This morning Kevin Costner was going to be interviewed on Good Morning America. I was about to shower and get ready to go do some altar guild tasks. Not wanting to miss one minute of that interview, I probably took the fastest shower of my life, except for the time the snake was sliding around on the top of the shower doors.
It was a nice interview. His latest movie hits the theaters soon. He has gained 20 pounds either for the film or because of his recent marriage. Diane Sawyer interviewed him just prior to the wedding in Aspen. Some of that footage was replayed. Lucky for Sawyer, lucky for me. Looking at Kevin Costner is worth a quick shower.
Reflecting on my quick shower and the Duke University study of the 12 thirsty rhesus monkeys giving up cherry juice to look at pictures of the top monkey in the group and the males giving up a drink to look at the back ends of female monkeys, I thought I am not too far from that. I would give up cherry juice any time to watch a few minutes of a television interview with Costner.
What is the matter with us, or me, or those thirsty monkeys? It looks like we are hardwired this way. I suppose it is a good thing or both man and monkeys would have died out shortly after the first murder. The study went on to state that none of them gave up that nice cherry juice to look at the bottom of their social group. Please notice I did not say "bottoms." Kurt Anderson, Studio 360, probably got it from Nature magazine.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Monday, March 28, 2005
My coffee is Getting Cold...
If I had to write a title for my life, that would be it: My Coffee is Getting Cold.
If I wanted to write it as a short poem, it could start and end:
Take care!
Your coffee could get cold
While life goes on and you get old.
My mother had coffee and cinnamon toast on the table for my 14 year old girlfriends and me right after school. She thought it was high time we learned to drink coffee, boiled and black. The grounds went in when the water came to a boil and allowed on the burner just until the grounds turned over. It was immediately poured through a strainer and into the glass mugs beside the plates of cinnamon toast. We were all good to go another six hours and felt a little like we were getting by with something.
He Who Must Be Obeyed was dressed, packed, his coffee in a thermos, when I woke up on Easter Sunday morning. He drove out in a dark dawn at 5:45 and I stepped into the shower, getting ready for early church. I find myself alone again for the better part of a week. I boiled coffee this morning. It sits beside me now, steaming a little, while I chart out the days ahead of me, six of them at least.
With a spring warmth that will surely bring out the ferns, I will rake the remainder of the pear and grape leaves off of them before they emerge and green. We could use a rain. I will make fiddle head salad again when I can pick enough to make a difference in a salad. Eating them grounds me to my back yard. I feel the same way about the grapes and the pears. It is easy for me to understand the Mother Earth concept.
Today this conflicted mother prays, while she rakes, for a husband dealing with a bi-polar adult daughter, apparently in full blown mania; her out of control life needs a father to pick up the pieces, aright devastated finances, counsel her personal life of self-destruction, and meet with another group of State Social Service people. He will take her unwashed laundry of the past three weeks to the laundromat. His eight hour drive is purposeful, stressful, and hopefully will be consequential. I am in awe of the way he uncomplainingly does what needs to be done, knowing it all happens with predictable regularity.
The closing of the hospitals for the mentally ill has caused untold horror which results in the homeless, the hopeless, the destitute, and the despair of families trying to hold themselves together in spite of impossible odds of finding help. institutionalizing would be a place of safety, warmth, and care, compared to the mean streets of America. Was it the ACLU that closed all these hospitals? If so they should spend a month or two caring for just one of these people.
If I wanted to write it as a short poem, it could start and end:
Take care!
Your coffee could get cold
While life goes on and you get old.
My mother had coffee and cinnamon toast on the table for my 14 year old girlfriends and me right after school. She thought it was high time we learned to drink coffee, boiled and black. The grounds went in when the water came to a boil and allowed on the burner just until the grounds turned over. It was immediately poured through a strainer and into the glass mugs beside the plates of cinnamon toast. We were all good to go another six hours and felt a little like we were getting by with something.
He Who Must Be Obeyed was dressed, packed, his coffee in a thermos, when I woke up on Easter Sunday morning. He drove out in a dark dawn at 5:45 and I stepped into the shower, getting ready for early church. I find myself alone again for the better part of a week. I boiled coffee this morning. It sits beside me now, steaming a little, while I chart out the days ahead of me, six of them at least.
With a spring warmth that will surely bring out the ferns, I will rake the remainder of the pear and grape leaves off of them before they emerge and green. We could use a rain. I will make fiddle head salad again when I can pick enough to make a difference in a salad. Eating them grounds me to my back yard. I feel the same way about the grapes and the pears. It is easy for me to understand the Mother Earth concept.
Today this conflicted mother prays, while she rakes, for a husband dealing with a bi-polar adult daughter, apparently in full blown mania; her out of control life needs a father to pick up the pieces, aright devastated finances, counsel her personal life of self-destruction, and meet with another group of State Social Service people. He will take her unwashed laundry of the past three weeks to the laundromat. His eight hour drive is purposeful, stressful, and hopefully will be consequential. I am in awe of the way he uncomplainingly does what needs to be done, knowing it all happens with predictable regularity.
The closing of the hospitals for the mentally ill has caused untold horror which results in the homeless, the hopeless, the destitute, and the despair of families trying to hold themselves together in spite of impossible odds of finding help. institutionalizing would be a place of safety, warmth, and care, compared to the mean streets of America. Was it the ACLU that closed all these hospitals? If so they should spend a month or two caring for just one of these people.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
An Ungodly Holy Weeek
Say what?
What in heaven's name is going on?
What ever is the matter with people?
Do I hear small murmers in crowds that call
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"
I surf around hunting for some wise words.
The Salty Vicar is still "Getting Wax out of the Carpet.
The Real Live Preacher speaks of Middle School as Lord of the Flies
in yesterday's "Daughters, Daddies, and Broken Hearts.
I logged into ITAR TASS hoping for some better news. Fat chance of that.
"Most Imported Toys In Russia Dangerous for Children-specialists..."
Why would China export toys with high levels of formaldehyde, phenol, mercury and noise?
Headlines on Drudge are dreary.
"Sick Rehnquist to Shun Schiavo?"
"Silent Pope Appears at Window After Health Scare."
"Human Corpses used as Crash Test Dummies"
"Life is crashing down on the Res at Red Lake High, Home of the Ogichidaakwag"
It is enough to make a person swear off the news.
Norway takes off for Easter holidays
Record numbers of Norwegians have taken off on Easter holidays this week, a clear sign of the country's strong economy. Never before have so many flocked to the mountains for traditional skiing vacations, while the promise of spring was also luring Norwegians to the coast and southern climes.
Finally, a little good news if you want to kick going to church in the pants.
What in heaven's name is going on?
What ever is the matter with people?
Do I hear small murmers in crowds that call
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"
I surf around hunting for some wise words.
The Salty Vicar is still "Getting Wax out of the Carpet.
The Real Live Preacher speaks of Middle School as Lord of the Flies
in yesterday's "Daughters, Daddies, and Broken Hearts.
I logged into ITAR TASS hoping for some better news. Fat chance of that.
"Most Imported Toys In Russia Dangerous for Children-specialists..."
Why would China export toys with high levels of formaldehyde, phenol, mercury and noise?
Headlines on Drudge are dreary.
"Sick Rehnquist to Shun Schiavo?"
"Silent Pope Appears at Window After Health Scare."
"Human Corpses used as Crash Test Dummies"
"Life is crashing down on the Res at Red Lake High, Home of the Ogichidaakwag"
It is enough to make a person swear off the news.
Norway takes off for Easter holidays
Record numbers of Norwegians have taken off on Easter holidays this week, a clear sign of the country's strong economy. Never before have so many flocked to the mountains for traditional skiing vacations, while the promise of spring was also luring Norwegians to the coast and southern climes.
Finally, a little good news if you want to kick going to church in the pants.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Buffalo Commons
Ted Turner has purchased more land in the Nebraska Sandhills. He is now the largest private landowner in Nebraska, with a reported 380,000 acres of bison ranches. He is also the largest private owner of bison in the country with about 37,000 head. What a deal. I wonder if he makes a good rancher neighbor?
In 1987 the Drs. Frank and Deborah Popper of Rutgers University proposed their controversial concept of Buffalo Commons. I was proud and amazed at a cousin for taking them on in person, in the newspapers and in a book he wrote called "Buffalo Commons Memoirs." As adamant as he was against their idea of turning a huge part of the midwest back into native land for Buffalo, he had a friendly relationship with them. Lawrence Brown, in his book says "While the Poppers may have played fast and loose with their original philosophy, it took a dedicated city media to convert it to a premeditated insult....we often refer to the neighbors down the road as 'regular folks' even though we are not always in complete agreement. I regard Frank and Deborah Popper as regular folks and number them among my friends."
Correspondence between Lawrence and the Poppers is included in his first chapter. Their letter of reply is in part: "Deborah and I appreciate the extensive attention you give our work, and we have no real problem with your treatment of it. We are glad that you realize that we now see the Buffalo Commons as forming naturally as a result of ongoing local and private activity rather than some federal 'condemnation' (a word I believe you use) of land or some other peremptory declaration." The letter goes on to say they only envision a quarter of the land area of the Plains.
Given help by Ted Turner this seems to be happening although, I do not read of the Poppers and Turner collaboration on the mission to move the local ranchers out of the picture in order to put the romanticized Buffalo on the range, it looks a little like Buffalo Commons is happening. Maybe it is a good thing Lawrence didn't live long enough to see the encroachment of Ted Turner on the plains ranch land.
In 1987 the Drs. Frank and Deborah Popper of Rutgers University proposed their controversial concept of Buffalo Commons. I was proud and amazed at a cousin for taking them on in person, in the newspapers and in a book he wrote called "Buffalo Commons Memoirs." As adamant as he was against their idea of turning a huge part of the midwest back into native land for Buffalo, he had a friendly relationship with them. Lawrence Brown, in his book says "While the Poppers may have played fast and loose with their original philosophy, it took a dedicated city media to convert it to a premeditated insult....we often refer to the neighbors down the road as 'regular folks' even though we are not always in complete agreement. I regard Frank and Deborah Popper as regular folks and number them among my friends."
Correspondence between Lawrence and the Poppers is included in his first chapter. Their letter of reply is in part: "Deborah and I appreciate the extensive attention you give our work, and we have no real problem with your treatment of it. We are glad that you realize that we now see the Buffalo Commons as forming naturally as a result of ongoing local and private activity rather than some federal 'condemnation' (a word I believe you use) of land or some other peremptory declaration." The letter goes on to say they only envision a quarter of the land area of the Plains.
Given help by Ted Turner this seems to be happening although, I do not read of the Poppers and Turner collaboration on the mission to move the local ranchers out of the picture in order to put the romanticized Buffalo on the range, it looks a little like Buffalo Commons is happening. Maybe it is a good thing Lawrence didn't live long enough to see the encroachment of Ted Turner on the plains ranch land.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Happy, But Realistic
At the moment, life is good. I am optimistic that it will be good tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Why so? After two months, I finally got got a haircut. He Who Must Be Obeyed and I have followed our hair stylist all over Omaha these last six years. She has moved from one shop to another and we have gotten to know her quite well; well enough to know that Friday she will be 40 and is apprehensive over it; we know her well enough to have been invited to her Italian wedding reception for a marriage that unraveled a year later. When my roommate of over 50 years broke his heel coming off a ladder the wrong way and was in a wheel chair for four months, she came to the house and cut both of our hairs. That sounds like each of us had one hair and it isn't terribly far from the truth. We do know her better than usual.
The reality of many Americans is, that even at 40, working steadily, and trying and striving and working, some people are staring middle age in the face and are making $6.70 an hour for six months while establishing themselves in a new place. No, not a new skill, nor a new profession, just a new place, a new chair, in America.
Our dear, dear Kelly has a son who is a junior in highschool and yes, summers he works with her dad in a lawn service. He is a retired Omaha policeman with a work ethic that survives his 70 something age. I can't imagine anything nicer than a grandson working with a grandfather out of doors. In spite of a lot of noise from the mowers they use, I can happily imagine that there are hours of conversation in the truck between jobs. His beat was North Omaha which was a tough assignment then and is more so today. Mowing lawns is probably a piece of cake in comparison.
Omaha is an early day Itialian immigrant town. For this Finn, I could easily get into romanticizing the ethnicity as quickly as I want to with the Sioux Indian. Forget the mafia, forget the pasta, just think of a hardworking handsome group that have tight family connections and a work ethic that could shame some German Americans I know.
In six weeks Kelly will get her hourly wage and then split her earnings with the house. He Who Must Be Obeyed suggested we have her come to our house to cut our hair, so she can keep everything she makes. Is there a law against that? It kills me to think she only will gets half! People cannot live on less than $7 an hour but for six weeks that is life for her.
Last Saturday we studied the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. It make me feel like I am going right to Hades because we are comfortable. The 'camel and the needle's eye' stuff needles my conscience. My heart goes out to workers who work and still can't make a living. It simply is not right. Minimum wage needs to be reworked; tough luck McDonald's, it has to happen for the benefit of people trying to put kids through school, to start retirement funds at 40, to simply live a small bit of the American Dream.
Maybe I shouldn't be so happy. I am, however, and thankful for my own comfy little life. I wish I could make it better for others.
Why so? After two months, I finally got got a haircut. He Who Must Be Obeyed and I have followed our hair stylist all over Omaha these last six years. She has moved from one shop to another and we have gotten to know her quite well; well enough to know that Friday she will be 40 and is apprehensive over it; we know her well enough to have been invited to her Italian wedding reception for a marriage that unraveled a year later. When my roommate of over 50 years broke his heel coming off a ladder the wrong way and was in a wheel chair for four months, she came to the house and cut both of our hairs. That sounds like each of us had one hair and it isn't terribly far from the truth. We do know her better than usual.
The reality of many Americans is, that even at 40, working steadily, and trying and striving and working, some people are staring middle age in the face and are making $6.70 an hour for six months while establishing themselves in a new place. No, not a new skill, nor a new profession, just a new place, a new chair, in America.
Our dear, dear Kelly has a son who is a junior in highschool and yes, summers he works with her dad in a lawn service. He is a retired Omaha policeman with a work ethic that survives his 70 something age. I can't imagine anything nicer than a grandson working with a grandfather out of doors. In spite of a lot of noise from the mowers they use, I can happily imagine that there are hours of conversation in the truck between jobs. His beat was North Omaha which was a tough assignment then and is more so today. Mowing lawns is probably a piece of cake in comparison.
Omaha is an early day Itialian immigrant town. For this Finn, I could easily get into romanticizing the ethnicity as quickly as I want to with the Sioux Indian. Forget the mafia, forget the pasta, just think of a hardworking handsome group that have tight family connections and a work ethic that could shame some German Americans I know.
In six weeks Kelly will get her hourly wage and then split her earnings with the house. He Who Must Be Obeyed suggested we have her come to our house to cut our hair, so she can keep everything she makes. Is there a law against that? It kills me to think she only will gets half! People cannot live on less than $7 an hour but for six weeks that is life for her.
Last Saturday we studied the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. It make me feel like I am going right to Hades because we are comfortable. The 'camel and the needle's eye' stuff needles my conscience. My heart goes out to workers who work and still can't make a living. It simply is not right. Minimum wage needs to be reworked; tough luck McDonald's, it has to happen for the benefit of people trying to put kids through school, to start retirement funds at 40, to simply live a small bit of the American Dream.
Maybe I shouldn't be so happy. I am, however, and thankful for my own comfy little life. I wish I could make it better for others.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Dirty Underwear
Don't you think the feel of nice cotton underwear, preferrably white, is right up there with the image of the Marlboro cowboy? I am getting my mind off of issues I can't do anything about and getting them on others that I can't do anything about.
So it is off with one and on with another. I am annoyed with the Omaha Oracle and his investment philosophy which borders on unAmericanism. Maybe I listen to too much night radio rant. Last week the Omaha World Herald had pages dedicated to the Berkshire Hathaway stockholder's meeting, which is the right up there with the College World Series, in local importance.
It seems Charley Munger is Warren's underwear genius. I looked up Fruit of the Loom this morning on the Net and found out that the manufacturing for Europe which had been in Ireland has all been sent to Morroco. Sweet isn't it, for a financial genius who thinks the lack of jobs is one of the main problem in the US, profits from sending jobs out of Ireland.
The Fruit of the Loom web site for North America is not quite so up-front about where these white softies are made for our market. It scared me to read the Legal Disclaimer at the bottom of their web page. It looked like I might be have to face what Martha Stewart is going through for just reading it.
It isn't really white cotton underwear that I am annoyed about. It is the fact that our local liberal billionaire has done everything in his power to discredit the dollar and bet on its continued demise for his own profit. Will John Kerry benefit as well, or the Oracle's sweetie, Senator Clinton? We can be pretty sure of that.
When it happens, perhaps even my puny mutual fund will benefit and I will be singing different words to the same old tune, "Money, Money, Money."
So it is off with one and on with another. I am annoyed with the Omaha Oracle and his investment philosophy which borders on unAmericanism. Maybe I listen to too much night radio rant. Last week the Omaha World Herald had pages dedicated to the Berkshire Hathaway stockholder's meeting, which is the right up there with the College World Series, in local importance.
It seems Charley Munger is Warren's underwear genius. I looked up Fruit of the Loom this morning on the Net and found out that the manufacturing for Europe which had been in Ireland has all been sent to Morroco. Sweet isn't it, for a financial genius who thinks the lack of jobs is one of the main problem in the US, profits from sending jobs out of Ireland.
The Fruit of the Loom web site for North America is not quite so up-front about where these white softies are made for our market. It scared me to read the Legal Disclaimer at the bottom of their web page. It looked like I might be have to face what Martha Stewart is going through for just reading it.
It isn't really white cotton underwear that I am annoyed about. It is the fact that our local liberal billionaire has done everything in his power to discredit the dollar and bet on its continued demise for his own profit. Will John Kerry benefit as well, or the Oracle's sweetie, Senator Clinton? We can be pretty sure of that.
When it happens, perhaps even my puny mutual fund will benefit and I will be singing different words to the same old tune, "Money, Money, Money."
Saturday, March 05, 2005
In Times of Uncertainty
" If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;..."
Sometimes when life knocks one for a loop, you can look within yourself for solace and come up sorely wanting. If one just looks, God is even on the Internet, blessing each of us through the kindness of others.
Recently, I reached out to my family with a gut wrenching event over a bi-polar adult child and the outpouring of kind and consoling words was my source of not only comfort, but acceptance. I am, indeed blessed with a circle of the kindest people imaginable. How grateful I am for each of you in a time when the stigma of mental illness is still, unfortunately, with us.
A cousin undergoing a very serious health issue of her own wrote these words:
"Our prayers are with you. Thanks for sharing. Remember the moving story of how Christ, as He walked among us, He healed all those with infirmities, including those with mental illness. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever and we know He has already paid the price for our healing. We'll trust and pray with you. "Have faith in God, Jesus answered... I tell you the truth, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours." Mark 11: 22,24 Love and prayers, Your Cousin."
God's grace certainly shines through the eyes and beautiful words of compassionate people, and I have been comforted in this time of uncertainty. We cannot be reminded of the grace of God too often.
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;..."
Sometimes when life knocks one for a loop, you can look within yourself for solace and come up sorely wanting. If one just looks, God is even on the Internet, blessing each of us through the kindness of others.
Recently, I reached out to my family with a gut wrenching event over a bi-polar adult child and the outpouring of kind and consoling words was my source of not only comfort, but acceptance. I am, indeed blessed with a circle of the kindest people imaginable. How grateful I am for each of you in a time when the stigma of mental illness is still, unfortunately, with us.
A cousin undergoing a very serious health issue of her own wrote these words:
"Our prayers are with you. Thanks for sharing. Remember the moving story of how Christ, as He walked among us, He healed all those with infirmities, including those with mental illness. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever and we know He has already paid the price for our healing. We'll trust and pray with you. "Have faith in God, Jesus answered... I tell you the truth, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours." Mark 11: 22,24 Love and prayers, Your Cousin."
God's grace certainly shines through the eyes and beautiful words of compassionate people, and I have been comforted in this time of uncertainty. We cannot be reminded of the grace of God too often.
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