This blog in storage - direct all inquiries to www.No3EquityCourt.blogspot.com

Notice from Roger "Elu's" attorneys

30 March 2008

Dear Denizens of Abookshelf2.org:

We have the honor to represent Mr. Roger LNU, commonly referred to as “Elu,” who has been a part of the general Shelf Community since November 1997.

Mr. LNU has asked that we contact you to inform you of significant developments in his life. Owing to the death of his favorite Aunt, Ms. Myrtle LNU (who died recently at age 107 from a water-skiing accident on Lake Titicaca), Mr. LNU has inherited a substantial estate, including controlling interest in the Susquehanna Hat Company, arrable acreage, standing timber, several feldspar mines, a boomerang manufacturer and the leading tallow distributor of Namibia. Mr. LNU’s new-found responsibilities require that he embark on a Grand Tour of the world to manage this estate in the public interest. At Mr. LNU’s request, the undersigned has been appointed trustee of the Elu Trust, which has been established to establish a group home for recovering robbers, roues, rap “artists”, Republicans and other undesirables whose vocations begin with the letter “R”, and also provides for the care of abused squirrels.

Earlier this evening, Mr. LNU set off from the Port of Baltimore aboard a tramp freighter. Rest assured that he will not remain idle, but rather will act as Assistant Navigator, being one of the last accomplished practitioners of the science of Dead Reckoning. Indeed, Mr. LNU eschews the use of LORAN, GPS or any other instruments of navigation, save his great-grandfather’s sextant, a compass and a wind-up chronometer. As the freighter cleared the harbor, Mr. Elu tipped his Orioles cap at Camden Yard, and set off into the wide world with a song in his heart.

The “blog” commonly known as “Roger’s Meanderings” will necessarily be suspended for the indefinite future. A copy of this letter will be the final post placed thereon. Any news or opinions from or about “Elu” may be found at the blog of this firm, www.No3EquityCourt.blogspot.com. By copy of this letter to Sonya “Treesquish,” we are requesting that a link be placed at abookshelf2.org for easy access to that blog by anyone who retains any interest in Elu.

With continued good wishes, we remain,

Curry & Swisher, pllc
Attorneys and Barristers-at-law
Roger D. Curry, Partner
No. 3 Equity Court, the Outer Temple
Fairmont, by the grace of God, West Virginia

The start of Holy Week - The Via Dolorosa

Pastor Josh sang an absolutely haunting song, The Via Dolorosa, at the end of the Palm Sunday service. Here are the lyrics:
.
.
Down the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem that day
The soldiers tried to clear the narrow street
But the crowd pressed in to see
The Man condemned to die on Calvary.
.
He was bleeding from a beating,
there were stripes upon His back
And He wore a crown of thorns upon His head
And He bore with every step
The scorn of those who cried out for His death.
.
Down the Via Dolorosa called the way of suffering
Like a lamb came the Messiah, Christ the King,
But He chose to walk that road out of
His love for you and me.
Down the Via Dolorosa, all the way to Calvary.
.
Por la Via Dolorosa, triste dia en Jerusalem
Los saldados le abrian paso a Jesus
Mas la gente se acercaba
Para ver al que llevaba aquella cruz.
.
Por la Via Dolorosa, que es la via del dolor
Como oveja vino Cristo, Rey, Senor Y fue
El quien quiso ir por su amor por ti y por mi
Por la Via Dolorosa al Calvario y a morir
The blood that would cleanse the souls of all men
Made its way to the heart of Jerusalem.
.
Down the Via Dolorosa called the way of suffering
Like a lamb came the Messiah, Christ the King
But He chose to walk that road
out of His love for you and me
Down the Via Dolorosa, all the way to Calvary.
.
.
I think that it translates as The Way of Sorrow (Suffering?).
.
I am annoyed at the false image that we so-called Progressives are somehow separated from God. And also at the hesitation of some to refrain from mentioning God, Christ, eternity or what-not, for fear of offending a Muslim/Jew/Buddhist/atheist/whatever. The First Amendment applies to us, too - a simple statement of faith is not pushing a religion on anyone, and it's neither establishing a religion nor "preventing the free exercise thereof."
.
People, READ THE MEMO: WE ARE ALL IN THIS LIFE TOGETHER.
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Keep your powder dry. Pippa passes.
.
R

True and fantasy headlines I'd like to see - in the old-fashioned seriatim style:

In keeping with my curmudgeonly pique this evening, I offer the following which are either (1) true or (2) I honestly wish they were true. Perhaps this will be a continuing feature. Perhaps it's just me blowing cold flame. Coincidence? I think not.

MILLIONS OF STUDENTS SOBER, STUDYING, WORKING
- Student leaders: " 'Everybody does it,' my ass!"
- Book purchasing soars
- Take time for church, volunteer work
- Youth recognize the elderly as having had hard & honest lives
- News execs no longer say "If it bleeds, it leads."

BOTTLED WATER INDUSTRY COLLAPSES
- Surgeon General: "What kind of moron would buy it?"
- States continue to regulate safe tap water.
- Coke, Pepsi Board Members hurl selves from Midwest water towers.
- God promises: Rains will continue until further notice.
- President of France: "Damn, you finally figured out that Perrier tastes like bubbly piss."

BRITNEY ONLY ONE OF A MILLION
- Surgeon General: "There are at least a million screwed up young women out there."
- Major healthcare need finally recognized.
- Insurance executives hurl selves from Midwest water towers
- Microsoft offerring update to Word; "Britney" will be auto-deleted from the news.

SMOKERS ABANDON LAWSUITS
- Surgeon General: "About time - what morons!"
- Plaintiffs decide to accept personal responsibility.

"COP KILLER" BULLETS BANNED
- Made to penetrate body armor
- Have been available by mail order
- Wayne LaPierre: "About time. What the hell were we thinking?"

INSURANCE COMPANIES TO OFFER FAIR SETTLEMENTS
- Companies pledge to end lying and abuse
- Trial lawyers fail to hurl selves from Midwest water towers; too many people already there.
- Gecko, Guy with Deep Voice, Good Neighbor Agent, "Cave Men" all exposed as frauds.

CONGRESS ENACTS MINIMUM LIVING WAGE
- Two working parents to be able to live, raise children
- Chamber of Commerce admits that small business will prosper for a change
- Union bosses avoid the Midwest

PARENTS UNITE, BECOME GOOD EXAMPLES
- No longer preach abstinence of alcohol and get wasted on weekends.
- Apologize for acting like "buddies" rather than parents.
- Apologize to grandparents who had to step in to raise grandchildren

Keep your powder dry. Pippa passes.

R

911 pique

Folks, at least 100 people in Elu County are responsible for building our modern emergency response system, 911 plus all of the various departments. I am proud to have been one (and only one) of them. At least 100 people work somewhere in the system every day. You call, you get an answer in seconds from someone trained to handle the call.

Too many people either do not call 911 at all, or delay calling because they "don't want to inconvenience" the responders, or "aren't sure that the rescue squad [etc.] is absolutely necessary," or "don't want to make a fuss that the neighbors see."I cannot tell you how many thousands of hours, tens of thousands of hours, has gone into the 911/fire/rescue/police system in every county. Your tax bucks, fire fees, phone surcharges, insurance, etc., pay for the great majority of this whether you use it or not.

Consider being in a school building, standing by a fire alarm. You look down the hallway, and see smoke coming from under a doorway. What do you do?

a - Wait for more smoke so you're SURE there's a fire.

b - Go down, open the door (and possibly give a fire a blast of air that will get 'er going good).

c - Nothing - there's no flame visible.

d - Pull the fire alarm.

Answer: Well, it's obvious.

It is so sad for people in the system to hear about problems or tragedies which could have been lessened if only people had called 911. If your relative goes into cardiac arrest in your car as you are driving him/her to the hospital, there is NOTHING that you can do. My dear friend A. James Manchin (google him, he was a character and a wonderful guy) screwed around for over an hour when he started having a heart attack. He lived five miles from a manned rescue squad station, but no one called until he went into cardiac arrest. Would a 911 call have saved him? I have no idea. But it DEFINITELY would have given him a greater chance. Another quick example: A couple of weeks ago, my mom had a minor fall, and her oxygen line got disconnected. She couldn't get it reconnected. Fortunately, someone was home at our house to go over and help get the line reconnected. But if there had been nobody available, Mom would have been perfectly justified to call 911 and explain the problem. They prioritize calls, so if you have something (relatively) minor, someone else's need will not be met with a delay. They would have put the call out to the rescue squad or fire department (whoever was available in station or driving around) as a "public service" call. The fire departments and rescue squads don't mind public service calls. That's part of what they are there for.

Remember to thank these people. Send a tray of rigatoni from Muriale's to your local station unexpectedly. If there is a station close to your church, invite the folks there to come to special services, and assure them that you'll leave a space right out front to park the engine.

READ THE MEMO, PEOPLE: WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER.

Keep your powder dry. Pippa passes.

R

Relevance at the Barber; Jesus Meets Bernard Goetz and They Become Buds; and Other Fables

Friday, I was running around, going to the Courthouse, etc., and drove past the barber shop. You can tell what it is by the name of the establishment: “Barber Shop.” Simple. Direct. Informative. Not unduly flashy. My kind of place. Sometimes I wonder if I’m caught in sort of time displacement, and this place is the direct incarnation of Floyd-the-Barber in Mayberry. (Those over whose heads that cultural reference has passed are forgiven, so long as you forgive this humble scribe for his profound indifference to contemporary cultural “icons.”) Also, I’m reading a rather quirky novel at the moment by Wendell Berry, The Life Story of Jayber Crow, Barber, of the Port William Membership, as Written by Himself. Wordy title, quirky book, and I’m quite enjoying it. (The title is a touch of Rocky & Bullwinkle. I like Rocky & Bullwinkle.) Anyway, the Barber Shop is an endless inspiration for my meanderings. I parked right in front of the door, went in, and in my own quirky tradition wished a quiet “God bless all here” to the company. I do that in bars, too. At least, I think I probably still do, but it’s been rather a long time since I’ve been in a bar. There were several fellows in there, one of whom was holding a rifle. Now, I don’t know where that would be a common sight. Certainly, here in Our Town, it isn’t UNcommon. This was a nice little rifle, a .22 caliber, with some sort of curious sort of semi-automatic action that ejected spent brass without bringing another round into the chamber. Why anyone would invent such a thing is beyond me, but we live in the age of Transformers Toys, Mighty Putty, KaBoom and other stuff hawked by Billy Mays which makes about as much sense. It was an ordinary little rifle, and he passed it around, and while it’s ordinary, it’s always nice to see a well-made firearm. One of the fellows there was quite old, and talked about having “qualified” on an ‘03 Springfield, meaning that he was in the military a long, long time ago. Another fellow came in with his dog (not on a leash, quite a docile animal) and we proceeded to talk about dogs for a while. In my own continuing saga of idiosyncratic behavior, I got my already short hair cut to the length that is popular amongst law enforcement. I wonder why - I still have most of my hair follicles, and it’s mostly salt with some pepper, and I’ve kept it mostly long over the years. In the chair, five minutes, eleven bucks, and I’m gone. EluMama and I did a bit of furniture shopping, and I went back here to No. 3 and spent a quiet evening dictating stuff.

Church as usual Sunday morning, and quite enjoyable. As we were filing out, I asked Pastor Josh if he’d like to go with Bro. Dave and I to the Gun Show in the afternoon, for culture, commerce and politics. I think Josh was a tad taken aback - maybe he’d never been invited to a gun show? Well, the duality of a morning of Christian love with an afternoon of destructive devices was positively irresistable.

Yes, “destructive devices.” Firearms are weapons. The so-called sporting uses are either (1) violent or (2) to develop finer skills for the user to be violent in the future. They are lawfully used for hunting. That’s violent. I choose not to hunt, but I don’t condemn those who do. First, people close to me hunt and they are fine folks, and second, the meat in the meager meals I have didn’t come from animals who got depressed and committed suicide. Target practice is seldom a free-standing sport, and those who are serious about it are few and far between. It is not divorced from violence. Anything you do with a pistol is even more steeped in violence. Pistols are not useful for anything but to kill things, mostly people. Practicing with a pistol is to improve one’s skill, both speed and accuracy. Carrying a pistol is not done for sporting purposes. Carrying a pistol concealed is not sporting in any sense of the term, it is done so that one can employ deadly force unexpectedly when it is warranted. As long at the gun-loving community hides behind the “sporting myth,” we cannot have a genuine conversation about violence in our society and the presence of seriously bad actors who present situations where a violent/deadly response is legally (and morally?) justified. And that discussion needs to take place in the absence of loads of macho bullshit where people exaggerate the dangers in the world and their own willingness to pull a weapon and in the absence of denials that the bad actors are out there. Captain Reality, where are you?

Anyway, Dave picked me up at No. 3, and off we went to the local armory. Part of the building is secured and I presume that military stuff is kept there. The rest is a big open space used for basketball games, proms, and other public events. At the door, there were prominent signs: “Unload Your Weapons. ALL of them. This means you!” The entrance resembled the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, with lots of people slapping for holsters hidden all over to pull pistols, remove magazines and clear the weapons. Dave was not tooled up, which I commented was a poor choice. Walking unarmed into a public place where there are lots of firearms and hundreds of people, one or more of whom SURELY believes that he screwed them in a divorce, just doesn’t seem to me to be very on-the-ball. He was amused by my opinion. He and I toured around, chatting with people we knew, and he was handing out campaign brochures. I’d rather go to a gun show than a hooker bazaar, because I’m much more likely to buy something. I was sort of looking for a particular type of firearm, but when I found one, it was (1) too damn small and (2) too damn expensive. However, the local Guard unit was running some sort of raffle for the benefit of the troops, and that bled a bit of cash, without any hesitation. The sergeants who were selling the tickets were uniformed, and I idly wonder if that’s kosher in the military – not that I mind, quite the reverse, anybody who would object to that is wasting their time with trivia. As we talked with them, one of the sergeants thanked us (Dave ponied up a good bit of cash, too) and commented that people who support the troops also should be supporting the war. Well, this was a nice guy, and it was neither the time nor the place for a political debate, so I moved on. Right next to the Guard table was a table with three guys I didn’t know, but a Shrine Fez on the table. One of them saw Fred’s ring, and asked loudly how good a brother I was. This was all in fun, but also an obvious and straight-forward way to put the squeeze on me for more cash. Being a good sport, I simply asked how much seeing the brothers was going to cost me. Twenty bucks, it turns out, but for a pretty good raffle, something called a “gun club.” The idea of a gun club is that the sponsors arrange with a FFL holder (Clank, dealers must be licensed in the U.S.) to buy a bunch of guns, usually rifles and shotguns, maybe 20 or 30. Then, once a week for several months, they draw a ticket and give away the next gun on the list. Some of them are ordinary, and some of them are nice, and they are a good fundraiser around here. (They used to be a better fundraiser when they were illegal. Wes Ruby, the patron of Ruby Memorial Hospital in Morgantown, who was a friend of my Dad’s, made the Boy Scout Council a LOT of money in the 60's with gun clubs.) I was amused at one table where a fellow had some .22's with synthetic stocks. There was a matched pair of Dale Earnhardt, Sr. and Jr., rifles, and one small child-sized rifle that was no kidding pink. I thought that was a bit over the top. And let’s see - I found a handmade leather “scabbard” for the new cell phone I just got – The Blackberry finally pissed me off to the point that I got rid of it. And one vendor had a table of nice knives, including some American-made Buck knives, so naturally I HAD to buy one. (See some months ago my tirade on Buck moving production to China, where slave-labor reduces costs.) I’m honestly curious about the cultural accomodation made for implements of violence elsewhere. Perhaps the culture I’m doused in is unusual. I don’t have a context for comparison. Oh, one thing that does piss me off about gun shows is the presence of so-called “militaria,” usually Nazi shit like emblems, knives and so forth. Were I immensely wealthy, I would do the same thing some guy in Illinois did with John Wayne Gacy’s paintings, bought them all up and burned them publicly.

There was a sign posted behind one table that speaks to the extremism of gun people: “Let Gun Confiscation begin in West Virginia – It won’t take them near so long to get it out of their system.” Sigh. So many people equate regulation with confiscation.

One vendor (the one with the cell phone scabbards) was selling very nice handmade leather “possibles bags.” I wish those were stylishly permitted, it would make life a little easier. Sometimes, I feel like I’m supposed to be Batman or something with all of the gear I honestly need to carry on my belt or in my pockets.

It was kinda cool to be able to park far away from the armory and “glide” through crowds in the aisles. I have to internalize this stuff.

What is this fascination with the American Idol contestants, and how they emotionally react to winning, losing, and so forth? Why do we really care what the “judges’” opinions are? These are young people who sing well. Part of that is a gift from God. Part of it is that most of them have worked hard to develop that gift. But this is all a part of the bread-and-circuses that distracts people from taking some responsibility, facing the works of Captain Reality, and getting the odd satisfaction that, if they cannot deeply care about anything that matters, they can always form a hazy, internal attachment to the lives of people they don’t know. This, to me, is just another variation on the theme of a “spectator society,” where we are unwilling to interact with real humans, particularly when it involves any sort of unpleasantness. It’s also emblematic of the “celebrity society,” where we strangely care about who Oprah, yadda, yadda, yadda, want us to vote for. Why do we favor these “gifts”? There are so many others in society who have gifts that they have developed and so many, many others who have overcome obstacles to develop skills or knowledge that are actually useful. A young man at the church [whose father is a good friend, whose grandfather was a good friend and mentor (those who do not like that word, tough), and whose great-grandfather I knew slightly] has the gift of an ear for music and hands that will play a musical keyboard WELL, and he has spent LOTS of time developing that, rather more I would think than your average singer.

Hmmm - perhaps there is a post on what I consider useless people coming. Let’s see, number one and two would be astrologers and psychics.

Pastor Josh says that he intends to link my blog to his “Pastor’s Blog,” and I have warned him that the comments here are often somewhat edgy at times. Always honest, though. Well, at least indifferently so.

One good habit I have (at least I think it’s good) is that there is always a memo book in my pocket to keep notes. At some point in the service this morning, the idea for this “meditation” to do on Good Friday gelled in my head, and I was able to write it down. Now I need to get it translated into English on the keyboard. Perhaps I’ll turn it into several theses and post them on the door of the church. Nah, already been done.

Pippa passes.

Keep your powder dry.

R

Apocalypse now

Lack of desire hasn't been the reason for a post-less week -- it's been frantic 'round No. 3, and I've brought in an endloader to shovel off my tragic desk. OK, actually, Tammy & Kathy are pitching in, and that's every bit as good as an endloader.

Pastor Josh has started a "pastor's blog" for the church - excellent idea, I believe. I need a transparent identity to post comments - there is an elder named Roger there - Perhaps I'll be Roger-the-Heretic - you know, the one who they call on for the rebuttal after a particularly moving service, and have a congregational vote to either expel or burn at the stake. Actually, I've taken on giving one of many "meditations" about the words of Jesus on the cross. I'm curious - will Josh ask me for my thoughts in advance, or live with the nervousness of open heresy? I confess, I like watching people puzzle over my peculiarities. In a Bible study last night, there was a discussion of apocalyptic stuff - with the opinion offered that the current age isn't very apocalyptic. How's that again? You don't need to warp current events into Daniel, Revelation, Ezekiel and Nostradamus to detect oncoming disruption. We are truly in sight of the end of petroleum. When some people now living are old, they will NOT be driving gasoline powered vehicles. We have the end of coal & gas visible in the distance. There are still some tens of thousands of nuclear warheads which are still assembled and lots of fissile material (much of it missing) from which other warheads may be assembled. There is a growing disruptive influence in the Middle East, Northern Africa, and much of Asia and Southeast Asia, as well as hot spots everywhere else. The MTV generation thinks that privation is having the cheap champagne with dinner, and the growing desperate poor have no voice. Climate change is a fact, and the skeptics are flat-earthers. Gresham's law lives. So, perhaps Heaven will not open and from out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword and all of that, but this is not a stable or safe time.

Politics is heating up locally. I think that Bro. Dave understands basically where I am coming from, that to me, politics is a cross between science and religion, and that sometimes Captain Reality says things that you don't want to hear. Partner Amy is only now figuring that out. I have told them both, as well as several other candidates, my views of exactly how to change the current trends. In so doing, they MUST be the MFIC of their respective campaigns, and must make the damn choices. They can listen to all sorts of advice, some of which will be well-intended but just wrong and the rest of which will be from people blowing sunshine up their kilts hoping that if they win, those folks will have some unfair advantage or influence. Sometimes, I think that Second Father Jim and I are the only trustworthy ones in the bunch, mainly because we don't have personal political ambitions or desire for glory. At least political glory locally.

Today is LaElu's birthday, and she had a snow day, which she enjoyed. It's also Bro. Dave's birthday (he's a year younger), and I think he spent his day grouse hunting and probably freezing his ass off. I've snagged a couple of books out of the endless book box for Dave. I think that his wife has always thought me to be a bad influence, an example of measured indolence, strategic incompetence and dangerous doctrine. (Actually, she is a VERY sweet lady.)

Oh, another part of that Bible study was the image of light vs. darkness. That doesn't translate well to me. I have always loved the night. Working midnight shift was a special time. An acquaintance of mine, one of the national leaders in EMS, the late Jim Page, wrote a book of essays on EMS entitled "The Magic of 3 AM." He was right. And night in the woods is even more magical. The only unusually acute physical sense I have is night vision, and it is positively a joy to walk silently at night.

I've five reviews to write for the canon, and honestly haven't had the time even block more than two of them out.

Down 185 solid. The silver band I bought as a sort of wedding band has gotten too big for my ring finger.

Keep your powder dry.

Pippa passes.

R

A little hat symbol, real poverty, a veteran, and miscellaneous thoughts.

I mark all my books these days. LaElu reminded me how my dad marked those that he had read with a little hat symbol. I wonder where that came from?

In local Municipal Court Thursday, I was sitting waiting on a case, and a lady was trying to plead guilty to driving on a suspended license and no insurance and the Judge was concerned but was letting her do it. She kept adding facts about her life - she lives way the hell up a hollow on land owned by her family, and there are three children from 15 down to 9 in the house. Her income is $262 per month, plus food stamps. The Judge was in the process of fining her $800. Honestly, I tried to close my heart, Lord knows I'm swamped already with pro bono shit, but there was a room full of lawyers who didn't even quit quietly gossiping about shit, I got mad, and intervened in such respectful tones as I could, took her on as a client, withdrew the plea, and now will see if I can assist any good things (or at least less-than-totally-miserable things) happening in her life. My point is NOT that I'm a hale and hearty fellow, I'm not. I probably spend more money a month on books that their family receives. The fact that people live like that and are ground up in the legal machinery is a blot on our society. And it is easy to say that she ought to get her ass to work, etc., but simply telling her to do that does no good at all. She needs a boost -- transportation, heating (she's 50 and looks 70, and cuts firewood to heat the house poorly). I asked her how in the hell she would have paid that fine, and she said that she would have to have sold her last calf, but didn't want to, because she has enough pasture that the calf will grow pretty much on his own, and in a year or so, he will represent a big part of the family's food supply for several months. What a hell of a choice. And I do not for one minute think that Obama, Hillary, or Mahatma Gandhi are going to swoop in and make a lot of difference in her life.

This morning, Bro. Dave & I had coffee in the café across from the Courthouse. Dave left for Court, and I remained to finish my coffee and do some notes in my notebook in the quiet. A fellow came in, somewhat grizzled African-American guy, got his coffee and sat down at a nearby table. I noticed one of the few military symbols I recognize, an airborne insignia, on his ball cap and I commented that he obviously had been there and back again. He was somewhat surprised that a non-military guy would recognize that, and we chatted a few minutes. He said that something was on his mind today, he was remembering a "fire-fight" in Vietnam where his buddy earned a posthumous Medal of Honor by covering a grenade with his body. This gentleman credited that with saving his life. I did a quick search when I got back to No. 3, and found a brief account:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milton_L._Olive%2C_III

Mr. Olive was among the first to "win" that medal in the war. Anyway, I had to get back to No. 3, so I asked if this fellow if I could shake his hand, we did so, he gave me a "God bless," and I left. What’s my point? I’m not sure. Sometimes I get a little ticked off at our local newspaper. In the obits, if the deceased has served in the military at all, s/he has a little flag symbol put on the obit. There have been lots of DAMN fine people, very patriotic people who didn’t happen to put on that uniform who have died without that honor, and others whose service was military, but tame and peaceful (and, in the case of one fellow I just dealt with, thoroughly dishonorable). But it’s a good thing to be reminded that there are and were people like Mr. Olive and this fellow I met this morning who really, really sacrificed a lot for their country. Hokey? I can live with that.

I received an email this morning from my brother (both genetic and Masonic) who visits here and had some comments about my nascent study of Paul’s writings, and I appreciated that. I’m finding that this area is quite complex, and worthy of being called scholarship. The way Pastor Josh is going about it I appreciate. He does not have a "syllabus," which to me is a checklist to fill out, not a system of study, which reminds me of the line out of a Simon & Garfunkel song, ". . . and we note our place with bookmarkers, to measure what we’ve lost." Filing out that checklist may require some learning, but it ain’t scholarship.

I went to a political fundraiser for an extraordinarily conservative justice of our Supreme Court tonight. Our philosophies are remarkably different, but he is taking absolutely outrageous damage from the left which is so morally corrupt that it offends the HELL out of me. I will not be a rubber stamp or knee jerk liberal. Perhaps that's why I piss EVERYONE off now and then.

Yesterday, I was in a small town in the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia for a municipal court hearing. This was appalling. I know the judge, and he’s a nice and easy going fellow. I didn’t know the city attorney, but didn’t need to, because in the 20 hearings that went before ours, the city attorney didn’t say ONE SINGLE WORD. Poker players may be familiar with the term "cold deck." This one had icicles hanging off of it. The Judge negotiated the pleas and essentially coerced people to pay big fines in exchange for no points on their driver’s licenses. The Judge and the police present were joking, obviously pleased with the cash cow that the Court gives this City. And they would be deeply offended at my conclusion that this is totally legally and morally corrupt. But it is.

Heard an ad on TV last evening for a "Girls Gone Wild" video. Essentially, someone films drunken college girls flashing & stripping. And they sell this shit. Hey, I like women as well as the next guy, but this stuff is demeaning. We are teaching boys & young men that girls & women are only talking life-support systems for breasts, vaginas, etc. Is it any wonder that they conclude that from society’s context?

Heard a blurb on the news about last night’s eclipse, that it would be good "if the weather cooperates." Sloppy language. The eclipse was going to happen, celestial mechanics mandated that.

I listen to tapes/CD’s in the car on trips. On one I listened to yesterday, the narrator related how "wilderness is therapy." That speaks to me.

I'm going home. Pippa passes.

R

Eclipse

As I write this, I'm popping outside frequently to watch the developing lunar eclipse, which should reach totality around 10 PM Eastern time. LaElu's house is on top of a ridge (1140 feet, per GPS), and I wonder who has watched eclipses in the past from this ridge, and what they thought. It's embarassing, but I don't know as I sit here what sort of solar system arrangement that early native Americans pictured -- probably heliocentric, but I'm not sure. What would such people make of the curved darkness crossing the full moon?

Is this musing mysticism or genuine and justified human wonder? Honestly, I don't know. (Wait a minute - justified to whom? Who do I need to justify this sense of wonder to?)

Pippa passes.

R

Country duality through the lexicon lens

I just got home from a very busy day. In the late afternoon, it included running up the Interstate to Morgantown to the weight loss clinic for medical stuff and a class. At the end of the class, Torri, a Master's level educator/counselor, asked what I had gotten out of class. Ever the enfant terrible, I responded with total candor, I got a set of notes for a kickin' discussion of where Captain Reality meets Duality. (My wryness there usually is directed at my own silly past.)

Do I play with words? I'm not sure. Certainly, I play with ideas, and we have this clumsy device called language with which to do so. I find when I'm talking to various intimates that we argue a while and then figure out that we are really using different words to express very similar thoughts. The words that drop-started my thoughts (drop-started? Is that reference understandable? I know a hell of a joke where that's the punchline, but you need to know timber and EMS to get it. That's a touch esoteric.) (Don't these parenthetical phrases in the middle of a damn sentence get distracting?) was the idea of "momentum" for weight loss. That is, if one is doing well, does that give one "momentum" which makes it easier to continue tomorrow and the day after without problems? Well, we talk about momentum all the time. If a politician or a football team is behind but gaining, we say that they have momentum, meaning that their trend to increase their share or points will continue and surpass their competition. Is that a valid concept or is it simply the result of random grouping of events? In any event, "momentum" when applied to future behavior is a null concept to me. With respect to weight loss, you make a conscious decision when you get started every morning, and you probably will have "opportunities" (i.e., temptations) to revisit that decision occasionally throughout the day. To be successful, you must make a positive decision nearly all the time. (Here, maybe my opinion of momentum falters -- does screwing up once make it easier to do in the future? I think so. It's illogical, but I still think so.) But making a positive decision yesterday does NOT cause me to make a positive decision today -- I revisit it anew. Every damn day, EACH of us confronts what is, to us, a metaphorical demon. Like Room 101 from Orwell's 1984, that demon is different for each of us. For Friend JC, it's alarm systems. For a former partner, it's snakes. For some, it's ethanol. For me, it's fucking doughnuts. Every day, we have the opportunity to bring fear and failure into our lives. Is that fair? Is that healthy? By avoiding the demon or fighting the demon or ignoring the demon (the latter what I try with mixed success to do), do we build up "momentum"? Does it exist in the social or mental world in the same manner it exists in the physical world? I wonder - Maybe we NEED to believe in momentum, like some say that we need a "Higher Power."

And if we have "momentum," then we have to do better and better ("Every day in every way, I become better and better."), and we will NEVER get to the point of being good enough. When is it OK to "just keep on keeping on"? The idea of needing constantly increasing goals sets us up for certain failure at some point. We are people. We have finite capacities. Maybe we have capacities far above what we actually use (I certainly buy that), but at some point they are finite. Somebody can high jump 7 or 8 feet these days. (I can't.) They aren't going to get to, say, 12 feet with the current development of our species. There is a finite limit. That certainly applies to weight loss. Your calorie intake can go lower and lower - until it reaches zero, then you cannot do "better". Theoretically, your physical activity calories can keep increasing, but that too is subject to some finite limits. And yet we are urged ALWAYS to have "our reach exceed our grasp," according to Robert Browning. When is what we do "enough"? When do we get to go to bed and say, "Hey, I did great today, I did GOOD ENOUGH." I'm not the world's best at anything. Likely, neither are you. We don't need to be. All we need to be is the best at being US.

Everything in our society ends up a competition. Take the frisbee for example. It's a simple plastic disc that one throws with a spinning motion which makes it an airfoil that is spin-stabilized, so it goes slowly through the air and goes a longer distance and stays up in the air longer than we can make it do if we throw the same weight if it were not a spin-stabilized airfoil. It's great, if you haven't tried it, you need to. You get to be outdoors. You can play with your dog. The nicest dogs I ever met were my former partner's, Libby the German shorthair pointer, and Friend JC's Bucky the Dalmation, both of whom LOVED to play frisbee with me or anybody else they could con into a game. It's formless. There are no rules, there is just throwing and chasing and fun and petting the dog and taking a break for water or a (lite) beer and then playing some more. Then, along comes "Frisbee Competitions." Who can throw the frisbee the farthest or most accurately, and keep the dogs off the "field of play," because they'll interfere with the serious competition, and interfere with determining who is the ONE person who "wins," and who the myriad "losers" are. Must EVERYTHING be a zero sum game? Are we not permitted to just have fun, to be happy to be the best at being US?

Read the label, it says right there (in the book of Deuteronomy?) that life IS duality, yin and yang, good and evil, boy and girl, black and white, blah, blah, blah. DUALITY IS A SHAM. It's a concept which provides refuge for the intellectually weak or lazy, the unscientific, the morally fearful, and for all those many people who are, to a greater or lesser degree, scared to death of Captain Reality. They are afraid of ANYTHING except that which has a high-contrast weltanschaunge. They lose soooo much. They are unable to appreciate the subtlety of a sunset or the uncertainty of the wind, they appreciate Norman Rockwell (so do I) but not Monet. When I was in school, LaElu and I lived in an old, old mansion that was divided into apartments. We had the unit on the side by the street, with the huge old porch. My law school buddies and I used to love to sit on the porch in the warm weather and drink cheap wine (Nectarose was my favorite, haven't seen it for years) and hassle the drug dealers across the street. Nearly every night, a fellow from the neighborhood took a walk. He would bundle up warmly even in warm weather, and walk with a measured step and pointed a flashlight 3 feet in front of him the whole way. He missed the bats and squirrels and drunken law students, and his world consisted of a pool of light in front of him and "here there be dragons" everywhere else.

Nothing is yin or yang. Nothing is good or evil, in the moral world, the philosophical world or the physical world. The vacuum of deep space is only vacuum relative to high density places like suns and planets and atmospheres -- there is approximately one molecule of Hydrogen per cubic meter of "space." We have widely accepted beliefs. Some of those are relatively precise. The accelleration due to gravity on Earth ("G") is approximately 9.8 meters per second squared. But G is just a little different on Mt. Everest than it is in Death Valley. As happy as we would be with absolutes in any area of thought, there aren't any. Are there moral absolutes? OK, let's try one. It is a bad thing to physically damage people. Wait a minute, we arm police officers. We expect them (rarely) to harm others. But, we say, that's OK, there is an EXCEPTION. Absolutes have no exceptions. Where there is an exception, there is no absolute. Abortion. Capital punishment. Is it good or bad to terminate what is or will be a human life? Oddly, people who say yes to either one say no to the other. Exceptions, not absolutes, rule us. I oppose capital punishment. I have met 2 individuals in my life who I would honestly like to see executed. (Would I do it personally, or is that an exception, too?) (Oh, only one of them is legally eligible for the death penalty.) We watch The Godfather (several Academy Awards, constantly replays on AMC), and we root for the Corleone family, which pimps, runs gambling, extorts money from honest people, kills their enemies in Italian restaurants, but oh, they are a FAMILY and they hang together, and wouldn't it be nice to have that kind of closeness, even if a family member or two gets whacked at times. We all fear the "Dark Angel," old Thanatos, the spectre of Death, s/he is BAD. Wait a minute, why do we then speak of death releasing someone from great pain as "God's mercy." Would God do something bad? We talk about the weather: Is it GOOD or BAD today? Must it be one or the other? And what is "good" weather? Sunshine? What if you are fair-skinned? Warmth? What if you like to ski? (What slides down hills: Avalanches and fools.) Relative, all relative. We pooh-pooh old Sherlock Holmes, for he used "merely" deductive logic, while according to one of the unexpectedly wise writers of the last century, Robert A. Heinlein, inductive logic is far better because it "can produce new truths." Bushwah. There is no inductive, there is no deductive. We find facts, we develop hypotheses, we call on past hypotheses and proofs, we find more facts, we make conclusions and if we are smart, we will always be willing to revisit those conclusions. (My executing the two who I think deserve it, though, would make revisiting that conclusion a tad tardy.) Why must we describe everything and have a totally consistent world view or FAIL? Why is it a bad thing that Special Relativity and General Relativity aren't consistent for the present? Perhaps it just means we haven't gotten there yet. Perhaps it means that the Universe is not simply stranger than we DO imagine, it's stranger than we CAN imagine.

Religion, we find absolutes there. I think. Oddly enough (and the better you know me, the odder it seems), we are studying the letters of Paul at Bible study at the church. Hey, THERE is duality, THERE is yin and yang. Wives, SUBMIT to your husbands, all of you, it doesn't matter is your husband is a drunken, shiftless idiot. (Pastor Josh may visit here at times - hey, Josh, feel free to post a dissent in the comments, I love dissent.)

All is relative. But we don't take that to reductio ad absurdum, where there the lack of a yin-yang duality becomes a moral homogeneity. There is often an agreed-upon PREPONDERANCE of dual thought, and I feel just fine believing that and acting on it in such a way as to impose it on others. It IS "bad" to hurt people, and the exceptions (e.g., self-defense) make sense to us as a whole. The edges are not clear, that's where the moral-certainty crowd gets confused, but the trends are there. Polluting the Earth - bad, to most of us. A certain discreet segment of society disagrees. I think they are nuts. They think I'm a tree-hugger. Well, I am. My favorite tree is an old gnarled oak at the farm, and she always welcomes me. Meanness - bad. But admired, particularly in my profession. Caring - good. But don't "nice guys finish last"? No, generally they don't. Stengel disagrees. OK, I can live with that.

It's all relative.

Hey, I'm down 180. I've got momentum, don't bother me.

Pippa passes. Mizpah.

R

Point, counterpoint

I'm wondering about kindness and courtesy to strangers elsewhere. Note that I am EXTREMELY poorly traveled, and I know darn little of the day-to-day customs of other parts of the country, let alone the world. How do strangers treat one another where you are? Last evening, my mother went with neighbors to dinner (without me, which is GOOD because I can't become some sort of brooding omnipresence in her life, that would be bad for her) and as they were coming out of the restaurant, she and her 91 year old neighbor had to descend a couple of steps. She said that a big, hairy, tattooed guy came up to them and offered to "help you ladies down the steps," and did so. Is that common everywhere? Generally speaking, you hear a lot of "hello," "sir," "ma'am," "miss," "buddy," and so forth here. I met a lawyer informally in Baltimore last week, on a Sunday afternoon at a big office, and he chuckled when I called him "sir." I look at this as casting bread upon the waters or as showing the respect that any human being deserves, always have. I'm just curious if this is universal -- if it is, my opinion of humanity needs an update.

A minor theme related is calling others by more familiar names or without formalisms. This is something that I'm observing in myself as I age. I've seen harried fathers of young children at times, and nowadays I'm likely to say, "Spend time with them now, dad, they grow up soooo fast." Is that rude? Presumptuous? Lots of guys I call "buddy" (and I think I "inherited" that from my late friend, Fred) unless they are Masons, in which case it's "Brother." I avoid calling wait staff "honey," or something of the sort, because that's disrespectful -- but when I'm in a courthouse dealing with ladies I know well, I often use endearments, honey, darling, sweetie, etc. I must one day get smart enough to write a comprehensive work on the dimensions of human relationships. I feel like I know most of the rules, but there are too many dimensions to picture a representation of them in a physical form. What do you do?

The latest school shootings are renewing the same tired argument about firearms, where neither "side" recognizes that their pure solution won't work over the near or medium term without serious glitches. On the one side, disarm "everyone." The hoods won't be lining up to go into the police stations to turn in their guns, so for a time, the criminal/violent element will be even more disproportionately armed than the public. As it is, drug guys make enough money to have the option of something better than the old-fashioned "Saturday Night Special," a derogatory term for a cheap handgun. "Something better" these days consists of semi-auto or illegal full-auto weapons, large capacity magazines and specialized ammunition. One kind of ammo that I was referred to recently will never go "through & through" a body, but will create such unspeakable injury that the "laws of war" forbid it. (Having laws of war forbidding certain kinds of ammunition but sanctioning killing with bombs seems hypocritical to me.) Other ammunition now available can defeat lower classes of ballistic material (inaccurately named "bulletproof" material.) In a crisis of personal confrontation, calling 911 is a responsible thing for citizens to do, but very seldom do the police have the ability to respond so quickly that they can intervene in a violent confrontation. Throwing more money at police and jails hasn't really improved the point of the spear, where the services are delivered. The other side says, arm everyone (except felons, drunks, druggies and crazies.) In the pure sense of stopping or reducing the number of victims in some of these mass killings, that would work. But I don't know a hell of a lot of people with judgment that I'd feel comfortable with concerning when to introduce a gun into the mix. Sometimes, it is far better judgment to take an ass-whuppin', rather than pull a gun. After the gun laws were drastically changed in West Virginia (I represented the NRA in the case that scrapped the old ones), licensure became relatively easy. And some of the goofiest, most irresponsible (and in some cases, unconvicted criminal) people now may carry a concealed weapon. Here, one of these is a known nut who built a bomb to try to kill a prosecutor, but he was incompetent in bomb-building and the police made a pig's breakfast of the search, so conclusive forensic evidence was thrown out and the case was dismissed. Thoughtful discussion about crime, violence and guns is very difficult, perhaps as much so as with abortion, because people are wedded to extremes. (I know a good bit about weapons law. However, I'm no more than ordinary in skill with the use of weapons. In my 4 person household, I'm a SOLID 4th in marksmanship. That's OK re Son Tim, because his eye-hand coordination is positively spooky, and he could aspire to being in the class of Brother Dave in the future. But the fact that both LaElu and my mother have always been better shots than I am has to violate some sort of macho ethic.) How can we satisfy a "Right to Keep and Bear Arms Amendment," which is quite liberal in West Virginia, without arming those who reasonable people wouldn't want armed? Guns cannot be quickly drawn out of circulation, because they work for years and years and there is a remarkably robust underground economy in them. Beating one's breast about the violence and sad state of affairs isn't very helpful. I very, very reluctantly believe that some level of armed citizenry is the best alternative right now, but in implementing such a policy (which we have), people are going to get killed and wounded. A gunshot wound is not a pretty thing, and there is seldom such a thing as a "flesh wound." The hero doesn't manfully ignore the bits of blood and the sting of pain, get a band-aid and fight on. In some instances, the hero is going to be in a wheelchair or in a nursing home.

What the hell is the matter with me? I've started listening to Country music. Dammit, it tells a story and often is a good bit more morally uplifting than other genres. Why am I looking for moral uplift? Why do I seem to need it? In my mind, it is a counterpoint to the morass of moral swill that is so prevalent elsewhere.

I have work that has to be done tomorrow, but there is a block of time that is sacrosanct. No, not church, even though I'm going. Tomorrow is the Daytona 500 Nascar race. If you are a fan, I needn't explain the attraction. If you are not, I wouldn't bother.

I just finished The Appeal, by John Grisham. I'll review it anon in the canon. The first 33 chapters were gripping and so skillfully written that I can only admire the guy with the envy that the merely competent hold for the truly gifted. The last 4 chapters sucked, and I'll never, never read another Grisham.

Pippa passes.

R

Re: Motivations, or What Evil Lurks in the Hearts of Men

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I will not tell you what my "heart" thinks of it, I'll merely describe my actions in the physical world. A couple of days ago, I went to the card shop and bought a shitload of Valentine cards - about $100 bucks worth. I've sent them to numerous valued ladies (perhaps sometime I'll do an essay about the myriad varieties and dimensions of relationship experiences) and also, under Amy's & my name, to numerous ladies we deal with professionally, e.g., court personnel, etc. (And there's also some delightful overlap there.) So, here is the connundrum - why did I do this? Crass commercialism? Silly sentimentality? Genuine feelings of love for these people and/or for humanity in general? (At least the female half of humanity - our Magistrate Court system has 7 ladies and 1 man, and I put a postscript on their card that I'll call him "Your Honor" and all that, but I sure as hell won't send him a Valentine.)

Assume for the purposes of this question that I know my own motivations, but either am not telling or, if I were to tell might not tell the truth. What ARE my motivations? Is that even knowable by me? Or by you, or by anyone? For some reason, asking this question amuses me a great deal. I think one Shelfer knows why.

We went to a no-kidding Bible study tonight. Rather a strange experience, considering my practices approximately since birth. The question of the alleged divine inspiration of Paul's writings came up, Pastor Josh answered in a forthright manner, and I'm still quite confused. It would be nice to get at least the basic structure of this new-found spiritual system (assuming again for the sake of argument that it's genuine and not a ruse, and I likewise cannot prove that, and probably wouldn't bother to if I could), and the details can then have places to live. A fundamental question is in my mind that I've mentioned before, the need I seem to have to coordinate Sagan and Christ. A recent statistical study estimated that there are 70 sextillion stars in the observable Universe. Is all but old Sol just window dressing for our one species?

My mother is having to adjust to the reality of permanently impaired health, and that is quite worrying.

Pippa passes.

R

God as ticket taker; and I gotta buy a new car

I spent the weekend in wicked, wild Baltimore doing tittillating tax accounting. And yes, tax accounting is just exactly as much fun as you think. Fortunately, Friend JC is a total whiz at it. Me being a country bumpkin, and that being (to me) a hell of a big town, I've quite a few notes from which to write a little essay or two. Not much this morning, though.

Tim came home from a midnight shift in a very rural station at 8 AM. A 30-something with an acute infectious illness arrested, and they worked it a long time. As most such events go, it ended with a transport to the morgue. He was fairly upset, because it's just not an understandable thing in the Universe to see a young person otherwise healthy get on the train. But as I reminded him (as we were driving back from the auto repair shop - he hit a curb on the ice and bent a rim), when God punches the ticket, you're staying on the train.

In a bit of an outing, we went to something called a "car show" at the Civic Center downtown Saturday night. This was essentially a multi-manufacturer car lot, indoors and carpeted. However, this was a concentration of advertising and marketing, and I finally got the message which, upon reflection, is the one which car manufacturers have been trying to get through to me for years. I have concluded that if you buy a new car, you immediately will be wrapped in the embrace of a Beautiful Young Person (gender your choice), who will ignore your poor dentition, questionable personal hygiene and lack of intelligent conversation, and who will then proceed to screw your brains out. Moreover, if you buy a convertible, and you are a guy, they seem to guarantee that your penis length will increase by at least 30%. I conclude all of this from the knowledgable salespeople who were in attendance. They were all Beautiful Young People. I would have thought that older, scarred and stained shadetree mechanics would have known more about automobiles than they do, but apparently that's not the case. Surely, the manufacturer's selected only the most knowledgable people to represent their wares. The Beautiful Young People gushed about the cars and trucks, cajoled, coyly smiled or manfully strutted, and showed absolute interest and affection when answering the questions of idiots. Dear me. We got downtown in JC's "new" car, and I thought that it was nice -- a 1990 model in perfect condition, immaculate, acceleration out the wazoo, and very comfortable on the road. But it wasn't purchased new, so the Beautiful Young People weren't on the job. How sad!

There were couple of odd things, though. The Cadillac display touted a new "green" engine, called the "Partial Zero Emission Vehicle" engine. How's that again? Partial zero? Would Clorox sell if it made your clothes "nearly whiter than white"? How about if I could get a result of "mostly not guilty"? Well, these are sophisticated folks, so perhaps "partial zero" is a new wave of technology. Also, several vehicles had small LCD screens mounted right outside the driver's side window, connected to cameras of some sort which showed the view behind the vehicle. What a marvelous idea. Hmmm - Although if you wanted to save a little money and have a more fool-resistant system, I guess you could mount a mirror there. Nah, for reasons that my mind cannot fathom, the camera's got to be better. Oh, and none of the vehicles had knobs screwed onto the gearshift levers. Perhaps that's an option.

Mizpah.

R

Either too tired or too bloody lazy to write this evening

. . . besides, dear old Emerson said it so much better in a compact form than I could were I to write steadily all night:

Brahma
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near,
Shadow and sunlight are the same,
The vanished gods to me appear,
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.


You realize, of course, that I seldom have any original thoughts.

Mizpah.

By rote,
R

Ashes, ashes, all fall down

This is the second time I've tried to write this entry. The first one was humming along nicely and vanished. Naturally, I didn't save as I went, so it's my own fault.

I have some interest in the culture of the so-called Native Americans. (I am genetically descended a miniscule amount from those people. However, I was born here, my family has been here for time ranging from centuries in some lines to decades in others. I am a Native American.) Most of what I know is about those groups which were present in recent history in this area, primarily the Shawnee. (There were also various earlier groups collectively known as the "Mound Builders," about whom relatively little is known. By the way, ancient peoples built mounds, both for burial and other unknown purposes, all about the globe.) One of the cultural devices of the Shawnee was known as the "gantlet." Essentially, the strong men of the village formed a sort of alley. The condemned was covered totally in a mixture of animal fat and ashes. The goal of "running the gantlet" was to run the length of the gantlet and be alive and not permanently disabled at the other end. Few folks did that successfully, and the only one who immediately comes to mind is Simon Kenton. (There is a Holiday Inn at the confluence of the Elk River and Kanawha River, where Kenton spent a winter around 1770 alone, which is sad to me -- I stay elsewhere when I go to Charleston.) Well, the notion of the gantlet symbolizes my odd spiritual journey of past months, because it denotes pain and path-altering forces coming from unexpected directions. (See prior posts for the then-current feelings.)

The next step in this gantlet tonight was the observance of Ash Wednesday. The church had a service for the "imposition of ashes." For those unfamiliar with that practice, it consists of the pastor making a small cross on one's forehead out of ashes with some sort of oily binder. In years past, we had county Magistrates (the lowest rung of the judicial ladder) who would get the ashes in some early morning service and leave them on all day. The consensus at the time was that this was conspicuous religious consumption, and rather cocky of them. (There is an article in a very obscure publication from the turn of the 20th century about judges who modeled themselves and their decisions after Christ. The article concludes that these people are unstable idiots, and that they aren't doing their job, which is the application of the LAW as it exists.)

A prayer authored by Pastor Josh identified three reasons for the Ash Wednesday observance, self-examination, confession, and penitence.

I'm totally on board with the notion of self-examination. Only a moron believes that he or she cannot be doing better, and critical self-examination is a marvelous tool. Without self-examination, progress of an individual or a society is completely stalled.

I'm generally OK with penitence, too. When it prompts a state of mind that produces positive results, penitence works well. Too many people go overboard, though. They sink right through wallowing into depression and into useless stasis. Some of them emerge into the strange world of those who actually enjoy taking upon their own pain, a la Las Penitentes. That's rather self-destructive, and therefore stupid. Mind you, there are lots and lots and lots of other ways that we are self-destructive - booze, food, tobacco, drugs, violence, hate, and on and on. But it's rather warped to be sorry to the point of self-destructive.

Confession is the one that I have some trouble with. Oh, I understand that "confession is good for the soul," but is it good for those around you? Sometimes it is, for it engages other minds in solving problems and improving life. And it is necessary and a part of self-examination that you "confess" to yourself what your life is really like. Any other way and you would be suffering from a divergence of your mind from our friend, Mr. Reality. Confession, however, can hurt the ones around us. We might feel our souls cleansed and our minds at ease, and do so only after selfishly pointing out that we have ignored or rejected or betrayed those around us. Sometimes the kindest thing to do, the honorable thing to do, is to shut up and suffer in silence.

Darn - LaElu is watching something on TV in the other room involving people answering stupid questions upon which they have been polygraphed. There are dramatic pauses while an ethereal voice declares whether the contestant's responses are true. What unadulterated bullshit. Is there NO debasement that we are willing to inflict upon others or ourselves in order to find a bit of bread-and-circuses amusement?

At any rate, Pastor Josh went about the job of the "Imposition of ashes." As he did so, he repeated a mantra (is it proper to use a Zen term in this context?) on the ashes-to-ashes theme. I reminded him sotto voce that this was quite similar to a stanza in a song in a Simon & Garfunkel early album, probably Wednesday Morning 3 AM. The stanza goes:

Who will love a little sparrow?
Will no one write her eulogy?
"I will," said the Earth.
"For all I've created returns unto me.
"From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be."

The reference to the Earth creates an interesting line of thought, that of the Gaia belief/hypothesis. Isaac Asimov's Foundation and Earth (one of MANY novels of the Foundation series, which continued after Asimov's death) expounds widely on Gaia, the spirit of the Earth to whom we all owe some sort of love and allegiance. The idea of planet-as-deity is intriguing. It raies an interesting question: What is God's jurisdiction? Is some sort of fresh pursuit of sinners into other jurisdictions allowed? Are the laws and lawgivers there similar to our own God? Do spooks and sprites of sin get extradited from Andromeda? Well, this light-heartedness covers a pretty powerful problem. I have elsewhere talked about an intensive sky survey done recently by earthly astronomers which opined that there are approximately 70 sextillion stars in the Universe. Does this ONE GOD run the whole show? Many stars have planets, which makes the proliferation of spatial bodies even more profound. Is God bigger than we imagine? I'm not sure. I THINK I'm sure that God is bigger than we possibly CAN imagine. We talk blithely about getting the truth about the Plan from God, but I rather doubt that we can handle very much of it at all. We humans are optimistically cocky, and that'll bite you on the ass 9 times out of 10.

After the service, an "elder" who has been a lawyer-friend since we were very young told me that he had suggested that a particular individual who had called him and who he was conflicted from helping call me. He told me that individual's name, and I truthfully told him that if that guy came into my office and tossed gold bars onto my desk until it collapsed from the weight, I still would not represent him.

As of last night, I'm down 175, and still pushing hard. My activity level is up because (1) it's physically possible for it to be and (2) because my life gets nothing but more complicated as the months roll on. Today, I ordered a couple of pairs of dress shoes. I know that doesn't sound very earth-shattering or even vaguely interesting. It's monumental in my life, because I'm ABLE to wear conventional footwear. How to write about all this, that is still a question mark in my mind.

LaElu has been on my ass a bit about rings, and why don't I wear a wedding ring. Well, when I worked with power equipment, I wore no rings, watches, chains, dog tags, ties, loose gloves or anything else that would be dangerous, and I kept up that habit for years after I got away from those activities. Then I acquired Fred's steel Masonic ring, which I wear faithfully, and that shot in the ass my argument that I just don't wear rings. So, I found (on the net, naturally) a silver band inlaid with turquoise that I'm wearing.

I'm looking forward to a fun weekend of tax accounting. To my great fortune, my dear friend JC is a brilliant tax practitioner. All in all, I'd rather have pins stuck in my eyes. But I'll have some reading with me, do some writing, go to a bookstore I've never been to before, have yuppie coffee and generally have some moments of peace.

A local police officer called me today, wanting me to come down to the station to give them a statement about a domestic violence incident, part of which I witnessed when I took my mother to the hospital a couple of weeks ago. I told the officer that I'm as good a citizen as the next guy, but I was crushed today, and he was OK with me dictating a statement since, perhaps, I have some clue about what information is supposed to be in one. It turns out that it's a felony case because it's a third or subsequent offense, so that makes my participation in Court as a witness sometime more likely. In one sense, that's good -- it is an experience to see life in what is my home from another perspective.

I wonder if I'm perceived as being very open here. In point of fact, a great deal of what I am doing professionally at the moment is totally black, and there are many things about which I can make not the most oblique reference. Sometimes, just the fact that I am helping someone is a fact that, if spread, would cause irreversible damage. That is rather constraining, but it is the life I have chosen.

In a larger sense, I wonder how open anyone is on the net. The hostility which has been present on abookshelf2.org lately, in addition to being pointless and silly, probably is the face of lies, for I doubt that people's minds are so petty or that their hearts are so twisted. On the other hand, I'm the eternal optimist, and even though I see constant examples of honest evil, I want to think that it'll always get better. "Vanity of vanities," saith the Preacher. "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."

Pippa passes.

R

As promised, Richard Cory, by Edward Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good-morning,"
and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich — yes, richer than a king —
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.


Counterpoint - Without having been in or near those places in my lifetime, I would be a much poorer human being. I have been at the door of suicide, and have had dear friends pass through that door. The despair cannot be translated to words, and only the morally ignorant can dismiss it lightly. Perhaps our collective lives are rather too easy to foster understanding. There has been reference in the community blog to meat. We buy it fried brown and juicy or packaged attractively, and blind ourselves to the truth that someone had to slaughter the animal. We sit in our warm or cool homes, and don't recall that others have had to produce the energy source that heats us, cools us, and runs our computers, and that those people have real lives, hard live. Bad things will never happen to us, and we simply don't remember that there have to be people like Rox and Tim who see humans at their physical and emotional worst. Elsewhere, I am addressing the brethren on these things tonight, too. Our collective ignorance and sloth are displacing work and honor in our society, and if we don't decide to stand up, that will simply continue.

Perhaps I sound a bit shrill this evening. Certainly, this is stream-of-consciousness and not organized with any advance thoughts. But these are my words, and some here will recognize the meaning of that and the meaning of these words.

And I have been dealing with fucking idiots the entire day, with few exceptions, and if bad judgment, intellectual triviality and spectacular human ignorance become Olympic sports, America will have a team of around 100 million.

Pippa passes.

R

A cautious toe into popular culture; happy breakfast; miscellany

Tonight, I put a few faces to the names of the popular culture figures that seem to be on everyone's mind. For the first time in I honestly haven't a clue how long, I went to the movies with LaElu. I still cannot help but think that the slow pace of speech is a very inefficient way to impart information.

A local bank had its huge "Groundhog Day Breakfast" this morning. There were probably 400 there. I was the only one in a Hawaiian shirt - in honor of Sarai, and in affirmation that spring is coming - and I did point out to some folks that if Christ personally were giving the speech, I wouldn't be in a tie at a Groundhog Day Breakfast on a Saturday morning. The governor was once again the speaker, talked a lot about energy policy (West Virginia's biggest industry is coal mining) and I had a brief chat and told him I'd send him my copy of Freedom from Oil. I dug around No. 3 and finally found it this afternoon.

Rosa's right - I have been rather tightly strung of late. But the idea of taking a break is anathema. Damfino what to do.

The Community Blog has been a laboratory of invalid argument devices lately. I found a nice compendium. In the spirit of the Super Bowl (which I won't watch because it's 4 hours of bloody booring kitsch), perhaps we can come up with referees' hand signals (expressed as emoticons) to use to call the penalties:

Invalid Argument Terms/Techniques
(some of these terms do not always imply an invalid technique,
but the ploy can be labeled as such)

Ad Antiquitam - Appealing to convention or traditional action as a proof of validity.

Ad hoc - Simply means directed to a single proposition or issue--no further implications intended. A proliferation of ad hoc adjustments to a theory indicates a crisis in acceptability.

Ad hominem (abusive) - Attacking the behavior or character of the man instead of his argument. Appealing to emotions and/or prejudices rather than to intellect or reason.

Ad Novitam - Appealing to modernity or newness as a proof of validity.

Associationism - Implying that an associative relationship is a causative one.

Affirming the Consequent - In valid logic structure when we say that if A is true then B is true, we must prove A to be true in order to conclude that B is true. Affirming the consequent is to falsely conclude that A is true upon finding that B is true.

Authoritarianism - Unquestioning reliance on an authority or expert.

Composition Fallacy - Applying to the whole the properties of the parts.

Defeatism - Claiming an end is impossible to achieve as a reason for not following a line of reason.

De fide - Literally "of faith", but implying revealed by god and requiring unconditional assent.

Denying the Antecedent - In valid logic structure when we say that if A is true then B is true, we must not assume B to be false because A is false. Denying the antecedent is to falsely conclude that B is false upon finding that A is false.

Derision - Using an emphasis on ridicule to assail a premise or argument.

Dis-accreditation - The ploy of pointing out a lack of formal accreditation on the other side. .

Disaffirmation - A contradiction or repudiation of a premise formerly stated or agreed upon.

Dismissal - Dismissing a premise, hypothesis or theory before hearing the argument.

Dis-qualification - Excusing oneself by the ploy of being formally or academically unqualified.

Division Fallacy - Applying to the part what may be true of the whole.

Dogmatism - Unwarranted or arrogant stating of opinion or position.

Equivocation - Using the same term or word in different and incomparable senses..

Enthusiasm - Originally implying supernatural inspiration, it is often used to try to override logic.

Exaggeration - Overemphasizing to an extreme degree.

False analogy - An offering of resemblances that don't really imply essential similarity.

Gamblers Fallacy - Thinking that some pattern of the past has an influence on a truly random event.

Genetic Fallacy - The Origins of something is erroneously ascribed.

Ill-logical - Based on faulty logic.

Invalid emphasis - Accenting or stressing a word or phrase in a sentence where that accent or emphasis changes the probably received meaning..

Invalid syllogism - A syllogism is a major premise, minor premise and valid conclusion such as: All virtues are laudable, kindness is a virtue; therefore kindness is laudable. An invalid form would be: Some Danes are dogs, Lars is a Dane; therefore Lars is a dog.

Irrelevance - Where an argument that may support one conclusion is used to support another, or where the argument is misguided or oblique to the issue at hand.

Hyper-limitation - Intentionally and/or needlessly limiting the number of options or possibilities.

Hypocrisy* - Originally meant lacking in judgment or lacking the quality of careful and critical thinking. Now used here to denote an agenda other than to arrive at the truth.

Loaded Questions - Asking questions where no simple response can be reasonable, or where any response implies acceptance of what is asserted as part of the question.

Mala fide - With intent to deceive.

Mal entendu - Misunderstood or poorly conceived.

Mal absurdum - Mis-characterization or invalid reduction to an absurdity..

Misinform - To supply with misleading information.

Non-comparable - Not worthy of comparison.

Non sequitur - Latin for out of sequence, a break in the chain of logic with an unwarranted leap.

Pedantism - A demand to prove the case within the conventional framework..

Petitio principii - Assuming in the premise of an argument the conclusion which is to be substantiated; a form of circular reasoning.

Post Hoc Ergo Prompter Hoc - An argument that implies that since A preceded B in time, A caused B..

Proton Pseudos - First or fundamental falsity or error. Many times arguments start with this up front or as a hidden assumption..

Reductionism - Any method or theory that reduces data, information or processes to seeming equivalents that are less complex or developed than is the real case.

Reification - The attempt to make a purely abstract idea or concept into a real-world extant entity.

Red Herring - The introduction of extraneous material or irrelevant argument to divert attention or focus on the issue at hand.

Simplistic demand - Demanding a simple or inadequate answer to a complex question or issue.

Special Pleading - Using a double-standard to require less rigorous treatment for one's own assertion than one would use against a counter assertion.

Straw man - Arguing against a premise no one has taken, knocking that premise down, and then assuming or implying that you have then discredited the original at question.

Tautology - A form of needless repetition or circular reasoning that does not advance understanding.

Ultra-Symbolism - Confusing the symbol with the reality for which it stands.

Unilateralism - Taking into account only one side of an issue or matter.

* Most men of good will would say they place the highest priority on knowing the truth, and they would deny being willing to deliberately promulgate falsehood for no higher purpose than to win an argument or to defend a personal position. These men would all claim to value the truth over what they really value more. It is in this most fundamental way--men pay lip service to the truth, then let personal agendas override--that we are using the terms hypocritical and hypocrisy. Any man driven to use invalid techniques can be considered to be a hypocrite.


My mom is more comfortable wearing the nasal cannula out of the house now, so I don't think I'll have much trouble encouraging her to go to church in the morning. The service will be based on Lincoln, which is a neat idea.

Mizpah.

R

Berserker

I've been a pushy, censorious bastard most of the day.

I was at my Mom's this morning for a while, and the respiratory person from the home medical place came to show her how to use the travel O2 cylinders. To me, it's just a bottle of compressed gas, not a big deal, but on the other hand, I'm not the one tied to it. She is soooooo embarassed to have to wear a nasal cannula. (That's the prongs that stick up your nose.) She sort of crashed and was unwilling to go anywhere, won't go out, won't leave the house, won't go to church, and so forth. So I pushed, and pushed all day, and finally got her to make a trip to B&N with me. With our frequent attendance, the local B&N has sales which approach the GDP of Costa Rica. The hook I used was to tell her that we need to get Pastor Josh a gift card because he was such a comfort, etc., over the past week. When we were walking in, a lawyer-buddy was standing in the foyer looking at the half-price stuff, I introduced him and my mom mentioned how awkward she felt with the O2. I sort of gave him the high sign, he picked it up, and opined as how there are lots and lots of people with obvious medical problems and devices, more who have invasive medical devises that don't show, and that we would be shocked if people wore tags spelling out all the medications they were on. I didn't hover over her, rather bought a few books (including Common Sense, a small print compendium of the Leatherstocking novels of Fennimore Cooper, and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, which someone on the site recommended), and let her find out for herself that people generally don't notice little shit like that. Then we went and met LaElu at a little family restaurant, and by the end of the meal, I think that she felt a part of humanity/society again. When we got home, I urged her to swap out the travel cylinder so that she would be confident that she knows how to do it. The respiratory person told her to open the valve stem one full turn, but I suggested that she open it 1-1/4, and then close it 1/4 turn. That way, you won't mistake an open valve for a closed valve, and put the gazoobahs on it and damage what is containing gas under high pressure.

And then back to No. 3 to complete what absolutely, positively had to be done today.

In the morning, there is the "Groundhog Day Breakfast" put on by a local bank, at which the Governor will be speaking. I made a reservation for Bro. Dave, and told him he was fucking attending. Like I say, I'm just an unpleasant pushy shit this week. We had coffee at the Book & Bean this morning, and Dave shocked the hell out of me by noting that I'm "even talking like a Christian." Jeez, is it showing?

And this evening, I stopped at the Community Blog before coming here, had a mental short-circuit and entered into a full-fledged rant, and if I could find my enemy tonight, my tomahawk would be red with their blood, and I would sing the war song far into the night.

I wonder if I've been ingesting rather too much caffeine.

Pippa passes.

R

Only a promise for a full post

I'm hanging out at Mama Elu's house tonight. She came home from the hospital today, and is on 24/7 home oxygen. Let me tell you, that has gone over like a lead turd in the Monongahela. She sees it as a great imposition on her independence (which it is, let's be honest here) and as the beginning of the end. Hmmmm - I thought that started about age 22. Anyway, she'll permit me to stay overnight begrudgingly, and tomorrow is having one of those radio pendant things installed at my strong insistence -- If she had been just a little sicker last Thursday night, she would have been unable to call me, and I wouldn't have discovered the problem for a few hours. Telling her that she is lucky to live in the age of antibiotics (without which last week would have been a strongly life-threatening event) and oxygen (without which her sats are terrible) isn't producing much positive reaction. It's no doubt a lot to get used to in a terrible hurry. Bro. (in both senses) Joel is doing both the son and the pastoral thing, and Pastor Josh has been very supportive. He's an interesting guy, unassuming and I think very intellectual without being pretensious. Hell, in that respect, he fits in very well in my (and now his!) mountains.

I'm using her computer - biggest damn monitor I've ever seen. TimSon and Mama Elu collaborated on speccing the system. The font appears to be 24 point or so on the screen.

I'm unusually buried in politics this election cycle. In addition to Bro. Dave's judge campaign, I'm working another judicial campaign, a sheriff's race (that may sound minimal, but it's a big deal in WV) and most recently a minor role in a statewide judicial campaign.

Reading is WAY down this week - reading Pontoon, by Garrison Keillor, and it is a certain addition to the next quarterly canon. This guy's use of language is downright stunning.

I confess that I'm run ragged and on the rim of shutting down. By necessity, I'm away from No. 3 tonight, so this will be a bit of a vacation. In some sense.

Walking in the hospital down a LONG corridor yesterday (must be 200 yards long), I suddenly noticed that my long and distance-consuming stride is coming back. Watching this is amazing, and I'm writing, writing about it.

Speaking of the canon, I've offered it in modified form to the WV State Bar magazine, but I don't know if they will take me up on it.

Today's political news analysis: My party has succeeded in grabbing defeat right out of the jaws of victory. I will support Obama or Hillary, whoever the nominee is. I will put money into the campaign. (After all, I would find Vegas to be a great bloody boor, so I've no other way to uselessly waste the money.) But I'm practicing the phrase "President McCain." It's really sad. I was at the barber shop this morning, and there was an absolutely stereotypical political discussion of the extreme conservative bent.

Pippa passes.

R

Mom's status; brief commercial observation

1 - My mom remains hospitalized, and will be for a while. Systemic infection, serious but fixable. But also a bunch of lung damage, more serious and not fixable. Adaptation to the new reality is going to be quite difficult for her.

2 - I would not buy an HP toilet. And I would only piss in one if the discharge pipe ran onto the manager's desk at Best Buy.

My legendary good nature has taken a bit of a beating today.

Pippa passes.

R

Dragging so low that if I walked naked through a mud puddle, I'd leave 3 tracks

Lots of things to talk about, but not tonight - my Mom's health crashed bad last night (911 time) and so I'm fully engaged with that.
.
Wish I understood this whole life thing.
.
Pippa passes.
R

Rank hath its duties; and the troubled conscience of a New Progressive

A few thoughts this morning -- except it's actually published this evening because the Mattel computer system at No. 3 is acting strangely.

I got to No. 3 by 6, worked in the quiet with the eastern horizon slowly reddening for an hour, which was peaceful and pleasant, and then took LaElu up to the local hospital for an MRI. (She has those periodically to monitor a benign tumor on the pituitary, which is not a very operable place.) I served on the board of directors of that hospital for several years (an interesting experience, particularly for one coming out of one phase of healthcare), so I know many of the people there. While waiting for LaElu to get done, I wandered into the executive/administrative offices to talk to a couple of people about a thought I had which might slightly benefit the hospital, and also to do the general networking thing. At 7:15, there were several administrative staffers there, but none of the "bosses." That isn't right. If a "boss" is so damn important, s/he needs to be at work before the other folks. An administrtor also shouldn't need a reserved parking spot -- s/he should get there so damn early that the lot is nearly empty. I am reminded of a quote, and I had to look in my Commonplace Book to find it:
.
If high authority appoints you to an office, know this: Every step upward on the ladder of offices is not a step into freedom, but into bondage. The higher the office, the tighter the bondage. The greater the power of the office, the stricter the service. The stronger the personality, the less self-will.
The Glass Bead Game (Das Glasperlenspiel), by Herman Hesse
.
A worker who happens to be higher on the organizational chart says “Go on.” A leader says “Come on.” There IS a difference. That is becoming more important to me as the years flow by, and I still haven’t totally got it. I’m hardly a total practitioner of the take-responsibility thing, but I think I’m trying to improve.
.
.

This is MLK day.
.
I hate the term “politically correct.” It is routinely applied to progressives (“liberals”) by reactionaries (“conservatives”) to connote that it’s an irrational and intolerant expectation by “liberals” that all others conform to a belief that at least some folks don’t support. Pick a descriptive noun - conservative, liberal, white, Methodist, doctor, union rep, woman, student, gun-owner, athlete, and on and on - and you can find lots of members of that group who are intolerant. Everyone seems to want to show that ALL of those to whom a particular descriptive noun applies are intolerant because of the actions of very few, also known as proof by limited example. The status of the Martin Luther King legacy is one of the subjects of so-called political correctness. That’s sad, because it clouds what is to me a valid discussion of who we honor and how we honor them.

Taking 4/10th of one percent of the available traditional work days to honor an individual seems idolatrous to me. That applies to King. And Columbus. And Washington. How many thousands of people who have done things that matter can we find in American and world history? How many deserve honor? Some of the lesser known:

Dr. R. Adams Cowley - The “inventor” of modern trauma care

Dr. Ingo Petrykus and Dr. Peter Beyer - The inventors of “golden rice,” which has a vitamin A content and which will save literally millions of lives (mostly children) in the coming years.

Count Claus Graf von Stauffenberg - Risked (and lost) his life in a bid to kill you-know-who.

George Washington Carver - Researcher/inventor who made huge strides in food crop production.

Mohandas Ghandhi

Senator Edmund G. Ross - Lost his seat because he sided with Andrew Johnson and his non-punitive Reconstruction plan.

Johannes Gutenberg - I really hope you recognize his name and contribution.

Leo Szilard - The one who originally thought of bringing nuclear research to the U.S. president’s attention, and got Albert Einstein involved because everybody knew Einstein.

These are examples right off the top of my head.

King said “Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase. Just take the first step.” Does that strike you as hopeful and true? It does me. And it would be equally hopeful and true, no matter who said it. Again, we are finding proof in limited examples. Lots and lots of people have said lots of true things. That Commonplace Book contains a ton of them. We cannot honor them all with a day off. We can honor them by getting off our collective asses and taking action consistent with our - and their - beliefs and examples. Talk is cheap. Tokenism is cheap. Action matters, results matter.

I’ll be at No. 3 all day. And Columbus day. And Good Friday. And President’s day. And so forth.

Mizpah.

R

Stunning stupidity; and a poem

On the way home, I drove down our street, and was really disgusted at a sight. Ordinarily, I think that people around here are pretty well versed in the safe operation of tools and machinery. A couple of fellows were working underneath a truck parked on the street. Holding up the truck was a SMALL hydralic jack, fully extended. No ramps, no jack stands, no cribbing. Doing something where a single part failing may kill you is just evolution in action.


Robert Service (1874-1958)
The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèèd cold, and it's got right hold, till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead —— it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you, to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows —— Oh God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared —— such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear, you'll let in the cold and storm ——
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.


Gotta memorize that, I love it.

Mizpah.

R

Now we gotta get rid of the body

Just a few notes this evening -- went to the funeral of an elderly cousin which was, for some strange reason (at least it's strange here), held in the evening. The deceased was prepared in what appeared to be the usual manner, although my mother commented that she didn't look very good. I wonder - she's dead - she's having a very bad day - I don't require that she look real good. She will be buried at some future time in the cemetery at the no-kidding traditional seat of our family, which is an out-of-the-way Baptist Church on a bucolic ridge with a bucolic name, Harmony Grove. I assume that the deceased (I won't call her Dail - Dail isn't in there, she's just moved out) is full of chemicals which for some very, very strange reason are intended to resist the natural progression of the return to the earth, and that they will use one of those steel vaults that funeral directors (that's what we call undertakers) brag about because they are water-proof, pest-proof and earthquake proof.

What is the point? What do you think should be done with a dead body? (The UK has proposed a policy allowing harvesting of organs unless the deceased specifically opted out. I like that approach, but I understand that it's somewhat controversial.) For myself, I would strongly prefer a cave, such as the early Shawnee in West Virginia used. A real cool old guy I knew found one of those, very cleverly hidden so that you couldn't see the entrance from five feet away (so he said, and I believed him), way, way out in the woods. He said that when it came his time, he wanted to go there and thus rejoin the Great Spirit. (That's not a hackneyed western cliche, that is a translation of the Shawnee word "Wishemaneto.") However, he had a stroke, was paralyzed and aphasic, so not only could he not go to the cave, he couldn't tell anyone where it is. Failing the cave, I would accept a platform so that I can return to the earth through my friends, but that is (1) illegal (not that I would mind, but I suppose I'd need some cooperation by someone corporeally alive) and (2) not really a custom known among the First Americans around here.

I guess I'll settle for cremation. If Bro. Dave outlives me, he's in charge of leading the crowd to some appropriate venue for the scattering thing. (Is it a stretch to think that there will be a crowd? Perhaps it'll be the proverbial one-car-funeral.)

Anyway, no lying preserved in the ground for me.

Reminds me, my Dad often recited the Cremation of Sam McGee. Don't know why that is in my mind tonight.

Oh, the new pastor did the funeral. Young chap, from a big city. He is reluctant to use his own words for things, and I bet he feels a bit like a "stranger in a strange land." I told him privately after the service that although I had never heard the term "homegoing" for a funeral here, now it is in the county lexicon because he brought it here - just as all of our language has been brought from SOMEWHERE at SOME TIME. I really like this guy. It's rather strange dealing with younger people in positions of responsibility and dependability. When I was younger, responsible/respectible meant old. Now, it seems we have children as members of the bar, police officers, physicians, and others. Sometimes I have to consciously remind myself that I can depend on and learn from EVERYONE.

Tomorrow, a case has suddenly gone red, and must be solved in the morning - extremely serious ramifications, and I'm studying on it right hard tonight.

Mizpah. Pippa passes.

R