for me on the 2nd floor carved stone balustrade of the Courthouse as they slowly drive past. And I told them that they will have to look REAL hard, because I won't be there. I think Emma has passed the Grinch Conch on to me to hold for the holidays.
I went to dinner last evening with LaElu, Tim and my mom, to a ma & pa kind of restaurant which serves various kinds of comfort food. I sat, drank my coffee and chatted, and on this occasion, the food thing wasn't very difficult. Tim is getting good experience as a rescue guy, and he and I were having a friendly argument about preparations for hazardous materials incidents. I was on the county fire departments' shit list for a good while, because when I was an emergency services director, I torpoedoed a poorly considered proposal for a hazardous materials response unit, because after consulting with buddies in the hazmat business (one of whom co-wrote the revision of the response guide that is supposed to be in every apparatus in the country) it appeared to me that there are too few incidents to justify either the danger to responders who don't get calls and experience or the considerable expense. Tim worked midnight last night, and wouldn't you know they had a hazmat incident in an adjoining county with a death from exposure to toluene triisocyanate (think cyanide and phosgene, the gas that make WWI famous), sheltering, and a y'all come to lots of departments here including his company. Son Tim is a trifle smug this evening. Sigh. My opinion remains unchanged, but I'm no longer in a position to do much about that. One of my (borrowed) rules of life is "don't let your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash." These young people are eager and think themselves invulnerable.
I have to get up early to meet a garage door installer, for the garage door (which is decades old) gave up the ghost. Hell, I offered to LaElu to get one at Lowe's and install it, but no, she had to have a professional. (Perhaps you don't realize how ridiculous such an offer is on my part. My favorite - sometimes only - tool is commonly known as the BFH Tool.)
I'm more and more leaving tracks in books - I have more stuff on my person than Batman does in his utility belt, including a yellow highlighter. When I see a phrase that strikes me, I mark it - maybe because that helps me remember it. This afternoon, I was waiting in the car reading Odyssey, by Jack McDevitt, and found one such passage: "Life is what it is. A brief stroll in the sunlight. A chance to enjoy yourself for a century or so. Love. Be loved. Have a few drinks before the fire goes out." I'm not often drawn to broad stuff like this, more so to terse, tight points. But this one just touched me. Maybe having a few (figurative) drinks is the one and True Answer.
I talked to the ladies at the diet place today - just talking about the future. My ideas in that respect aren't totally conventional, and I'm not going to do anything behind their back. I did tell them that they are important in my life, and I do love them. They were embarassed. How silly a society do we have when it's embarassing to be told that you're loved. There are as many kinds of love as their are combinations of people, and that potential changes every moment. (Sound silly or sweeping? I can live with that.)
I don't often pass along news items. On cnn.com today, though, there was an item about a high school girl who was suspended for hugging a friend who's parent had died. What kind of fucking values are we teaching kids? They watch the Dysfunctional Olympics (aka MTV and VH1) and so our collective response is to punish compassionate, human, loving behavior? Christ, I can think of cases that I've gotten ENORMOUS fees consisting solely of honest hugs at the end. What a world of trash. Hasn't anybody gotten the fucking memo? We're all in this together. (I do reserve the right to be judgmental about people who are silly, annoying and boring. If someone doesn't like that, I can live with that, too.)
November is a bad month for me generally. I'm working on the "why's" of that, but in many respects, my mind is closed. See, even I don't read the memo all the time.
Pippa passes.
Mizpah.
R
If I explain how everything is wonderful, I'm lying. If I bitch, I'm whining. I'll do neither. Sooo, some random observations:
I've noticed that those Shelfers I've talked to on the phone have distinct regional accents. Am I the only one who speaks without an accent and with perfect English?
Tomorrow is a parade in town, and of course the politicians are turning out. I told both Bro. Dave and Partner Amy today to look for me on the 2nd floor carved stone balustrade of the Courthouse as they slowly drive past. And I told them that they will have to look REAL hard, because I won't be there. I think Emma has passed the Grinch Conch on to me to hold for the holidays.
I went to dinner last evening with LaElu, Tim and my mom, to a ma & pa kind of restaurant which serves various kinds of comfort food. I sat, drank my coffee and chatted, and on this occasion, the food thing wasn't very difficult. Tim is getting good experience as a rescue guy, and he and I were having a friendly argument about preparations for hazardous materials incidents. I was on the county fire departments' shit list for a good while, because when I was an emergency services director, I torpoedoed a poorly considered proposal for a hazardous materials response unit, because after consulting with buddies in the hazmat business (one of whom co-wrote the revision of the response guide that is supposed to be in every apparatus in the country) it appeared to me that there are too few incidents to justify either the danger to responders who don't get calls and experience or the considerable expense. Tim worked midnight last night, and wouldn't you know they had a hazmat incident in an adjoining county with a death from exposure to toluene triisocyanate (think cyanide and phosgene, the gas that make WWI famous), sheltering, and a y'all come to lots of departments here including his company. Son Tim is a trifle smug this evening. Sigh. My opinion remains unchanged, but I'm no longer in a position to do much about that. One of my (borrowed) rules of life is "don't let your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash." These young people are eager and think themselves invulnerable.
I have to get up early to meet a garage door installer, for the garage door (which is decades old) gave up the ghost. Hell, I offered to LaElu to get one at Lowe's and install it, but no, she had to have a professional. (Perhaps you don't realize how ridiculous such an offer is on my part. My favorite - sometimes only - tool is commonly known as the BFH Tool.)
I'm more and more leaving tracks in books - I have more stuff on my person than Batman does in his utility belt, including a yellow highlighter. When I see a phrase that strikes me, I mark it - maybe because that helps me remember it. This afternoon, I was waiting in the car reading Odyssey, by Jack McDevitt, and found one such passage: "Life is what it is. A brief stroll in the sunlight. A chance to enjoy yourself for a century or so. Love. Be loved. Have a few drinks before the fire goes out." I'm not often drawn to broad stuff like this, more so to terse, tight points. But this one just touched me. Maybe having a few (figurative) drinks is the one and True Answer.
I talked to the ladies at the diet place today - just talking about the future. My ideas in that respect aren't totally conventional, and I'm not going to do anything behind their back. I did tell them that they are important in my life, and I do love them. They were embarassed. How silly a society do we have when it's embarassing to be told that you're loved. There are as many kinds of love as their are combinations of people, and that potential changes every moment. (Sound silly or sweeping? I can live with that.)
I don't often pass along news items. On cnn.com today, though, there was an item about a high school girl who was suspended for hugging a friend who's parent had died. What kind of fucking values are we teaching kids? They watch the Dysfunctional Olympics (aka MTV and VH1) and so our collective response is to punish compassionate, human, loving behavior? Christ, I can think of cases that I've gotten ENORMOUS fees consisting solely of honest hugs at the end. What a world of trash. Hasn't anybody gotten the fucking memo? We're all in this together. (I do reserve the right to be judgmental about people who are silly, annoying and boring. If someone doesn't like that, I can live with that, too.)
November is a bad month for me generally. I'm working on the "why's" of that, but in many respects, my mind is closed. See, even I don't read the memo all the time.
Pippa passes.
Mizpah.
R
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Sometimes country sayings are useful
Amy got bombed in family court this afternoon - unfortunate case which illustrates the difficulty of bro. dave's job - I talked to her this evening as she was still smoking, but she wasn't ready to hear my opinion - which I distilled to a favorite localism - "sometimes you get the bear, and sometimes the bear gets you." Does that sound harsh or jaded? Perhaps - but the idea of lawyers who don't lose cases is ridiculous - if you get down in the trenches, deal with real people, you will see nasty stuff. That is the case in lots and lots of jobs. And when you emerge at the end of the day, covered with mud and sweat, you have to go take a shower and get some sleep, because tomorrow will be more of the same. Does that sound pessimistic? Not to me. I carry with me different documents for different purposes - one thing that I carry is a picture of the Central Criminal Court in London, the "Old Bailey." That is symbolic, to me, of the life I have chosen. Lots of very bad things happen there. I think I'll try to find Bro. Dave in the morning for coffee - and hassle him generally - in good fun. Although sometimes my sense of humor is a bit broad and inappropriate. Or iconoclastic.
Losing cases - of the post-death-penalty era in WV, by some quirk of fate, I own two of the three longest sentences - (life plus 200 years; and 7 consecutive life terms without parole). bro. dave tried the first one with me. There was a case with some conflict - the chief deputy sheriff let us in on his secret security plan for that trial- "if anything bad happens, you lawyers hit the deck because we're going to shoot the defendant." That had everything a good security plan needed - simplicity and decisiveness.
Tim got hired for ski patrol today. Believe it or not, an EMT is considered over-trained for that job around here - bizarre. He didn't appreciate my opinion that two things slide down hills - avalanches and fools.
LaElu has pointed out that I'm spending insufficient time around Casa LaElu - hell, I'm only working half days as a rule (that would be 7 AM to 7 PM). I like getting in early - there are 3 lawyers I talk to occasionally around 7, because we know that we are likely the only ones working at that time - it's a bit of a joke and a bit of mutual encouragement. Darn, I really miss my buddy and brother Fred - he would stop in at 7, we'd drink coffee, solve the world's problems, I'd run stuff by him for a lay/police-experienced view, and sometimes alter something I was doing in a case due to his opinion. Who will not listen to anybody's opinion is a fool. Cocky, too.
I'm taking off somewhat early tomorrow afternoon to go down to the diet place, and have a sort of status-check talk with the ladies there - I absolutely treasure those people. The office person there is in law school, and watching a new person's perspective is interesting. And there is a "fellowship" feeling to it. Anyway, re the diet, it will be a long time before I transition to long-term stuff, but it bears thinking about carefully even now. I'm walking longer distances without thinking about it lately - very new, and I need to look carefully at that and process it, and remember how truly miserable my physical life was 130 lbs. ago.
My mother has been using a computer purchases in 1998 by her and my dad. Tim finally talked her into the merits of a new one, and they ordered a Dell, including a good laser printer - she is getting more interested in photography.
Mizpah.
R
Losing cases - of the post-death-penalty era in WV, by some quirk of fate, I own two of the three longest sentences - (life plus 200 years; and 7 consecutive life terms without parole). bro. dave tried the first one with me. There was a case with some conflict - the chief deputy sheriff let us in on his secret security plan for that trial- "if anything bad happens, you lawyers hit the deck because we're going to shoot the defendant." That had everything a good security plan needed - simplicity and decisiveness.
Tim got hired for ski patrol today. Believe it or not, an EMT is considered over-trained for that job around here - bizarre. He didn't appreciate my opinion that two things slide down hills - avalanches and fools.
LaElu has pointed out that I'm spending insufficient time around Casa LaElu - hell, I'm only working half days as a rule (that would be 7 AM to 7 PM). I like getting in early - there are 3 lawyers I talk to occasionally around 7, because we know that we are likely the only ones working at that time - it's a bit of a joke and a bit of mutual encouragement. Darn, I really miss my buddy and brother Fred - he would stop in at 7, we'd drink coffee, solve the world's problems, I'd run stuff by him for a lay/police-experienced view, and sometimes alter something I was doing in a case due to his opinion. Who will not listen to anybody's opinion is a fool. Cocky, too.
I'm taking off somewhat early tomorrow afternoon to go down to the diet place, and have a sort of status-check talk with the ladies there - I absolutely treasure those people. The office person there is in law school, and watching a new person's perspective is interesting. And there is a "fellowship" feeling to it. Anyway, re the diet, it will be a long time before I transition to long-term stuff, but it bears thinking about carefully even now. I'm walking longer distances without thinking about it lately - very new, and I need to look carefully at that and process it, and remember how truly miserable my physical life was 130 lbs. ago.
My mother has been using a computer purchases in 1998 by her and my dad. Tim finally talked her into the merits of a new one, and they ordered a Dell, including a good laser printer - she is getting more interested in photography.
Mizpah.
R
Monday, November 5, 2007
This space for rent
I have a hopefully humorous (in my usual dark fashion) post in progress. I planned to take some time and buff it up this evening. Of course, humor is in the mind of the reader, perhaps it will be dreadfully dull and stupid. I have another darker one on my mind, too, but I don't know if I'll post that even here. Friend Dacey says that I get a bit edgy here at times.
However, a couple of hours ago, I was put into a terrible ethical dilemna (that I absolutely did not create even 1%) that has me, to use Partner Amy's term, "really freaking out." And the fucking rules (Did I say that? These are the rules I've lived by for 30 years, pretty faithfully and, indeed, the rules that I was tasked with enforcing for a few years) will not permit me to give any details at all here. So here I sit at No. 3, it's dark and storming outside, the house is dark but for my little desk lamp, everyone else has long since gone home, I've talked to my best friends (who, being lawyers, I can give some factual details to) who say it's a damn shame but I am absolutely mandated to do what I'd already done before I called them even though if I didn't do it nobody would (probably) ever find out. So do I be corrupt and feel bad, or follow the rules and feel horrible? Sadly, there is no room for discussion or even hesitation, and I feel guilty in an odd sort of way that I didn't at least consider doing the expedient but wrong thing. Not that I'm some sort of ethical drama queen or icon. But, by God, I DON'T FUCKING LIKE IT and I'M REALLY PISSED OFF AT LIFE AND THE UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW. For all the good that does. Sigh.
Pippa passes. But right now, I'd like to kick her ass.
R
However, a couple of hours ago, I was put into a terrible ethical dilemna (that I absolutely did not create even 1%) that has me, to use Partner Amy's term, "really freaking out." And the fucking rules (Did I say that? These are the rules I've lived by for 30 years, pretty faithfully and, indeed, the rules that I was tasked with enforcing for a few years) will not permit me to give any details at all here. So here I sit at No. 3, it's dark and storming outside, the house is dark but for my little desk lamp, everyone else has long since gone home, I've talked to my best friends (who, being lawyers, I can give some factual details to) who say it's a damn shame but I am absolutely mandated to do what I'd already done before I called them even though if I didn't do it nobody would (probably) ever find out. So do I be corrupt and feel bad, or follow the rules and feel horrible? Sadly, there is no room for discussion or even hesitation, and I feel guilty in an odd sort of way that I didn't at least consider doing the expedient but wrong thing. Not that I'm some sort of ethical drama queen or icon. But, by God, I DON'T FUCKING LIKE IT and I'M REALLY PISSED OFF AT LIFE AND THE UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW. For all the good that does. Sigh.
Pippa passes. But right now, I'd like to kick her ass.
R
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Thoughts on the aerodynamics of flying squirrels
Oddly enough, it was a day of about 60% rest. I was at No. 3, but spent part of the time screwing off, reading and so forth. Meant to do laundry, but I'll get that tomorrow. People are coming in tomorrow afternoon, so it'll be up to full steam.
Something is happening in my mind - I don't understand it. I'm getting more and more willing to share somewhat nosey opinions. In the trick or treat block party this week, as I saw a couple of grim-faced dads out with their little kids, I told them, "Enjoy it now, Dad, they grow up sooooo quick." (I know, it should be "quickly," but that's not in the local patois.) It's like I'm claiming to have some "wisdom," whatever that is, and the thought of making that claim is daunting.
LaElu, SonTim and I went to B&N tonight. Hell, I'm a cheap date. I bought a little bound edition of John Stuart Mill's On Liberty. I haven't read that since college, and I remember enjoying it, and I couldn't find my copy of it if my life depended on it. Let's see, 3 or 4 other books, too, including Scott Adam's collection of essays. Damn, I wish I could write that well. Tim and I talked EMS all the way, and it was a nice discussion. LaElu has the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere very quickly, and she slept through it. I shop pretty quickly, so I spent a good bit of time waiting for them in the coffee shop, sitting in a comfortable arm chair (hell, I fit in them now) and practicing some Masonic memory work. My "coach" insists that I be "letter perfect."
Permit me to share a reading tip with you. B&N, etc., sell fancy bookmarkers. However, if you keep lots of books going at the same time (I do to match my particular mood at the time I want to read), the cost of bookmarkers can be scandalous. I use business cards sometimes, but they just don't have the umph to do the job. So, when I go to WalMart, etc., and pass the paint department, I often get 3 or 4 "paint chips," the long strips of thin cardboard with several shades of the same color on them. They work admirably. Hell, I'll even buy paint there someday. I also love bright colors. My private office at No. 3 is painted in WVU Mountaineer gold. That wasn't intended to honor the Mounties at first, it was just a bright color that didn't remind me of past offices. For some reason, I'm really responsive to colors. Odors, too.
I'm still trying in vain for the avant garde label for my post titles. I don't think I've ever seen a flying squirrel, at least not in flight.
Deer season is coming up. I think I'm going to the farm with Tim, just to enjoy the woods on opening day. I will not carry a long arm, because I don't hunt. I didn't get outside enough over the summer. What a dumbass I am. I live in this beautiful rural place, and I don't enjoy what it has to offer.
Closing in on 130, the process is totally nominal right now. I think the folks at the University wish that I were more involved in the process, thinking about it more. But what I need to do to make this a long-term success is learn to lead a somewhat ascetic life without having to constantly think about it. I'm actually wearing shorts these days, because they do not look totally gross on me. Or so I'm told. I'll never be a can-can dancer or a leg model, though - owing to lots of knocks and spills over the years, my legs are scarred and ugly.
Pippa passes.
Mizpah.
R
Something is happening in my mind - I don't understand it. I'm getting more and more willing to share somewhat nosey opinions. In the trick or treat block party this week, as I saw a couple of grim-faced dads out with their little kids, I told them, "Enjoy it now, Dad, they grow up sooooo quick." (I know, it should be "quickly," but that's not in the local patois.) It's like I'm claiming to have some "wisdom," whatever that is, and the thought of making that claim is daunting.
LaElu, SonTim and I went to B&N tonight. Hell, I'm a cheap date. I bought a little bound edition of John Stuart Mill's On Liberty. I haven't read that since college, and I remember enjoying it, and I couldn't find my copy of it if my life depended on it. Let's see, 3 or 4 other books, too, including Scott Adam's collection of essays. Damn, I wish I could write that well. Tim and I talked EMS all the way, and it was a nice discussion. LaElu has the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere very quickly, and she slept through it. I shop pretty quickly, so I spent a good bit of time waiting for them in the coffee shop, sitting in a comfortable arm chair (hell, I fit in them now) and practicing some Masonic memory work. My "coach" insists that I be "letter perfect."
Permit me to share a reading tip with you. B&N, etc., sell fancy bookmarkers. However, if you keep lots of books going at the same time (I do to match my particular mood at the time I want to read), the cost of bookmarkers can be scandalous. I use business cards sometimes, but they just don't have the umph to do the job. So, when I go to WalMart, etc., and pass the paint department, I often get 3 or 4 "paint chips," the long strips of thin cardboard with several shades of the same color on them. They work admirably. Hell, I'll even buy paint there someday. I also love bright colors. My private office at No. 3 is painted in WVU Mountaineer gold. That wasn't intended to honor the Mounties at first, it was just a bright color that didn't remind me of past offices. For some reason, I'm really responsive to colors. Odors, too.
I'm still trying in vain for the avant garde label for my post titles. I don't think I've ever seen a flying squirrel, at least not in flight.
Deer season is coming up. I think I'm going to the farm with Tim, just to enjoy the woods on opening day. I will not carry a long arm, because I don't hunt. I didn't get outside enough over the summer. What a dumbass I am. I live in this beautiful rural place, and I don't enjoy what it has to offer.
Closing in on 130, the process is totally nominal right now. I think the folks at the University wish that I were more involved in the process, thinking about it more. But what I need to do to make this a long-term success is learn to lead a somewhat ascetic life without having to constantly think about it. I'm actually wearing shorts these days, because they do not look totally gross on me. Or so I'm told. I'll never be a can-can dancer or a leg model, though - owing to lots of knocks and spills over the years, my legs are scarred and ugly.
Pippa passes.
Mizpah.
R
Friday, November 2, 2007
Unchained melody
I don't have a clue why that phrase is in my mind tonight. Maybe something from The Righteous Brothers? Anyway, I post it in the hopes that someone will find it profound and assign some deep avant garde meaning to it, and consider me some sort of electronic sachem. Jim Morrison and The Doors - they said the name was profound, from some poem about a passageway into paradise or something like that. On the other hand, The Commodores picked their name at random from the dictionary - the first word they saw was "commode," so they looked further down the column. Maybe I'll found a group if I ever learn to play an instrument - The Wallboards; The Casement Windows. I've got it, The Studs. God, I'm deep.
I went to my Mom's house on the way home. LaElu was there. They were comparing horoscopes. No kidding. I asked when the witch doctor would be there with the shrunken heads, and recommended feng shui to channel the ethereal energy of the house. They were not amused.
Speaking of science, apparently John Raese (pronounced "racy") is running against Jay Rockefeller for US Senator from WV again. At a Republican dinner last night, as reported in the local newspaper, his speech included the assertion that "there is absolutely no scientific evidence for greenhouse gases being caused by burning fossil fuels." How can you argue with that? How can you begin to challenge someone who is so stunningly stupid? Or such a blatant liar. Or, perhaps, mentally ill. He's a gazillionaire who inherited businesses, and says that he runs them. He may, I don't know. His point was to get support as the "friend of coal." WV has much coal deposits. Coal burns with lots of particulates, so it looks very dirty. It also has a good bit of sulphur in it (unlike the preferred "sweet" crude oil) and so when the particulates are removed (electrostatically, I think) the resulting smoke is faintly orange-yellow. Sulphur combines with water and produces airborne sulphur dioxide - acid rain. That's a problem only now being effectively addressed. A good point which he didn't make (because he's too stupid?) is that gasoline burns with about 10% efficiency. That is, the energy potential of the product is used 90% for waste heat and 10% for work. With new coal burning technology, 40% efficiency is within sight. An electric car plugged into the grid uses fuel which releases about 1/3 of the carbon as an equivalent distance driven with gasoline. Science is the answer, technology is the answer, civic responsibility is the answer. But we get fucking stupidity, cupidity and malice. But who else would want to wallow in the political mire?
Something profound - OK, I heard it in the barber shop yesterday. (I'm shorn.) "There ain't no such thing as a woman who ain't pretty." Now THERE is a Truth.
Thinking about putting a post in the community blog about the confederate flag, and displays of it. It's protected speech. It personally offends the hell out of me. I wonder how others feel about it. Of course, I wear the square & compasses, star of life, and fleur-de-lis, and perhaps some folks are offended by some or all of those. Oh, Kath, a St. Michael's medal on the back of the tag with the star of life, too. And those symbols are on my car - it's rather busy.
I bombed the lying son of a bitch who has pissed me off in court today. Friend Dacey convinced me to tone it down, so there was only a fringe of fury there. Lawyers who lie betray the Fellowship.
I just tried to "upload an image." Probably copyrighted. Damn, I'd loved to have thought of that.
Mizpah.
R
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