Our lives have been spiced up with the visit of our oldest son, his wife, and three of their five children. They arrived on the 22nd of June and the days and nights since then all run into each other with the blur of not paying much attention to the calendar. We bid one another goodbye at Jim and Jenny's Greek restaurant last night.
We left our five, sometimes six, houseguests during the family reunion in Spearfish, SD on the 4th of July. One of my cowboy brothers-in-law, with the help of his son, grandsons, and more brothers-in-law, cooked a hundred steaks on a pitchfork in boiling beef fat, the pitchfork fondue. The kettle he used over a propane fire could have boiled a missionary, it was so large.
The missionary pot came to my mind, as it was similar to the one in the historical museum in Auckland, New Zealand that was used for that very thing by the Maori natives once upon a time. I have a feeling that Angus beef tops a missionary; perhaps you have heard the saying about being as tough as a Lutheran.
The backyard pool is once more calm and serene. We are picking our first tomatoes, and are cheered by pots of blooming flowers. My heart quickens as I see my European Birch take off in the pot in the back yard.
I read a column in the paper the other day about Feng Shui yards. One thing about planting trees in tubs, you can move them where ever you want them when the mood strikes. I love moving trees around keeping the yin and yang correct so as to obtain a good chi.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Checking In Before Checking Out
I love the 4th of July. It makes me feel my freedom and independence. But the personal question is freedom from what and independence for what? Coming and going are bound by money and health. One is not free with material goods. All of that needs tending, dusting and lots of admiring. I am a tied to my dirt; which by the way is a blooming wonder again with tomatoes in pots about to ripen.
I guess I need the independence to break loose from the stuff I so cherish, and simplify my life a little at a time, so when I check out completely, the remaining clutter won't complicate our grown son's lives.
Nothing we do, have, or say will ever complicate our daughter's life. There isn't much good to be said about bi-polar illness; but one thing about her she is more free and independent than any of the rest of us.
Have as free and independent a 4th of July as you can muster; tack up the 10 commandments somewhere. Print up 95 copies of them and nail them to some door.
I guess I need the independence to break loose from the stuff I so cherish, and simplify my life a little at a time, so when I check out completely, the remaining clutter won't complicate our grown son's lives.
Nothing we do, have, or say will ever complicate our daughter's life. There isn't much good to be said about bi-polar illness; but one thing about her she is more free and independent than any of the rest of us.
Have as free and independent a 4th of July as you can muster; tack up the 10 commandments somewhere. Print up 95 copies of them and nail them to some door.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Blogs of Consequence, Where Did They Go?
A few days ago I changed some settings on my computer and fouled up all kinds of places. One was the appearance of this template. I fearlessly went into the templates and reinstalled the one I use called Snapshot.
Doing so, I lost my Blogs of Consequence. I haven't put one up for so long, I am not certain I recall how to do it. I have read the Salty Vicar so long I feel like I know him. I found the Wichita Eagle blog this morning and will add it to the side-bar as well.
Prof. John Maeda of MIT Media Lab's blog, Simplicity, is a wonderful read, if you can read it. It makes me stretch, a lot. He says he will terminate when he gets to the sixteenth law of simplicity. He is on the tenth. I hope it gets him a long time to get any farther. I don't want him to stop before I can figure out what he is writing about.
I can't bear the thought of losing the South Dakota Magazine blog. I am never going to try to improve anything again, ever. In it is an article on Pa Ingalls Farm in De Smet. I know a Pa Ingalls who is a descendent to Laura and will be going to his grandson's 1870's theme wedding in Wyoming in a couple of weeks. Going in Victorian attire would be fun, hot, but fun.
Doing so, I lost my Blogs of Consequence. I haven't put one up for so long, I am not certain I recall how to do it. I have read the Salty Vicar so long I feel like I know him. I found the Wichita Eagle blog this morning and will add it to the side-bar as well.
Prof. John Maeda of MIT Media Lab's blog, Simplicity, is a wonderful read, if you can read it. It makes me stretch, a lot. He says he will terminate when he gets to the sixteenth law of simplicity. He is on the tenth. I hope it gets him a long time to get any farther. I don't want him to stop before I can figure out what he is writing about.
I can't bear the thought of losing the South Dakota Magazine blog. I am never going to try to improve anything again, ever. In it is an article on Pa Ingalls Farm in De Smet. I know a Pa Ingalls who is a descendent to Laura and will be going to his grandson's 1870's theme wedding in Wyoming in a couple of weeks. Going in Victorian attire would be fun, hot, but fun.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Guitars, Violins, Cellos
I am not quite certain why I got on such a rant on hunger and ethanol. You know the saying that the butterfly across the world can change the weather somewhere else. I don't believe that, even though there is something about the chaos theory that I find intriguing.
I have Google Alerts on several names and several subjects, one being South Dakota oil exploration. Through it I noticed that seven new wells are being drilled in Harding County by a company that hasn't drilled there before.
Another Alert came in on my eldest sister-in-law, who entered four events in the Senior Games in PA and took a gold, two silvers and a bronze. M runs like a gazelle in the over 75 age group. I have seen and photographed her mid-air in a running broad jump, in which she flew over 12 feet. Watching that through a camera lens takes a person's breath away.
Tomorrow our son and family from the Northwest will arrive for their summer visit. They drive away from the misty, balmy, beautiful area into Nebraska at its hot and humid best. We have one aspect in common with that area, we are both green. Everything grows like crazy here. We have planted a assorted bulbs a couple of years in a row and have been amazed by lilies that are blooming under the pear tree.
The father of my brood was properly honored yesterday. His children certainly hold him dear in spite of his continual guidance that sounds more like admonition to me. After a call from his youngest son, he turned to me after he hung up and said, "He probably didn't expect that." It is a wonder any of them call. It was a ghastly litany. Mothers would never get by with it.
He Who Must Be Obeyed is sending his number two son a twelve string guitar this morning. It is a beautiful black Gibson. Incidentally, after the work was done on the little yellow stickered violin, the nice man at Nielson's Violin Shop estimated it was worth several hundreds of dollars. Our number three son will get it next time he comes home. Number four son wants to buy his cello back from me along with my two and a half years worth of lesson books and a very nice metronome.
I would have given anything to have been able to take music lessons as a kid. I flatter myself, thinking I would have been a fair musician. Even at 65, taking my first lessons on the cello and my first time reading music, I was fair. My hands were so arthritic, I had to ice them down to be able to hold the bow. But I was determined and loved the learning. When my back got so bad I couldn't sit to the instrument, I had to give it up and have surgery.
It occurred to me that this visiting son, number one, will be 50 this fall. I always have 20 years on him. Sometimes it feels like he and I grew up together; he is the wiser of the two of us, however. He is an incredible husband and father, his wife tells me. To have a daughter-in-law tell you that is as good as it gets.
I have Google Alerts on several names and several subjects, one being South Dakota oil exploration. Through it I noticed that seven new wells are being drilled in Harding County by a company that hasn't drilled there before.
Another Alert came in on my eldest sister-in-law, who entered four events in the Senior Games in PA and took a gold, two silvers and a bronze. M runs like a gazelle in the over 75 age group. I have seen and photographed her mid-air in a running broad jump, in which she flew over 12 feet. Watching that through a camera lens takes a person's breath away.
Tomorrow our son and family from the Northwest will arrive for their summer visit. They drive away from the misty, balmy, beautiful area into Nebraska at its hot and humid best. We have one aspect in common with that area, we are both green. Everything grows like crazy here. We have planted a assorted bulbs a couple of years in a row and have been amazed by lilies that are blooming under the pear tree.
The father of my brood was properly honored yesterday. His children certainly hold him dear in spite of his continual guidance that sounds more like admonition to me. After a call from his youngest son, he turned to me after he hung up and said, "He probably didn't expect that." It is a wonder any of them call. It was a ghastly litany. Mothers would never get by with it.
He Who Must Be Obeyed is sending his number two son a twelve string guitar this morning. It is a beautiful black Gibson. Incidentally, after the work was done on the little yellow stickered violin, the nice man at Nielson's Violin Shop estimated it was worth several hundreds of dollars. Our number three son will get it next time he comes home. Number four son wants to buy his cello back from me along with my two and a half years worth of lesson books and a very nice metronome.
I would have given anything to have been able to take music lessons as a kid. I flatter myself, thinking I would have been a fair musician. Even at 65, taking my first lessons on the cello and my first time reading music, I was fair. My hands were so arthritic, I had to ice them down to be able to hold the bow. But I was determined and loved the learning. When my back got so bad I couldn't sit to the instrument, I had to give it up and have surgery.
It occurred to me that this visiting son, number one, will be 50 this fall. I always have 20 years on him. Sometimes it feels like he and I grew up together; he is the wiser of the two of us, however. He is an incredible husband and father, his wife tells me. To have a daughter-in-law tell you that is as good as it gets.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Crude and Kerosene
When minding my own business, just making the bed, clearing out the clutter, watering tomatoes, and figuring out what to have for dinner, would make life so easy; I wonder why I get side tracked like I do?
Ethanol seems to be one of the solutions for the gasoline problem in America. At the pump it appears that the more of it in one's gasoline the less expensive the cost. Not too long ago that was not the case. "Senator John Thune (South Dakota) says passing the energy bill will dramatically increase ethanol demand and guarantee a good market for South Dakota farmers."
It isn't just South Dakota, ethanol plants are being promoted and built throughout the American corn belt. Good for agribusiness. Good for the corporate and small farmers, good for gas guzzling suv owners. But the upshot is what about the hungry world?
"In developing countries, 6 million children die each year, mostly from hunger-related causes.
In the United States, 13 million children live in households where people have to skip meals or eat less to make ends meet. That means one in ten households in the U.S. are living with hunger or are at risk of hunger."
They certainly cannot stir up a cup of crude and wash it down with kerosene.
Ethanol seems to be one of the solutions for the gasoline problem in America. At the pump it appears that the more of it in one's gasoline the less expensive the cost. Not too long ago that was not the case. "Senator John Thune (South Dakota) says passing the energy bill will dramatically increase ethanol demand and guarantee a good market for South Dakota farmers."
It isn't just South Dakota, ethanol plants are being promoted and built throughout the American corn belt. Good for agribusiness. Good for the corporate and small farmers, good for gas guzzling suv owners. But the upshot is what about the hungry world?
"In developing countries, 6 million children die each year, mostly from hunger-related causes.
In the United States, 13 million children live in households where people have to skip meals or eat less to make ends meet. That means one in ten households in the U.S. are living with hunger or are at risk of hunger."
They certainly cannot stir up a cup of crude and wash it down with kerosene.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Weak Women/Bold Women
Just spending a few hours in Omaha's Old Market seemed like a retreat. Five of us Miriams looked around Soul Desires, a charming bookstore, got our coffees and circled around a table for our Lutheran Women Today study on Bold Women. Deborah, the judge and prophet; the story has a bold, gory end to it with another woman driving a stake through a guy's forehead. Sometimes it takes more than a tap on the head to get men's attention. Why didn't they teach us those things in Sunday School? We decided the male dominated church didn't want to give girls any stupid ideas about becoming judges.
I could write about a bold woman judge in Omaha, who has come into our lives a couple of times through her work with families and children. She awarded us guardianship of a granddaughter and later she made that granddaughter our own daughter. It all happened so late in our parenting, that the Gma and Gpa stick on our tongues and the words are as awkward as having our sons become brothers to this beloved child, now woman, who is biologically their niece. Mental illness does really crazy things to families. In the same manner it made her mother her sister.
Bold Women: isn't that just what a Meyer's/Briggs INFP needs help with! I am not even bold enough to say what needs to be said. Yes, we do need Bibles in our pews. I need to pray for boldness as much as I do for self discipline in diet and exercise.
I cannot abide the fact that even at my advanced age, and in this world amuck, I would have the audacity to pray for resistance to gluttony. It is a sin, if I recall, and maybe it isn't any more annoying to God than anything else that I pray for, like green lights and parking places.
We humans are a sorry, sorry lot. I say we, because I know quite a few people, some sorrier than others..but all of us more or less sorry. I suspect some even pray for money, which always seemed the most impolite sort of prayer of all, seeing how money is the root of all evil. Why would God put something like that on his children?
I did do one bold thing a while ago. I wrote a letter to the editor of my home town paper in response to the Rapid City Journal article that recognized of one of the ranch women in my home county. She stayed on the ranch with her small daughters after her husband died. Bold things are always a leap of faith, sticking one's neck out, opening the self up for criticism and/or failure. The really bold women of this midwestern high plain go on ranching when husbands die or divorce them. Their boldness is incomparable, an example to the rest of us, and I applaud them for it.
I could write about a bold woman judge in Omaha, who has come into our lives a couple of times through her work with families and children. She awarded us guardianship of a granddaughter and later she made that granddaughter our own daughter. It all happened so late in our parenting, that the Gma and Gpa stick on our tongues and the words are as awkward as having our sons become brothers to this beloved child, now woman, who is biologically their niece. Mental illness does really crazy things to families. In the same manner it made her mother her sister.
Bold Women: isn't that just what a Meyer's/Briggs INFP needs help with! I am not even bold enough to say what needs to be said. Yes, we do need Bibles in our pews. I need to pray for boldness as much as I do for self discipline in diet and exercise.
I cannot abide the fact that even at my advanced age, and in this world amuck, I would have the audacity to pray for resistance to gluttony. It is a sin, if I recall, and maybe it isn't any more annoying to God than anything else that I pray for, like green lights and parking places.
We humans are a sorry, sorry lot. I say we, because I know quite a few people, some sorrier than others..but all of us more or less sorry. I suspect some even pray for money, which always seemed the most impolite sort of prayer of all, seeing how money is the root of all evil. Why would God put something like that on his children?
I did do one bold thing a while ago. I wrote a letter to the editor of my home town paper in response to the Rapid City Journal article that recognized of one of the ranch women in my home county. She stayed on the ranch with her small daughters after her husband died. Bold things are always a leap of faith, sticking one's neck out, opening the self up for criticism and/or failure. The really bold women of this midwestern high plain go on ranching when husbands die or divorce them. Their boldness is incomparable, an example to the rest of us, and I applaud them for it.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Coming Up Short
On the Sundays that I don't go to church I feel the loss. No connections made, no blessed liturgy, no prayers in unison, no hymns, life becomes nothing but the laundry and the house akimbo, the left behind, and the empty feeling.
Making lists of things to do has always helped me. I did make one this morning and did put stamps and addresses on five envelopes filled with notes to some folks I need to make a connection to. Some are get well wishes, some need thanking, a birthday wish, a letter full of regret to a daughter, mentally ill and angry. I can't say enough of the right thing to any of them. Hence, coming up short.
I am tring to read what I need to regarding "Bold Women," our Lutheran Women Today study for in the morning. We are going to the Old Market and meeting at a book store. I am looking forward to seeing these compassionate friends. I should be prepared for the discussion. I am not, yet. I don't feel very bold, either.
During our evening swim, He Who Must Be Obeyed said we should have visited another church this morning. He is right, we should have. Sluggardly of us not to do anything.
Life seems hard right now for this short person, coming up short, always too short. What happened to the old days of bouncing out of bed at 5:30 a.m. because it was such a sweet time of the day to do quiet peaceful things? I miss those days of accomplishing listfulls of things to do.
Making lists of things to do has always helped me. I did make one this morning and did put stamps and addresses on five envelopes filled with notes to some folks I need to make a connection to. Some are get well wishes, some need thanking, a birthday wish, a letter full of regret to a daughter, mentally ill and angry. I can't say enough of the right thing to any of them. Hence, coming up short.
I am tring to read what I need to regarding "Bold Women," our Lutheran Women Today study for in the morning. We are going to the Old Market and meeting at a book store. I am looking forward to seeing these compassionate friends. I should be prepared for the discussion. I am not, yet. I don't feel very bold, either.
During our evening swim, He Who Must Be Obeyed said we should have visited another church this morning. He is right, we should have. Sluggardly of us not to do anything.
Life seems hard right now for this short person, coming up short, always too short. What happened to the old days of bouncing out of bed at 5:30 a.m. because it was such a sweet time of the day to do quiet peaceful things? I miss those days of accomplishing listfulls of things to do.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Mt. Michael Abby
It feels a little like walking on Holy Ground. I know that I am a bit too impressed; after all they are only men, albiet men called to a Benedictine way of life, in the beautiful setting near Elkhorn, NE. Brother Jerome prepared our lunch, served, cleared and washed up after the seven of us.
My retired library/media friends met at Mt. Michael Abby again for lunch yesterday. I got there a little earlier than the rest and had time to check over the books and cards sold at the Guest House. Bro. Jerome teaches art at the boarding school for boys there. His watercolored greeting cards are beautiful in their stunning simplicity.
Bro. Jerome told me he would drive into Omaha, as he does every day, to see to the needs of his mother. He is in charge of the oblates, I find on the web site. This is their life:
Called by God to serve through monastic life, we devote ourselves to:
Daily worship, study and prayer
Meaningful work
Ongoing conversion of life
Caring for one another in our monastic community
Promoting peace in the world
Extending God's Love to all through our varied gifts and ministries.
I look at that and my own life pales in comparison, and feels like chopped liver.
My retired library/media friends met at Mt. Michael Abby again for lunch yesterday. I got there a little earlier than the rest and had time to check over the books and cards sold at the Guest House. Bro. Jerome teaches art at the boarding school for boys there. His watercolored greeting cards are beautiful in their stunning simplicity.
Bro. Jerome told me he would drive into Omaha, as he does every day, to see to the needs of his mother. He is in charge of the oblates, I find on the web site. This is their life:
Called by God to serve through monastic life, we devote ourselves to:
Daily worship, study and prayer
Meaningful work
Ongoing conversion of life
Caring for one another in our monastic community
Promoting peace in the world
Extending God's Love to all through our varied gifts and ministries.
I look at that and my own life pales in comparison, and feels like chopped liver.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Sisu
I have had 'sisu' held up before me forever. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the first word my parents coaxed out of me. I read once where Americans teach their babies to say nouns, naming every little object in sight; the Japanese teach thier babies the words of politeness, excuse me, please, thank you; what is with Finns, teaching tender children 'sisu?'
Sitting on my older computer tower is the word created out of negative space in white on blue, the colors of the Finnish flag. The little three dimensional plaque was made by a pastor friend of my parents. Sometimes I can make out the word and other times when looking at it, it eludes me completely. Sisu is like that. When it is absent one cannot go through the wall, with it nothing is impossible.
Prof. John Maeda of MIT Media Lab, in his Simplicity blog, starts today with the Japanese word, "Gaman. This is a Japanese word to describe the concept of enduring pain. In Japan, it is considered a certain strength to be able to withstand uncomfortable situations." The comprable Finnish word must be Sisu.
There is undoubtedly something heroic in enduring pain and attempting to do the impossible. To tell the truth, sometimes just getting the daily tasks done, and then doing just a little bit extra in order to avoid feeling like a complete slug, feels like enough. But one can never quite do 'enough.' What is there about the human soul that wants to stive to be a little more compassionate, a little happier than you feel, to reach for above average.
After watching Luther on PBS last night, I know a little about how he felt before he discovered faith and grace. Now, how can faith and grace be enough when one doesn't have to even think about 'gaman' or 'sisu' to find it. Is life actually easier than we try to make it?
Sitting on my older computer tower is the word created out of negative space in white on blue, the colors of the Finnish flag. The little three dimensional plaque was made by a pastor friend of my parents. Sometimes I can make out the word and other times when looking at it, it eludes me completely. Sisu is like that. When it is absent one cannot go through the wall, with it nothing is impossible.
Prof. John Maeda of MIT Media Lab, in his Simplicity blog, starts today with the Japanese word, "Gaman. This is a Japanese word to describe the concept of enduring pain. In Japan, it is considered a certain strength to be able to withstand uncomfortable situations." The comprable Finnish word must be Sisu.
There is undoubtedly something heroic in enduring pain and attempting to do the impossible. To tell the truth, sometimes just getting the daily tasks done, and then doing just a little bit extra in order to avoid feeling like a complete slug, feels like enough. But one can never quite do 'enough.' What is there about the human soul that wants to stive to be a little more compassionate, a little happier than you feel, to reach for above average.
After watching Luther on PBS last night, I know a little about how he felt before he discovered faith and grace. Now, how can faith and grace be enough when one doesn't have to even think about 'gaman' or 'sisu' to find it. Is life actually easier than we try to make it?
Saturday, June 04, 2005
When I hear noise like rain on the plexiglass roof of the screened porch, off the kitchen, it would be hard to tell without looking if it is rain or sun heating it. Both make similar small distinct noises. Just now it is the first sun of the day and it is noon.
The pool looks inviting and it is back up to a good warmth. We will swim soon. I have taken hand weights out to use them. It was startling to discover my lack of buoyancy in swimming with both hands full of heavy metal. I fear I would be sadly lacking in any ability of life-guarding, even if I am the better swimmer of the two of us. He Who Must Be Obeyed has a shoulder problem and his legs appear useless in water. They are good to look at though and always have been.
We were on the road from 7:30 A.M. until 7:00 P.M yesterday. It is better than it sounds as we drove east from the Black Hills to Omaha and changed time zones. Even so, it is a long time. We timed eating on the road and skipped lunch, so we could stop at Elk Point, SD, at Edgar's and drank large chocolate malts on the last leg home.
The pool cover is off, the water is probably 90 degrees again, the gas bill was $120 and as far as I am concerned worth every cent. There is no way to rationalize it so I simply enjoy it several times a day.
Being in the Black Hills was a bitter-sweet experience. Being with two of the best friends in the world was heart warming. D who we overnighted with, drove K and I over back roads, flanked with emerald green grass and ponderosa pine and quaking aspen. There was one road that out one window one could see Bear Butte and out the other were those magnificant hills. It is truly sacred land.
The pool looks inviting and it is back up to a good warmth. We will swim soon. I have taken hand weights out to use them. It was startling to discover my lack of buoyancy in swimming with both hands full of heavy metal. I fear I would be sadly lacking in any ability of life-guarding, even if I am the better swimmer of the two of us. He Who Must Be Obeyed has a shoulder problem and his legs appear useless in water. They are good to look at though and always have been.
We were on the road from 7:30 A.M. until 7:00 P.M yesterday. It is better than it sounds as we drove east from the Black Hills to Omaha and changed time zones. Even so, it is a long time. We timed eating on the road and skipped lunch, so we could stop at Elk Point, SD, at Edgar's and drank large chocolate malts on the last leg home.
The pool cover is off, the water is probably 90 degrees again, the gas bill was $120 and as far as I am concerned worth every cent. There is no way to rationalize it so I simply enjoy it several times a day.
Being in the Black Hills was a bitter-sweet experience. Being with two of the best friends in the world was heart warming. D who we overnighted with, drove K and I over back roads, flanked with emerald green grass and ponderosa pine and quaking aspen. There was one road that out one window one could see Bear Butte and out the other were those magnificant hills. It is truly sacred land.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Theory of the Leisure Class
One of our four sons once stated in a living room conversation that we had accomplished the near impossible. He said, that through education, we had risen three notches up the class structure in the United States. His knowledge came out of his sociology class at the university. His statement amazed me at the time and I think about it yet, occasionally.
We did increase our income. But I find income alone does not automatically put one in a higher class of society. The little things will out you in every gathering. With women it is a matter of manicure. Sit at a patio table with a group of women of elite stature; they do not wear blue jeans and they have perfectly manicured fingernails. White cropped pants and shirts to match was the attire of the Memorial Weekend Event. The topic of the day was Kelly Ripa and her charm and wit with Regis. A Diet Pepsi seemed childish and out of place next to the clean martini(s), as were my garden variety, close clipped, unpainted fingernails.
I will go to the grave with my INFP temperment, my social undoing. But I might go to it having read "The Theory of the Leisure Class," written by that Norwegian, Thorstein Veblen, who theorized that the 'higher-status' group monopolized war and hunting while farming and cooking were considered inferior work. I see Amazon.com has a copy for three bucks. Some women would never utter those words, 'three bucks.'
That is who I am; my own landscaper, and I make a mean potato salad. That gets a person no status with a group of warriors and hunters. To Veblen, the athiest, society never grew out of this stage; it simply adapted into different forms and experssions of conspicuous consumption.
David Brooks theorizes that "The information age elite exercises artful dominion of the means of production, the education system." It is a good thing that He Who Must Be Obeyed and I clawed our way through the university, graduating when we were 40, in 1975. All our education got us was the title, Mr. and Mrs. Got Rocks. You can take that any way you like. With the drop in the stock market we dropped half of the rocks four years ago.
The party was enjoyable. Our beloved hosts had invited lots of friends with 17 little children. I still am amazed at that act of bravery; it tells you something of the love of these friends.
We did increase our income. But I find income alone does not automatically put one in a higher class of society. The little things will out you in every gathering. With women it is a matter of manicure. Sit at a patio table with a group of women of elite stature; they do not wear blue jeans and they have perfectly manicured fingernails. White cropped pants and shirts to match was the attire of the Memorial Weekend Event. The topic of the day was Kelly Ripa and her charm and wit with Regis. A Diet Pepsi seemed childish and out of place next to the clean martini(s), as were my garden variety, close clipped, unpainted fingernails.
I will go to the grave with my INFP temperment, my social undoing. But I might go to it having read "The Theory of the Leisure Class," written by that Norwegian, Thorstein Veblen, who theorized that the 'higher-status' group monopolized war and hunting while farming and cooking were considered inferior work. I see Amazon.com has a copy for three bucks. Some women would never utter those words, 'three bucks.'
That is who I am; my own landscaper, and I make a mean potato salad. That gets a person no status with a group of warriors and hunters. To Veblen, the athiest, society never grew out of this stage; it simply adapted into different forms and experssions of conspicuous consumption.
David Brooks theorizes that "The information age elite exercises artful dominion of the means of production, the education system." It is a good thing that He Who Must Be Obeyed and I clawed our way through the university, graduating when we were 40, in 1975. All our education got us was the title, Mr. and Mrs. Got Rocks. You can take that any way you like. With the drop in the stock market we dropped half of the rocks four years ago.
The party was enjoyable. Our beloved hosts had invited lots of friends with 17 little children. I still am amazed at that act of bravery; it tells you something of the love of these friends.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
In Flander's Field
"In Flander's fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flander's fields.
Captain John D. McCrae
My WWII hero, Frankie Clark died earlier this spring. He will not carry the colors for the veteran funerals in my home town any more. He is missed. The last time I visited him was at a cousin's funeral. He stood at attention with the flag while the rifle shots echoed in the Cave Hills. The day was as glorious as ever was. The Finnish church and cemetary hold the mortal remains of my dad, my baby brothers, my grandparents on both sides, uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, friend's parents, early homesteaders, old Finnish bachelors. My childhood memories reverberated between the scoria buttes in that peaceful place with each fired shot. Frank was there, that one last time.
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flander's fields.
Captain John D. McCrae
My WWII hero, Frankie Clark died earlier this spring. He will not carry the colors for the veteran funerals in my home town any more. He is missed. The last time I visited him was at a cousin's funeral. He stood at attention with the flag while the rifle shots echoed in the Cave Hills. The day was as glorious as ever was. The Finnish church and cemetary hold the mortal remains of my dad, my baby brothers, my grandparents on both sides, uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, friend's parents, early homesteaders, old Finnish bachelors. My childhood memories reverberated between the scoria buttes in that peaceful place with each fired shot. Frank was there, that one last time.
Monday, May 23, 2005
THE Violin
He Who Must Be Obeyed had 'the violin' in the car and was waiting form me to return from a breakfast with a group of retired highschool teachers. We went to Neilsen's violin place downtown. It is going to be fixed. With a smile, we were told it was a Pre-WWII Japenese violin and he would reglue, restring and replace the chin rest for a paltry $50. The bow was not worth rehairing.
I love going there, rows of violins for sale, new cellos, lots of charming photos of violinists who came to perform in the Orphium, glue vats, all the assorted impliments of an ancient skill. Who knows when we will get it back, that wasn't even discussed.
No wonder so many Asians are excellent violists. Japan made the instruments with the little yellow labels that attrack so many ignorant Americans. "Antonius Stradiuarius Cremonensis, Fasieabat Anno 1734" my foot! Didn't those folks worry about false advertising? The son who wishes he could have it, will have it. Without the bow unfortunately.
This morning I read a Nebraska Governor's Lecture in the Humanities in 1997 by Martin Marty. He gives a nice concise overview of Nebraska's pioneer writers, Cather, Morris, Sandoz, and Neihardt and Rolvaag. I feel the same connection to the prairie.
I love going there, rows of violins for sale, new cellos, lots of charming photos of violinists who came to perform in the Orphium, glue vats, all the assorted impliments of an ancient skill. Who knows when we will get it back, that wasn't even discussed.
No wonder so many Asians are excellent violists. Japan made the instruments with the little yellow labels that attrack so many ignorant Americans. "Antonius Stradiuarius Cremonensis, Fasieabat Anno 1734" my foot! Didn't those folks worry about false advertising? The son who wishes he could have it, will have it. Without the bow unfortunately.
This morning I read a Nebraska Governor's Lecture in the Humanities in 1997 by Martin Marty. He gives a nice concise overview of Nebraska's pioneer writers, Cather, Morris, Sandoz, and Neihardt and Rolvaag. I feel the same connection to the prairie.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Raking Sand into Patterns
Good things happen. Wonderful folks people my life and I read and swim. My main man is doing a lot of cooking, for the two of us and also for company. He is grilling marinated meats and vegetables on a new George Forman grill. We have had it for two years and never have read the instruction book until now. I am impressed.
Yesterday a son and daughter-in-law drove to Omaha from Wichita in their Corvette. They are a handsome couple and the car suits them. His wife told a little story about how when they first got it, he spent some time in the garage figuring out how to get in and out of it so it wouldn't hurt his knees.
We visited about Meyers/Briggs personality evaluations. This particular son is probably similar to my father and myself. Work managers put people through these processes, as do counselors. I have always enjoyed the introspection. Some think of it as a waste of time. Some of us find out why we are so lonely and yet seek solitude. We yearn for simplicity and find complexity intriguing. It is such times that mowing the lawn is grounding and brings one back to meaning.
This was the first time we have seen them since Christmas. He brought us Finn Cream and licorice, as he has recently returned from a business trip to Latvia and Finland. It was good to compare travel notes with him. It was a nice little comparison of his recent travel and that of mine, with my mother, in 1980. We used FinnRail, he drove. He said Finland had traffic well figured out and didn't tolerate speeding in Helsinki or in the country side; the language is complicated and wonderful. He, like us, was amazed at the cleanliness everywhere. There are no plastic wrappers blowing about anywhere. The sand is raked into beautiful patterns in public places.
If yesterday's violin turns out to be 'decent' and not worth anything, he would love to have it. I would love for him to have it...but not until I find out if it is reglueable. Of course it isn't a Strad, not in a million year would it be one of the 12 made in 1734. No one would be so dumb as to let it come unglued, nor sit on a table in the sun. How silly of me to even think about the possibility. I am irksomely gullible.
Life stages, finances, and time management all seem to be the tune that most of us dance to. This place that I find myself suits me nicely, it is a kind and gentle place, with an abundance of years, money, and time. Life is good.
Yesterday a son and daughter-in-law drove to Omaha from Wichita in their Corvette. They are a handsome couple and the car suits them. His wife told a little story about how when they first got it, he spent some time in the garage figuring out how to get in and out of it so it wouldn't hurt his knees.
We visited about Meyers/Briggs personality evaluations. This particular son is probably similar to my father and myself. Work managers put people through these processes, as do counselors. I have always enjoyed the introspection. Some think of it as a waste of time. Some of us find out why we are so lonely and yet seek solitude. We yearn for simplicity and find complexity intriguing. It is such times that mowing the lawn is grounding and brings one back to meaning.
This was the first time we have seen them since Christmas. He brought us Finn Cream and licorice, as he has recently returned from a business trip to Latvia and Finland. It was good to compare travel notes with him. It was a nice little comparison of his recent travel and that of mine, with my mother, in 1980. We used FinnRail, he drove. He said Finland had traffic well figured out and didn't tolerate speeding in Helsinki or in the country side; the language is complicated and wonderful. He, like us, was amazed at the cleanliness everywhere. There are no plastic wrappers blowing about anywhere. The sand is raked into beautiful patterns in public places.
If yesterday's violin turns out to be 'decent' and not worth anything, he would love to have it. I would love for him to have it...but not until I find out if it is reglueable. Of course it isn't a Strad, not in a million year would it be one of the 12 made in 1734. No one would be so dumb as to let it come unglued, nor sit on a table in the sun. How silly of me to even think about the possibility. I am irksomely gullible.
Life stages, finances, and time management all seem to be the tune that most of us dance to. This place that I find myself suits me nicely, it is a kind and gentle place, with an abundance of years, money, and time. Life is good.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
A Fool for a Stringed Instrument
He Who Must Be Obeyed lured me to lunch this noon. We went to a nice midtown place where he ordered a salad and I ordered a hamburger deluxe. When we got our meals, he eyed both of them and announced that he was swapping with me. "Oh good," I told him, "you just order whatever and I do the same and when we get them we trade plates, that always makes for an unexpected surprise." Whatever.
The area was having their yearly neighborhood garage sale and I have done it again. HWMBO distained the area. and the neighborhood, and wouldn't even get out of his Wrangler until I walked back and told him I wanted him to look at the yellow label inside a violin, out baking in the sun, on a table. This is such a stupid thing to even think about; but it does sort of take a person's breath away.
Inside the old, old case lay this, one string short, chin rest off, otherwise in pretty good shape, violin. Peering through the sound hole into the instrument was a yellow label that said "Antonius Stradiuarius Cremonensis, Fasieabat Anno 1734." Being Italian, somewhere along the line the u was changed to a v, or the other way around, maybe. It was $50, but I have paid more than that for a rock, so what the hay, I say. It is much prettier than most of my rocks. The mother-in-law who owned it will call me sometime, as I want to know everything she knows about it. "It was in her house for at least 20 years," said the nice woman collecting the money.
Ever since, I have been on an Internet search and found that the fakes are out there by the thousands, I suppose. But here is the deal. In 1734, Stadavarius made 12 violins and one viola. I have no idea if it is simply a label that some luthier slapped on a hastily built violin or what it is. He lived to 1737 and had a couple of sons that made violins.
I am going to take it downtown to Nelson's Violin Shop and have the string put on, perhaps have the bow rehaired and ask that excellent craftsman what he thinks. I know that rehairing the bow will cost a bunch. I paid $125 or so to have my cello bow rehaired a few years ago there. There is an interesting label inside the cello as well but I am not going to even think about it.
There was a time that I had four kids, at home, practicing violins, a cello and a string bass. That is what I mean about being a fool for a stringed instrument. Back then I bought three violins from a nun who had taught in Chicago. Once the neighbor across the driveway from us, on an open window night, yelled out for our bass player to "Stop that and go to bed!" None of us has forgotten that.
The area was having their yearly neighborhood garage sale and I have done it again. HWMBO distained the area. and the neighborhood, and wouldn't even get out of his Wrangler until I walked back and told him I wanted him to look at the yellow label inside a violin, out baking in the sun, on a table. This is such a stupid thing to even think about; but it does sort of take a person's breath away.
Inside the old, old case lay this, one string short, chin rest off, otherwise in pretty good shape, violin. Peering through the sound hole into the instrument was a yellow label that said "Antonius Stradiuarius Cremonensis, Fasieabat Anno 1734." Being Italian, somewhere along the line the u was changed to a v, or the other way around, maybe. It was $50, but I have paid more than that for a rock, so what the hay, I say. It is much prettier than most of my rocks. The mother-in-law who owned it will call me sometime, as I want to know everything she knows about it. "It was in her house for at least 20 years," said the nice woman collecting the money.
Ever since, I have been on an Internet search and found that the fakes are out there by the thousands, I suppose. But here is the deal. In 1734, Stadavarius made 12 violins and one viola. I have no idea if it is simply a label that some luthier slapped on a hastily built violin or what it is. He lived to 1737 and had a couple of sons that made violins.
I am going to take it downtown to Nelson's Violin Shop and have the string put on, perhaps have the bow rehaired and ask that excellent craftsman what he thinks. I know that rehairing the bow will cost a bunch. I paid $125 or so to have my cello bow rehaired a few years ago there. There is an interesting label inside the cello as well but I am not going to even think about it.
There was a time that I had four kids, at home, practicing violins, a cello and a string bass. That is what I mean about being a fool for a stringed instrument. Back then I bought three violins from a nun who had taught in Chicago. Once the neighbor across the driveway from us, on an open window night, yelled out for our bass player to "Stop that and go to bed!" None of us has forgotten that.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Whitsunday, 7th Sunday After Easter
Today is Pentecost. Next to the Advent blue, I love the red of Pentecost and Reformation Sunday. We altar guilders are aware of the colors of the Christian church year, changing banners and paraments with the seasons. Some of my friends give me a blank stare when rattle on about it. I would love to be a walking talking hyperlink. This blogging is the best thing, ever. It was red everywhere this morning at St. Tim's. Red paraments and pastor's stoles, red banners, red altar flowers and red carnations on the eleven confirmands. I love ordering the church flowers; it amazes me to think I thought it was going to be one big pain in the neck. It isn't.
I had a meeting between the Spirit Alive and Traditional 11:00 services regarding 'passionate spirituality.' I think they thought I had lost my mind when I told the group that I thanked God for them. I do and they might just as well know it. C, who very competently heads this little group, is a middle school teacher. There are only four of us. One of the fellows went to the same high school at which I taught for sixteen years. M is part of the prison ministry. The three of them are pretty amazing people. We have more work to do and I have no doubt that it will be significant and of much consequence. I am glad to be a part of it.
He Who Must Be Obeyed and I swam this afternoon. The pool was 95 degrees, if you can imagine. It was great. We vacuumed the tree seeds off the bottom, drank some wine from little silver wine glasses, and probably got more sun than our winter white skins needed.
A son called to tell me he and his wife will be flying home next weekend if the weather is favorable, if not they will probably 'fly' in the Corvette. I am happy they will be here. We haven't seen one another since Christmas. Since then he has been in Latvia and Finland. We have so much to talk about.
Sundays are the best.
I had a meeting between the Spirit Alive and Traditional 11:00 services regarding 'passionate spirituality.' I think they thought I had lost my mind when I told the group that I thanked God for them. I do and they might just as well know it. C, who very competently heads this little group, is a middle school teacher. There are only four of us. One of the fellows went to the same high school at which I taught for sixteen years. M is part of the prison ministry. The three of them are pretty amazing people. We have more work to do and I have no doubt that it will be significant and of much consequence. I am glad to be a part of it.
He Who Must Be Obeyed and I swam this afternoon. The pool was 95 degrees, if you can imagine. It was great. We vacuumed the tree seeds off the bottom, drank some wine from little silver wine glasses, and probably got more sun than our winter white skins needed.
A son called to tell me he and his wife will be flying home next weekend if the weather is favorable, if not they will probably 'fly' in the Corvette. I am happy they will be here. We haven't seen one another since Christmas. Since then he has been in Latvia and Finland. We have so much to talk about.
Sundays are the best.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Freecycle
A friend asked, "Where have you been?" How do you answer a question like that when you haven't been anywhere, just absent. In absentia, absent minded, nowhere, here, but not here. I feel a little disconnected while sleepwalking through the days, reading a lot while it rains, reading at magazines, reading at the paper, reading at a book on how to write letters, of all things. Who even writes letters anymore. Reading at, never finishing anything.
Yes, I got it at a garage sale. It was fun to visit with the young man who was selling his sister's things. "That is nice of you," I told him. "I get to keep all the money," he said, "so it is actually nice of her." He was selling his college books and her girlie collectibles. I bought a Flannery O'Connor, Wise Blood. "It is a downer," he warned me. I told him some of us liked that. A melancholy read for a melancholy Finn. I will probably like it a lot.
In order to make garage saling legitimate in my mind, I look at it as an anthropological study. There, in a garage or on a driveway, people's lives are strewn over tables, on the cement, over chairs and dressers. Parking near by and walking up the drive seems a little voyeuristic to me, but not in a sexual way. Looking at people's cast off stuff, things that apparently were needed at one time, now just junk to them, seems much too personal. It is almost like digging through homesteaders garbage dumps, or Egyptian tombs. It is all anthropology on one scale or another; unless of course you need those kids clothes or worn out furniture or garden tools. I don't need anything, but I do find some things intriguing enough to bring home.
It amazes me that anyone has the energy to take all that stuff out, put little price stickers on it all, and sit with it for up to three days. Then the strangers park erratically nearby, shuffle through the assortment, fingering everything, examining objects from top to bottom and in the end perhaps spend a quarter on a unique box which once held three long hand rolled Nicaraguan cigars. Was somebody there in the '80's on one side of that situation or the other? Perhaps a gift to a grandpa. Now it is mine to put some little treasure under the sliding lid, or not.
Today L, from Melbourne, Australia, sends this amazing web site to our congenial list of elder emailers. It is worth a little exploration and tempts me to join the Omaha group. I am all for getting rid of stuff and certainly embrace the idea of giving it away rather than trying to sell it. Introverts are not salesmen, or women. I am the sort of person who apologizes for giving away stuff as I am so concerned that it might be insulting. No, instead we haul used, but usable, things to the Salvation Army. I don't ever get a receipt. Why bother?
Maybe through Freecycle I could join the local group and chance not insulting someone while giving away an item I probably bought at a garage sale long ago. No not the horse collars with mirrors, nor the Texas longhorns, nor the oil paintings nailed to the back fence, nor the little footstools for this five foot Finn. Yes, I got a nice one so I can see into my top oven. I think I will paint it blue to match the Oscar Howe Antelopes in Flight over the table.
Yes, I got it at a garage sale. It was fun to visit with the young man who was selling his sister's things. "That is nice of you," I told him. "I get to keep all the money," he said, "so it is actually nice of her." He was selling his college books and her girlie collectibles. I bought a Flannery O'Connor, Wise Blood. "It is a downer," he warned me. I told him some of us liked that. A melancholy read for a melancholy Finn. I will probably like it a lot.
In order to make garage saling legitimate in my mind, I look at it as an anthropological study. There, in a garage or on a driveway, people's lives are strewn over tables, on the cement, over chairs and dressers. Parking near by and walking up the drive seems a little voyeuristic to me, but not in a sexual way. Looking at people's cast off stuff, things that apparently were needed at one time, now just junk to them, seems much too personal. It is almost like digging through homesteaders garbage dumps, or Egyptian tombs. It is all anthropology on one scale or another; unless of course you need those kids clothes or worn out furniture or garden tools. I don't need anything, but I do find some things intriguing enough to bring home.
It amazes me that anyone has the energy to take all that stuff out, put little price stickers on it all, and sit with it for up to three days. Then the strangers park erratically nearby, shuffle through the assortment, fingering everything, examining objects from top to bottom and in the end perhaps spend a quarter on a unique box which once held three long hand rolled Nicaraguan cigars. Was somebody there in the '80's on one side of that situation or the other? Perhaps a gift to a grandpa. Now it is mine to put some little treasure under the sliding lid, or not.
Today L, from Melbourne, Australia, sends this amazing web site to our congenial list of elder emailers. It is worth a little exploration and tempts me to join the Omaha group. I am all for getting rid of stuff and certainly embrace the idea of giving it away rather than trying to sell it. Introverts are not salesmen, or women. I am the sort of person who apologizes for giving away stuff as I am so concerned that it might be insulting. No, instead we haul used, but usable, things to the Salvation Army. I don't ever get a receipt. Why bother?
Maybe through Freecycle I could join the local group and chance not insulting someone while giving away an item I probably bought at a garage sale long ago. No not the horse collars with mirrors, nor the Texas longhorns, nor the oil paintings nailed to the back fence, nor the little footstools for this five foot Finn. Yes, I got a nice one so I can see into my top oven. I think I will paint it blue to match the Oscar Howe Antelopes in Flight over the table.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Home and Back Home
Going to and returning from the Black Hills is a push-pull experience. I have resisted going twice in as many months and yet am ever drawn there to seeing two friends of 55 years. Being with them was like it has always been, an easy togetherness that warms at first sight and grows anew with the graceful gift of familiarity.
We talk of our girlhood, our motherhood; and now of this bewildering aging that we find both challenging and comforting in ways we sometimes resist and sometimes rest in. We share names of old friends and acquaintances, places, times, experiences; we share meals that begin with a table grace in Norwegian, we share our enjoyment of our hometown newspaper even reading from it to one another; and we share our times together that used to begin and end with warm hugs, now including a kiss on cheeks starting to wrinkle.
Each of us face challenges that at times seem insurmountable. The challenges do not halt our ability to laugh over our own physical limitations while still caring for adult children who suffer debilitating conditions that limit their ability to make lives apart from us; or from the tasks of raising grandchildren. We complain about our churches that let us do too much service and we talk about how thankful we are for those who pray for us for years.
It is a true gift to be able to share our burdens with one another in heartbreaking reality, draw a breath and end the solemn solioquay with a laugh that doubles us over because of the absurdity of it. Being together is healing and helpful and I can't put the going back off so long next time. Friends are a gift. I would say thank you to them here, but they don't read this so I will write bread and butter notes to say it properly and send them off with a pretty commemorative stamp.
We talk of our girlhood, our motherhood; and now of this bewildering aging that we find both challenging and comforting in ways we sometimes resist and sometimes rest in. We share names of old friends and acquaintances, places, times, experiences; we share meals that begin with a table grace in Norwegian, we share our enjoyment of our hometown newspaper even reading from it to one another; and we share our times together that used to begin and end with warm hugs, now including a kiss on cheeks starting to wrinkle.
Each of us face challenges that at times seem insurmountable. The challenges do not halt our ability to laugh over our own physical limitations while still caring for adult children who suffer debilitating conditions that limit their ability to make lives apart from us; or from the tasks of raising grandchildren. We complain about our churches that let us do too much service and we talk about how thankful we are for those who pray for us for years.
It is a true gift to be able to share our burdens with one another in heartbreaking reality, draw a breath and end the solemn solioquay with a laugh that doubles us over because of the absurdity of it. Being together is healing and helpful and I can't put the going back off so long next time. Friends are a gift. I would say thank you to them here, but they don't read this so I will write bread and butter notes to say it properly and send them off with a pretty commemorative stamp.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Rattlesnake Traps and Crocus
Our May/June issue of South Dakota Magazine came in the mail a couple of days ago. It kept He Who Must Be Obeyed up later than usual, reading about the "Bucking Horse Highway" that runs through my home town of Buffalo, SD, in the largest county of the state. Harding County is in the northwest corner and is about the size of Rhode Island according to Jerry Wilson who writes about highway 85 which runs from Saskatchewan to Juarez, Mexico.
This current issue is a nostalgic read for this Buffalo Gal. Pictured is the beautiful Cave Hills Lutheran church which was built by my Finnish immigrant grandparents and their neighbors and is the church in which I was baptized and confirmed. My ancestors and many relatives are buried in the churchyard cemetery, including a double cousin, Jack, whose son, Stan is mentioned in the article as the finder of the TRex Stan south of my grandparents homestead.
Speaking of buried; buried in the magazine is a little piece called "Remembering a Snake Hunter," about A.M. Jackley. There is a photo of him beside his pickup, which I recall as well. I often visited my grandparents when Jackley came to their place to check his rattlesnake traps. When he came back to the house we always went to look at the wire screened traps full of wreathing, rattling, killers. There were a couple of snake dens on Liisa Butte where we picked crocus in the spring about the same time the rattlers were waking up and crawling out of their winter dens and onto the prairie to satisfy their appetites after a long hibernation. The crocus were always worth the adventure.
This current issue is a nostalgic read for this Buffalo Gal. Pictured is the beautiful Cave Hills Lutheran church which was built by my Finnish immigrant grandparents and their neighbors and is the church in which I was baptized and confirmed. My ancestors and many relatives are buried in the churchyard cemetery, including a double cousin, Jack, whose son, Stan is mentioned in the article as the finder of the TRex Stan south of my grandparents homestead.
Speaking of buried; buried in the magazine is a little piece called "Remembering a Snake Hunter," about A.M. Jackley. There is a photo of him beside his pickup, which I recall as well. I often visited my grandparents when Jackley came to their place to check his rattlesnake traps. When he came back to the house we always went to look at the wire screened traps full of wreathing, rattling, killers. There were a couple of snake dens on Liisa Butte where we picked crocus in the spring about the same time the rattlers were waking up and crawling out of their winter dens and onto the prairie to satisfy their appetites after a long hibernation. The crocus were always worth the adventure.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Flying Kites and Pushing Mowers
There are two new kites parked by the umbrellas in my closet. They have been there for a year now, still in their plastic covers, never opened. I have string but don't know if kites still need tails. Flying kites is better than fishing, in my mind. No cold hands, no stinking bait, no guts. A person can fly a kite and go home for a nice little half of a New York Strip steak. I am obsessing over food today after looking at My Pyramid.
Memorial Park, in the middle of Omaha, is a wonderful destination for toboggoning, sledding, walking, smelling roses, sitting on the hillside listening to the music event a few days before the 4th of July and watching the evening fireworks display later. On any breezy spring day there, one can watch the lazy kites dip and dive, always creating a challenge for photographers.
Omaha folks are kite fliers. Yesterday there was a kiting event in a nearby suburb and I see there will be another next week across from one of our hospitals. There is a club for most anything under the sun. Once I was a quasi-member of the push mower group in Omaha. We gathered one evening in Elmwood park for a picnic and commiserated on how we loved our quiet little one person powered lawn mowers. I still love my little mower and it still does the job whenever I am up to putting on my old shoes and providing the power. That is simple living at its best.
I grew up with an understanding of how to operate a push mower. And I recall how glad I was when someone came up with the bright idea of putting a stinking, heavy, noisy motor on them. I suppose fifteen years ago, or more, I found a small antique mower at a garage sale for $5.00. I was thrilled with the way it worked. Since then, I traded it in on a new model of the same thing at the Dundee Hardware Store. It cuts a wider swath, works well, and is pretty grimy with all the WD40 sprayed on the moving parts over the years. Who needs a gym with a push mower and grass growing like crazy.
Memorial Park, in the middle of Omaha, is a wonderful destination for toboggoning, sledding, walking, smelling roses, sitting on the hillside listening to the music event a few days before the 4th of July and watching the evening fireworks display later. On any breezy spring day there, one can watch the lazy kites dip and dive, always creating a challenge for photographers.
Omaha folks are kite fliers. Yesterday there was a kiting event in a nearby suburb and I see there will be another next week across from one of our hospitals. There is a club for most anything under the sun. Once I was a quasi-member of the push mower group in Omaha. We gathered one evening in Elmwood park for a picnic and commiserated on how we loved our quiet little one person powered lawn mowers. I still love my little mower and it still does the job whenever I am up to putting on my old shoes and providing the power. That is simple living at its best.
I grew up with an understanding of how to operate a push mower. And I recall how glad I was when someone came up with the bright idea of putting a stinking, heavy, noisy motor on them. I suppose fifteen years ago, or more, I found a small antique mower at a garage sale for $5.00. I was thrilled with the way it worked. Since then, I traded it in on a new model of the same thing at the Dundee Hardware Store. It cuts a wider swath, works well, and is pretty grimy with all the WD40 sprayed on the moving parts over the years. Who needs a gym with a push mower and grass growing like crazy.
USDA Personal Food Pyramid
After watching the USDA change the food pyramid so many times in the past, I wasn't particularly excited about this new guideline. I simply assumed it was a little like obesity is killing us off in great numbers and now last week we are told that they were wrong; and how eggs will do you in and then maybe they won't.
This morning I finally knocked on the door of the pyramid folks and was in for a nice surprise. Actually this thing is interesting, to the point, and gives you your general guide based on age, gender and activity. There is a printable version of that and also a daily food and activity chart. I liked everything except the fact that my list is based on 1,600 calories and two cups of that, vegetables. http://www.mypyramid.gov/ Try it you might like it. Three glasses of milk, how good can it get?
That wonderful Austrian chocolate from Aldi's is not on the list.
This morning I finally knocked on the door of the pyramid folks and was in for a nice surprise. Actually this thing is interesting, to the point, and gives you your general guide based on age, gender and activity. There is a printable version of that and also a daily food and activity chart. I liked everything except the fact that my list is based on 1,600 calories and two cups of that, vegetables. http://www.mypyramid.gov/ Try it you might like it. Three glasses of milk, how good can it get?
That wonderful Austrian chocolate from Aldi's is not on the list.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Center for Public Integrity
If this isn't the neatest thing! I simply had to share it with you. It is the new Google Map.
It isn't what one needs to find a city in Finland or Latvia. I found that out last night when a son called that he was leaving for Riga, Latvia and Helli, Finland on business. These are the dearest words to a mother's ears: "Can I have a copy of my Finnish immigrant grandparents and thier birthplaces before I go?"
MapQuest International is still the standard, I think.
This morning on CSPAN Brian Lamb's guest was Roberta Baskin, executive director of the Center for Public Integrity since January 2005. She indicated the web site used to be only for journalists and is now for the public with an interest in the news. She probably meant bloggers.
With 24 credit hours of undergraduate journalism and having taught news and documentary to high school television producers, I found the link to "Journalism Ethics" a nice reminder of how it is supposed to be.
Code of Ethics. Don't you love the guidelines and the safety of the boundries that they embrace? I wonder if the code is taught with the emphasis it was in the days after Yellow Journalism and before Watergate.
It is Earth Day and I am happy that the little piece of the earth that I tend and care for is clean, green and growing. What is with the link? In big headlines it has 2006. Beats me.
It isn't what one needs to find a city in Finland or Latvia. I found that out last night when a son called that he was leaving for Riga, Latvia and Helli, Finland on business. These are the dearest words to a mother's ears: "Can I have a copy of my Finnish immigrant grandparents and thier birthplaces before I go?"
MapQuest International is still the standard, I think.
This morning on CSPAN Brian Lamb's guest was Roberta Baskin, executive director of the Center for Public Integrity since January 2005. She indicated the web site used to be only for journalists and is now for the public with an interest in the news. She probably meant bloggers.
With 24 credit hours of undergraduate journalism and having taught news and documentary to high school television producers, I found the link to "Journalism Ethics" a nice reminder of how it is supposed to be.
Code of Ethics. Don't you love the guidelines and the safety of the boundries that they embrace? I wonder if the code is taught with the emphasis it was in the days after Yellow Journalism and before Watergate.
It is Earth Day and I am happy that the little piece of the earth that I tend and care for is clean, green and growing. What is with the link? In big headlines it has 2006. Beats me.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Pope Benedict XVI
I am glad we happened to be watching the noon news when the bells confirmed the Holy Smoke at the Vatican introducing to the world, a new Pope. "German Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, the strict defender of Catholic orthodoxy for the past 23 years, was elected Pope despite a widespread assumption he was too old and divisive to win election." Reuters sounds a little heavy handed with its word choice "too old and divisive."
The National Catholic Reporter, April 16, 1999 ends a rather lengthy article on Cardinal Ratzinger with this statement in reference to a Pascal quote: “A man does not show his greatness by being at one extremity, but rather by touching both at once.” If that’s the standard, then despite his intellect, his piety, his sense of purpose, all that makes him remarkable, history may not be so kind to Joseph Ratzinger after all."
That was written in 1999. If it foretells the future, Pope Benedict XVI may be in for a great test in our Post-Christian era.
The following was written yesterday: " From Ratzinger's record and pronouncements, his agenda seems clear. Inside the church, he would like to impose more doctrinal discipline, reining in priests who experiment with church liturgy or seminaries that permit a broad interpretation of church doctrine. Outside, he would like the church to assert itself more forcefully against the trend he sees as most threatening: globalization leading eventually to global secularization."
This new Pope certainly does need our prayers.
The National Catholic Reporter, April 16, 1999 ends a rather lengthy article on Cardinal Ratzinger with this statement in reference to a Pascal quote: “A man does not show his greatness by being at one extremity, but rather by touching both at once.” If that’s the standard, then despite his intellect, his piety, his sense of purpose, all that makes him remarkable, history may not be so kind to Joseph Ratzinger after all."
That was written in 1999. If it foretells the future, Pope Benedict XVI may be in for a great test in our Post-Christian era.
The following was written yesterday: " From Ratzinger's record and pronouncements, his agenda seems clear. Inside the church, he would like to impose more doctrinal discipline, reining in priests who experiment with church liturgy or seminaries that permit a broad interpretation of church doctrine. Outside, he would like the church to assert itself more forcefully against the trend he sees as most threatening: globalization leading eventually to global secularization."
This new Pope certainly does need our prayers.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Time On Your Hands?
I finally created three links to other bloggers. Thank you Cordelia. Did it take long? Only about three hours with lunch in between. They say it takes longer for old dogs to learn new tricks. I will attest to that. I thought about giving up a couple of times. Now that I can do it, you will see more in the future.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Passionate Spirituality
The term 'passionate spirituality' intrigues me. I am on a new committee at church dealing with this aspect of our personal and congregational lives. Googling the term in quotes brings up 965 hits, a great many in reference to blogs. We are using Natural Church Development as our guide: Effective ministry flows out of a passionate spirituality. "Spiritual intimacy leads to a strong conviction that God will act in powerful ways..."
We could use a little of that intimacy around here. I am glad I am on the committee. I know, I know, that probably sounds self-serving. I don't mean to be; it is just that I am so, so needy at the moment.
No, not needy as in needing stuff. I mean needy in wisdom to deal with our mentally ill daughter, needy in knowing how to talk to He Who Must Be Obeyed, needy in my compassion for those around me; I am so clueless about what I should be about, the meaning of life. Even at seventy, (oh, Lord, really seventy!) I am not ready to chuck it all. I could have 15 years to amount to something after all.
This lack of optimism at the moment is so senseless. Life is rich. My world is stunningly beautiful. I have hope for good tomorrows. I probably suffer from a lack of control. We do love control, don't we! Maybe it is simply meaning that we seek.
We both had appointments with our health provider a couple of days ago. Both of us have had a spike in our blood pressure, to the point that our medications need adjusting. Stress does that to a person, my nurse practioner told me. I thought difficult circumstances toughened a person instead of killing them. Four phone calls in two days; another 600 mile drive soon: the blood pressure isn't going down yet.
Deep breathing and a lot of prayer, some cursing between clenched teeth; I must not cave into this challenge. I feel a little histrionic myself at the moment. My epitaph looks different today than it would have in 1995 when I retired, or in 1975 when I started teaching, or in 1954 when I first got married, but then so do I. Everything changes, everything.
We could use a little of that intimacy around here. I am glad I am on the committee. I know, I know, that probably sounds self-serving. I don't mean to be; it is just that I am so, so needy at the moment.
No, not needy as in needing stuff. I mean needy in wisdom to deal with our mentally ill daughter, needy in knowing how to talk to He Who Must Be Obeyed, needy in my compassion for those around me; I am so clueless about what I should be about, the meaning of life. Even at seventy, (oh, Lord, really seventy!) I am not ready to chuck it all. I could have 15 years to amount to something after all.
This lack of optimism at the moment is so senseless. Life is rich. My world is stunningly beautiful. I have hope for good tomorrows. I probably suffer from a lack of control. We do love control, don't we! Maybe it is simply meaning that we seek.
We both had appointments with our health provider a couple of days ago. Both of us have had a spike in our blood pressure, to the point that our medications need adjusting. Stress does that to a person, my nurse practioner told me. I thought difficult circumstances toughened a person instead of killing them. Four phone calls in two days; another 600 mile drive soon: the blood pressure isn't going down yet.
Deep breathing and a lot of prayer, some cursing between clenched teeth; I must not cave into this challenge. I feel a little histrionic myself at the moment. My epitaph looks different today than it would have in 1995 when I retired, or in 1975 when I started teaching, or in 1954 when I first got married, but then so do I. Everything changes, everything.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Remembering Names
My altar guild tasks were at the 11:00 service this morning, giving me some time to watch CBS Sunday Morning. During the commercials I drop down one channel to CSpan II's Book TV. First I get the good and bad according to CBS and then in little commercial length snippets I get the harangue from Colorado, the wishful phony Oglala called Churchill. I was going to remember his name with a little image of Winston peeking out of a cell still orating. His name is Ward Churchill, as in mental ward.
He equated the scene at Wounded Knee with the one at the Nazi concentration camps. He was quick to say that the numbers were not the same but the photos were similar. If you haven't seen the Sioux photos at Wall Drug or photographs at the Jim Gatchell Museum in Buffalo, Wyoming, you have an awesome display awaiting you. The Wounded Knee photographs taken by the Cavalry were horrific and I agree with him about that.
It would be nice if Churchill liked our country just a little. I realize I am like Pollyanna, wanting everything to be for good. Something in me does not like to listen to people rail on our nation's past and current errors. He does not look, nor sound, to me like a person that has a good handle on morality. Maybe he should be researching what is happening with Colorado's football recruiting and harp on that a while. I really find him irritating.
He had a litany of U.S. Cavalry slaughtering Indians in the West. He even mentioned the Battle of the Slim Buttes. My mind latched on to the Battle of the Crow Buttes which was between two Indian tribes. I could probably sharpen my listening skills.
Nonetheless my mental image to recall his name works.
http://www.top-blogs.com/cgi-bin/rankem.cgi?id=Willo
He equated the scene at Wounded Knee with the one at the Nazi concentration camps. He was quick to say that the numbers were not the same but the photos were similar. If you haven't seen the Sioux photos at Wall Drug or photographs at the Jim Gatchell Museum in Buffalo, Wyoming, you have an awesome display awaiting you. The Wounded Knee photographs taken by the Cavalry were horrific and I agree with him about that.
It would be nice if Churchill liked our country just a little. I realize I am like Pollyanna, wanting everything to be for good. Something in me does not like to listen to people rail on our nation's past and current errors. He does not look, nor sound, to me like a person that has a good handle on morality. Maybe he should be researching what is happening with Colorado's football recruiting and harp on that a while. I really find him irritating.
He had a litany of U.S. Cavalry slaughtering Indians in the West. He even mentioned the Battle of the Slim Buttes. My mind latched on to the Battle of the Crow Buttes which was between two Indian tribes. I could probably sharpen my listening skills.
Nonetheless my mental image to recall his name works.
http://www.top-blogs.com/cgi-bin/rankem.cgi?id=Willo
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Still A Beginning Blogger
I can't figure out the things I want to do with this blog. I am not reading the instructions with any understanding. It is a foreign language. I want to run a list of my favorite bloggers on the side. I have only added one photo and that was just dumb luck, I still have no idea how it happened. It is probably good not to give up, but after nearly a year I get a little discouraged. The only thing I have learned for sure is how to string mindless sentences together and how to include a hyperlink.
Some of my favorite bloggers remain in my top ten list, even though they do not appear on my blog. Always at the top is the Salty Vicar, now on vacation. Real Live Preacher is perhaps next; there are an endless group of thoughtful and interesting people blogging with knowledge of life, philosophy, and the mechanics of making blogs do what they want them to.
People are writing books based on their blogs. A dead friend's grandson has a book out there called "Group Hug." It started as sort of a confessional blog. Real Live Preacher has published a book. Judging from his blog, it is undoubtedly worthwhile and well written. He has an article in The Christian Century called "Personal Space." The Salty Vicar has been queried about writing a book from a publishing company. Good blogs, like cream rise to the top.
Today a generous check came in the mail from a former Congregational pastor in my SD home town. He wants one of the "Axel Sacrison: Artist and Blacksmith" books. In the envelope was a photograph of another of the paintings that I did not know about. The amazing little connections to my parents and Buffalo, SD make life rewarding and good.
One of the three women named Willo from the area where I was born and schooled has died. She married a rancher. On that ranch a few years ago a dinosaur was found and named Willo, the dinosaur with a heart. Later, I think the heart turned out to be a rock, at any rate it was as hard as a rock. It was found in the Hell Creek formation.
Willo from Hell Creek, with a heard heart. Kind of like a song, don't you think? Now there is one less Willo. The name Willow is gaining popularity, probably from that odd movie a few years ago, and also from that pretty news anchor on that cable news network, Willow Bay.
If you are wondering what the below is all about, you are not alone. I can't get it where it belongs. I don't know whether to leave it alone or delete it.
Some of my favorite bloggers remain in my top ten list, even though they do not appear on my blog. Always at the top is the Salty Vicar, now on vacation. Real Live Preacher is perhaps next; there are an endless group of thoughtful and interesting people blogging with knowledge of life, philosophy, and the mechanics of making blogs do what they want them to.
People are writing books based on their blogs. A dead friend's grandson has a book out there called "Group Hug." It started as sort of a confessional blog. Real Live Preacher has published a book. Judging from his blog, it is undoubtedly worthwhile and well written. He has an article in The Christian Century called "Personal Space." The Salty Vicar has been queried about writing a book from a publishing company. Good blogs, like cream rise to the top.
Today a generous check came in the mail from a former Congregational pastor in my SD home town. He wants one of the "Axel Sacrison: Artist and Blacksmith" books. In the envelope was a photograph of another of the paintings that I did not know about. The amazing little connections to my parents and Buffalo, SD make life rewarding and good.
One of the three women named Willo from the area where I was born and schooled has died. She married a rancher. On that ranch a few years ago a dinosaur was found and named Willo, the dinosaur with a heart. Later, I think the heart turned out to be a rock, at any rate it was as hard as a rock. It was found in the Hell Creek formation.
Willo from Hell Creek, with a heard heart. Kind of like a song, don't you think? Now there is one less Willo. The name Willow is gaining popularity, probably from that odd movie a few years ago, and also from that pretty news anchor on that cable news network, Willow Bay.
If you are wondering what the below is all about, you are not alone. I can't get it where it belongs. I don't know whether to leave it alone or delete it.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Voices from the Heartland
Cordelia, who commented on my cold coffee, has a few links under what she calls "Voices From the Heartland." That is enticing for this displaced person from the short grass prairie. I found another high plains web site a few years ago. I was first enticed to the URL by the aurora borealis he photographed. If you are longing to look at some wonderful prairie flowers or pintail grouse photography, "Prairie Journal: Where the Prairie Comes Alive" is the place for you.
Sadly, on one blog search I found only 22 South Dakota bloggers. Wyoming, only nine, North Dakota, 19. Do you suppose those folks are so busy living life they don't have the time, nor inclination, to write about it. I wish my immigrant grandparents had blogged, or someone would have had the sense to save all of their letters. I know they wrote letters. When one arrived at our house we would circle up with relatives and someone would read them aloud. My mother was always the reader as she had a good strong voice.
I will always seek more voices from the heartland. Thank you Cordelia.
Sadly, on one blog search I found only 22 South Dakota bloggers. Wyoming, only nine, North Dakota, 19. Do you suppose those folks are so busy living life they don't have the time, nor inclination, to write about it. I wish my immigrant grandparents had blogged, or someone would have had the sense to save all of their letters. I know they wrote letters. When one arrived at our house we would circle up with relatives and someone would read them aloud. My mother was always the reader as she had a good strong voice.
I will always seek more voices from the heartland. Thank you Cordelia.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Pondering My Own Faith
Lutheran that I am, I too have lost a Pope in John Paul II. The inordinate beauty of the last days of the Pontiff, with the devotion of the pilgrims arriving in Rome, the holy sights at the Vatican, the Cistine Ceiling, the pageantry of the days leading up to the funeral, the liturgical reading and singing from Rome were a blessing after the hell of that ghastly political death in Florida.
I remember when he was selected, but not as keenly as a dear friend's son who trained for the Priesthood in the Vatican and was there during the very short Papacy prior to John Paul II. He was there for Karol Wojtyla's selection as well. Reading history is good, living it is the best of all.
What memories Father D. must have. I have my own vivid memories of Father D's ordination and found it a Holy occasion, with Cardinals from Rome, I believe.
My Catholic friends are in my thoughts this past week. Especially a dear friend, whose cousin was Bishop of the Wichita Diocese until he was moved to Arizona to take on a great challenge there. This dear man also trained for the priesthood at the Vatican and then went on to work there for a number of years in Canon Law. Such Holy work, and a Holy Calling.
So today, I go to beliefnet and take a couple of tests. The one called "Belief-O-Matic" says I am 100% Church of Latter Day Saints. I cannot imagine it. The other one is called "What's Your Spiritual Type?" Three more points and I might have been an introverted candidate for the clergy, strange as it may seem.
The results are as follows:
What's Your Spiritual Type?
You scored 87, on a scale of 25 to 100. Here's how to interpret your score:
25 - 29
Hardcore Skeptic -- but interested or you wouldn't be here!
30 - 39
Spiritual Dabbler -- Open to spiritual matters but far from impressed
40 - 49
Active Spiritual Seeker – Spiritual but turned off by organized religion
50 - 59
Spiritual Straddler – One foot in traditional religion, one foot in free-form spirituality
60 - 69
Old-fashioned Seeker -- Happy with my religion but searching for the right expression of it
70 - 79
Questioning Believer – You have doubts about the particulars but not the Big Stuff
80 - 89
Confident Believer – You have little doubt you’ve found the right path
90 - 100
Candidate for Clergy
I remember when he was selected, but not as keenly as a dear friend's son who trained for the Priesthood in the Vatican and was there during the very short Papacy prior to John Paul II. He was there for Karol Wojtyla's selection as well. Reading history is good, living it is the best of all.
What memories Father D. must have. I have my own vivid memories of Father D's ordination and found it a Holy occasion, with Cardinals from Rome, I believe.
My Catholic friends are in my thoughts this past week. Especially a dear friend, whose cousin was Bishop of the Wichita Diocese until he was moved to Arizona to take on a great challenge there. This dear man also trained for the priesthood at the Vatican and then went on to work there for a number of years in Canon Law. Such Holy work, and a Holy Calling.
So today, I go to beliefnet and take a couple of tests. The one called "Belief-O-Matic" says I am 100% Church of Latter Day Saints. I cannot imagine it. The other one is called "What's Your Spiritual Type?" Three more points and I might have been an introverted candidate for the clergy, strange as it may seem.
The results are as follows:
What's Your Spiritual Type?
You scored 87, on a scale of 25 to 100. Here's how to interpret your score:
25 - 29
Hardcore Skeptic -- but interested or you wouldn't be here!
30 - 39
Spiritual Dabbler -- Open to spiritual matters but far from impressed
40 - 49
Active Spiritual Seeker – Spiritual but turned off by organized religion
50 - 59
Spiritual Straddler – One foot in traditional religion, one foot in free-form spirituality
60 - 69
Old-fashioned Seeker -- Happy with my religion but searching for the right expression of it
70 - 79
Questioning Believer – You have doubts about the particulars but not the Big Stuff
80 - 89
Confident Believer – You have little doubt you’ve found the right path
90 - 100
Candidate for Clergy
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Too Close to a Monkey
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Alpha Males
Bad news first: I had to uninstall the sweet NASA program, World Wind, this morning. You know the dreaded blue screen. The color is not bad, but the warning that came with it gave me a start. Maybe it is Windows XP or the combination of the two. I am going to try to download and install again later. Why is it we always want what we cannot have? I wonder how many blue screen incidents I need before I learn my lesson?
Now the good news: I got my dog-wish fixed. I spent two and a half hours at the Humane Society this afternoon. They had a six month old tri-color Collie that could be a great dog in about six months. I spent some time with him, first with a volunteer, and then alone. The dog was picked up off the streets and had never been trained in any way, but he sat and stayed down for treats quickly and eagerly. When the treats ran out he chewed my shoes, my hands, and acted like he'd enjoy a wrestling match. Obviously, he knew who the Alpha male was and it wasn't me.
Maybe if my Alpha Male had been with me it would have been a different picture. The Collie would have found out he was close to the bottom of the pack pronto. Raising and training a German Shepherd 35 years ago seemed so easy; this is a sad realization for me, but will definitely be a big relief for He Who Must Be Obeyed. I'm not keen on even telling him.
Now the good news: I got my dog-wish fixed. I spent two and a half hours at the Humane Society this afternoon. They had a six month old tri-color Collie that could be a great dog in about six months. I spent some time with him, first with a volunteer, and then alone. The dog was picked up off the streets and had never been trained in any way, but he sat and stayed down for treats quickly and eagerly. When the treats ran out he chewed my shoes, my hands, and acted like he'd enjoy a wrestling match. Obviously, he knew who the Alpha male was and it wasn't me.
Maybe if my Alpha Male had been with me it would have been a different picture. The Collie would have found out he was close to the bottom of the pack pronto. Raising and training a German Shepherd 35 years ago seemed so easy; this is a sad realization for me, but will definitely be a big relief for He Who Must Be Obeyed. I'm not keen on even telling him.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
World Wind
My friend, this Internet is. It is a friend when the world is going crazy in front of my eyes, when distraction is the only way I can forget the thorns in my side, both the figurative and the actual, it is my friend when my inquiring mind flails about for the new and the extrordinary.
This morning Lockergnomie, Chris Pirillo, has found it for me and it is truly amazing. I subscribe to Lockergnome Tech News Watch and Lockergnome's Windows Fanatics. He has other topics, but being pragmatic about myself, they might pile up in my inbox, unread.
World Wind is served up by the folks at NASA. I down loaded it and the first thing I did was to control the world by spinning it around to get my bearings and yes, Finland is northeast of us. Here is what he Pirillo says about World Wind:
Topographical
11:13PM (PST) on February 25, 2005
As Robert so eloquently put it, this thing is amazing. We heard about NASA's free World Wind application tonight on .NET Rocks. The sucker weighs in at ~180MB, but it's worth every byte (and then some) - completely putting Google's Keyhole to shame. Imagine having the ultimate 3D mapping system sitting on your desktop... and then see it." World Wind allows any user to zoom from satellite altitude into any place on Earth, leveraging high resolution LandSat imagery and SRTM elevation data to experience Earth in visually rich 3D, just as if they were really there." I know that Ponzi will appreciate the topographical features, as that's what she's been wanting in a consumer-oriented mapping system for some time. I use Google Maps because it's quick, Microsoft Streets & Trips when I want to explore local resources, and... World Wind for a bird's eye view of the globe. You don't need to be into GIS or anything - this digital mapping system is quite accessible. Topo maps, satellite photos, free download - what's not to like?
Indeed, what is not to like? This can undoubtedly distract me for hours, days, weeks. Thanks.
This morning Lockergnomie, Chris Pirillo, has found it for me and it is truly amazing. I subscribe to Lockergnome Tech News Watch and Lockergnome's Windows Fanatics. He has other topics, but being pragmatic about myself, they might pile up in my inbox, unread.
World Wind is served up by the folks at NASA. I down loaded it and the first thing I did was to control the world by spinning it around to get my bearings and yes, Finland is northeast of us. Here is what he Pirillo says about World Wind:
Topographical
11:13PM (PST) on February 25, 2005
As Robert so eloquently put it, this thing is amazing. We heard about NASA's free World Wind application tonight on .NET Rocks. The sucker weighs in at ~180MB, but it's worth every byte (and then some) - completely putting Google's Keyhole to shame. Imagine having the ultimate 3D mapping system sitting on your desktop... and then see it." World Wind allows any user to zoom from satellite altitude into any place on Earth, leveraging high resolution LandSat imagery and SRTM elevation data to experience Earth in visually rich 3D, just as if they were really there." I know that Ponzi will appreciate the topographical features, as that's what she's been wanting in a consumer-oriented mapping system for some time. I use Google Maps because it's quick, Microsoft Streets & Trips when I want to explore local resources, and... World Wind for a bird's eye view of the globe. You don't need to be into GIS or anything - this digital mapping system is quite accessible. Topo maps, satellite photos, free download - what's not to like?
Indeed, what is not to like? This can undoubtedly distract me for hours, days, weeks. Thanks.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Don Cammack
Don Cammack was the editor for The Buffalo Times-Herald when I grew up in Buffalo, SD. The print shop was up the street from my dad's blacksmith shop and they served together on the Buffalo Town Council. I read in the paper, now called the Nations Center News, that he had celebrated his 85th birthday a while back. More lately he had written about getting the paper put to bed during the blizzard of '48 and 49. It occurred to me he might like a copy of the book on my dad.
Today I got his letter and what a letter it was. It was so heartwarming to read of his friendship with my dad and of the things they accomplished together when the town was being organized as a city with "not a dollar to operate with." They served on the Buffalo Town Council from 1949 to 1952 and started with "three pieces of 16 ft. bridge plank spiked together in a triangle shape to be pulled behind a tractor. During those years we had a modern sewer system installed, a used grader working on the streets and tax money coming in to pay for it.
In the Arco (Idaho) Advertiser this week, the Old Inkslinger writes of recieving the book and a couple of others this winter. He closes his letter to me in part, Thanks a million, Willo, you'll never know how much you've added to an old newspaper man's life.
Thank you, Mr. Cammack, for the memories.
Today I got his letter and what a letter it was. It was so heartwarming to read of his friendship with my dad and of the things they accomplished together when the town was being organized as a city with "not a dollar to operate with." They served on the Buffalo Town Council from 1949 to 1952 and started with "three pieces of 16 ft. bridge plank spiked together in a triangle shape to be pulled behind a tractor. During those years we had a modern sewer system installed, a used grader working on the streets and tax money coming in to pay for it.
In the Arco (Idaho) Advertiser this week, the Old Inkslinger writes of recieving the book and a couple of others this winter. He closes his letter to me in part, Thanks a million, Willo, you'll never know how much you've added to an old newspaper man's life.
Thank you, Mr. Cammack, for the memories.
Hypertext Linking Does Not Violate Copyright
If you think your life is sailing along just fine and dandy, read a few blogs. It appears that the Tulsa World is getting huffy about blogger BatesLine using links to the newspaper.
Blogs are one way to counter the 'big bad media,' or another voice among thousands and thousands of blogmouths. It is hard to know what is the truth and what is the spin or what is the truth spun. All of it boggles the mind.
Anyway, I am happy to know I can link to hypertext so you, my reader, can plink or clink on these pink links. Just always, always consider the source of anything you read. The Midwest Conservative Journal contains many links to news and blogs.
Here I am on a Google blog. Google donates a lot of money to the party that is not my choice. Will this blog be nudged one way or the other politically? Who knows?
I don't know another web search engine that does the job so well. I used to use Alltheweb, and Dogpile. They are a little different, and I am down the road from my prior research librarianship, haven't done the comparison, and I hate to bail out on Google because of a political difference. Isn't it too bad it even matters. I know, though, everything 'matters.'
Last night I listened to ABCs, Peter Jennings, interview Bill Gates, another of my heroes. Gates has a heart that I don't see in our own Oracle of Omaha, Warren Buffett.
This is certainly off the topic. Maybe I just wanted to see how many hypertext links I could use in one writing.
Blogs are one way to counter the 'big bad media,' or another voice among thousands and thousands of blogmouths. It is hard to know what is the truth and what is the spin or what is the truth spun. All of it boggles the mind.
Anyway, I am happy to know I can link to hypertext so you, my reader, can plink or clink on these pink links. Just always, always consider the source of anything you read. The Midwest Conservative Journal contains many links to news and blogs.
Here I am on a Google blog. Google donates a lot of money to the party that is not my choice. Will this blog be nudged one way or the other politically? Who knows?
I don't know another web search engine that does the job so well. I used to use Alltheweb, and Dogpile. They are a little different, and I am down the road from my prior research librarianship, haven't done the comparison, and I hate to bail out on Google because of a political difference. Isn't it too bad it even matters. I know, though, everything 'matters.'
Last night I listened to ABCs, Peter Jennings, interview Bill Gates, another of my heroes. Gates has a heart that I don't see in our own Oracle of Omaha, Warren Buffett.
This is certainly off the topic. Maybe I just wanted to see how many hypertext links I could use in one writing.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Mother-In-Law from Hell
This is what happens when Carnival and Valentine's Day very nearly coincide. I could name these three, I am the melancholy one on the left. Just click the link, you will see what I have as wallpaper today.
A family fight on the internet is akin to a food fight at a holiday table. It takes a day or two to get the mess cleaned up. I have been there, I have caused it, I have tried to clean it up. Neither one are a pretty sight.
One thing the mother of the groom should keep in mind is that not only do you keep your mouth shut and wear beige at the wedding, but I would do well to keep that in mind the rest of my life. I don't think I have but two beige things in my closet, mostly black and blue, which seems appropriate, as I feel a little bruised.
Being a mother-in-law is serious business. I never had one, so have no have no first hand knowledge of how to go about it. Over the years I have watched my own mother and husband spar at the table, right up to the month she died. Both Libras, each had the scale in their hand. I lived my entire life in that balance; the Libras of my life directing my coming and going. Each playing the part against each other. Survival was not always easy.
It was on a 12 hour drive to Omaha from my home town that my mother told me she felt it was her duty to tell people of their errors, to correct them. I can still recall the impact that made on me. God got pulled into it because it was her "God Given Duty" to do this. She was good at it, let me tell you, and she had been on that mission all her life, I think. I was easy, as she told my daughter one time, "Willo was a compliant child." I have a good idea my quiet father was one of those Myers-Briggs INFP's as well as me. But that is all history. Not quite all, I still live with a Libra.
Once I took an assertiveness class. It didn't help a whole lot. Menopause was more helpful to me; I cut my hair, knew my own mind, became semi-assertive. But I still can't say much out loud, nor do I care to dial a telephone. On the Internet, I am a loose cannon. It would be hell broken loose if I ever took the time to write a novel, not using real names of course; I have a lot of material. I am now the mother-in-law from hell. I have to put on that beige shawl again and SHUT UP.
A family fight on the internet is akin to a food fight at a holiday table. It takes a day or two to get the mess cleaned up. I have been there, I have caused it, I have tried to clean it up. Neither one are a pretty sight.
One thing the mother of the groom should keep in mind is that not only do you keep your mouth shut and wear beige at the wedding, but I would do well to keep that in mind the rest of my life. I don't think I have but two beige things in my closet, mostly black and blue, which seems appropriate, as I feel a little bruised.
Being a mother-in-law is serious business. I never had one, so have no have no first hand knowledge of how to go about it. Over the years I have watched my own mother and husband spar at the table, right up to the month she died. Both Libras, each had the scale in their hand. I lived my entire life in that balance; the Libras of my life directing my coming and going. Each playing the part against each other. Survival was not always easy.
It was on a 12 hour drive to Omaha from my home town that my mother told me she felt it was her duty to tell people of their errors, to correct them. I can still recall the impact that made on me. God got pulled into it because it was her "God Given Duty" to do this. She was good at it, let me tell you, and she had been on that mission all her life, I think. I was easy, as she told my daughter one time, "Willo was a compliant child." I have a good idea my quiet father was one of those Myers-Briggs INFP's as well as me. But that is all history. Not quite all, I still live with a Libra.
Once I took an assertiveness class. It didn't help a whole lot. Menopause was more helpful to me; I cut my hair, knew my own mind, became semi-assertive. But I still can't say much out loud, nor do I care to dial a telephone. On the Internet, I am a loose cannon. It would be hell broken loose if I ever took the time to write a novel, not using real names of course; I have a lot of material. I am now the mother-in-law from hell. I have to put on that beige shawl again and SHUT UP.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Outsider Art
Outsider Art is a term I had never heard until the Library of Congress used it as a subject heading in for book I wrote posthumously about my father; and in which I included over a hundred of his 'outsider art' works. In the link above is a sentence describing an outsider artist: "Outsider artists are the fringe-dwellers of the world, the outcasts of society. They are the ones left over and left behind. These people are in the gray area of art, quite literally outsiders to the modern gallery / agent system which seems to be required for one to be recognized as a legitimate artist. " That was pretty much my dad except for the outcast of society remark.
I tape CBS Sunday Morning, programming it to automatically turn on and tape the hour and a half program for watching later. This afternoon I rewound and watched the program aired January 30. One of the features was Outsider Art. It appears it is a big deal right now. " OUTSIDER ART CBS News correspondent Serena Altschul learns about the colorful characters behind Outsider Art, a creative movement whose artists are untrained and often mentally unstable but who nonetheless remain unceasingly imaginative."
This 'creative movement' does not describe my dad at all. He was the shy guy painting day and night in a ranch community and if that made him odd, and I suppose it did, but was he mentally unstable? Not at all. Just about as solid a citizen as one could possibly be. But he was very introverted. He and George W and I have one thing in common. Sentences don't come out of our mouths quite like we had imagined. But we know what we meant.
I am wondering if all this 'outsider art' I have hanging on my walls might be of interest to EBay or Amazon customers. Perhaps I should write one of those disgusting little query letters. I haven't figured out how to do anything but order books, old and new.
I tape CBS Sunday Morning, programming it to automatically turn on and tape the hour and a half program for watching later. This afternoon I rewound and watched the program aired January 30. One of the features was Outsider Art. It appears it is a big deal right now. " OUTSIDER ART CBS News correspondent Serena Altschul learns about the colorful characters behind Outsider Art, a creative movement whose artists are untrained and often mentally unstable but who nonetheless remain unceasingly imaginative."
This 'creative movement' does not describe my dad at all. He was the shy guy painting day and night in a ranch community and if that made him odd, and I suppose it did, but was he mentally unstable? Not at all. Just about as solid a citizen as one could possibly be. But he was very introverted. He and George W and I have one thing in common. Sentences don't come out of our mouths quite like we had imagined. But we know what we meant.
I am wondering if all this 'outsider art' I have hanging on my walls might be of interest to EBay or Amazon customers. Perhaps I should write one of those disgusting little query letters. I haven't figured out how to do anything but order books, old and new.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Ash Wednesday
This highway phenomenon was no apparition.
It was there in my morning to and my evening fro,
Forty miles from nowhere in the prairie grass.
It lie there like some fallen space craft
Downed by cultural progress, and shamed by the
Worthless weathered outhouse.
Dakota winds blew the golden grass
Arcing its improper placement like a frame,
Guilded, and further emphasizing the awkward
Accomodation of this once nobel pinnacle.
This proud attribute, like its builders, has fallen,
And as they, become the epitome of Lent.
"Memento homo, wuia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris"
Willo Boe
Monday, February 07, 2005
BookTV
Can anything be said for a person who can listen to a three hour interview on BookTV and enjoy it? Sometimes I wonder just what kind of goofy person would DO that. When I went back to college at 37, I was so glad to be there that I sometimes slipped into lectures in classes I didn't take.
One I recall vividly. It was by a pediatrition who was lecturing to a group of nurses on how to identify babies with problems, at the time of birth. The thing I remember most is his proposing that palmestry might have some scientific bearing; no he didn't say it was absolute, he just said MAYBE. He went on to say that at the time the brain synapses are developing in a fetus, the lines in the hands are forming simultaneously. Of course his point was the simian fold.
That is when I went into a research project on Gypsies and was so darned mad that one of the two books in the University card catalog on palmestry had dissappeared. Book theft still infuriates me. But to be truthful, I have copped a book, maybe two, in my life as a librarian.
But back to BookTV. He Who Must Be Obeyed doesn't give one snap for it, but he listened a while yesterday when a panel of fairly distinguished people read poetry to a group of adults and children. There was William Krystal and others enchanting us. Poetry is certainly meant to be heard, instead of read. He Who Must Be Obeyed used to read poetry to me off and on over the past 50 years. When we had the Harvard Classics in the house it happened more often. I remember a lot of Confucious tossed in.
My wish for the year is to go to a local poetry slam. We have a active poet, Matt Mason, in Omaha who has organized them. It is the word 'slam' that has kept me away. But then it probably isn't a dance.
The three hour interview on BookTV was with Charles Murray; the writer from Iowa, Harvard, MIT, who had the country in an uproar over his book "The Bell Curve." He doesn't blog because he is the kind of writer who has to do a lot of editing. He has a point there. He uses the Web for a great deal of his research. His latest book is "Human Accomplishment." He had his list of high achievers. Wouldn't it be grand to have Lexus-Nexus!
One I recall vividly. It was by a pediatrition who was lecturing to a group of nurses on how to identify babies with problems, at the time of birth. The thing I remember most is his proposing that palmestry might have some scientific bearing; no he didn't say it was absolute, he just said MAYBE. He went on to say that at the time the brain synapses are developing in a fetus, the lines in the hands are forming simultaneously. Of course his point was the simian fold.
That is when I went into a research project on Gypsies and was so darned mad that one of the two books in the University card catalog on palmestry had dissappeared. Book theft still infuriates me. But to be truthful, I have copped a book, maybe two, in my life as a librarian.
But back to BookTV. He Who Must Be Obeyed doesn't give one snap for it, but he listened a while yesterday when a panel of fairly distinguished people read poetry to a group of adults and children. There was William Krystal and others enchanting us. Poetry is certainly meant to be heard, instead of read. He Who Must Be Obeyed used to read poetry to me off and on over the past 50 years. When we had the Harvard Classics in the house it happened more often. I remember a lot of Confucious tossed in.
My wish for the year is to go to a local poetry slam. We have a active poet, Matt Mason, in Omaha who has organized them. It is the word 'slam' that has kept me away. But then it probably isn't a dance.
The three hour interview on BookTV was with Charles Murray; the writer from Iowa, Harvard, MIT, who had the country in an uproar over his book "The Bell Curve." He doesn't blog because he is the kind of writer who has to do a lot of editing. He has a point there. He uses the Web for a great deal of his research. His latest book is "Human Accomplishment." He had his list of high achievers. Wouldn't it be grand to have Lexus-Nexus!
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Auschwitz: 60 Years Later
The past few weeks I have thought a lot about the Nazi extermination of the Jews in Europe. It was prompted by a book sent to me, on my request, from a former pastor of my childhood church in the Cave Hills of South Dakota. I had previously read Pastor Wayne's book of his childhood and life, and one he translated into English from Finnish written by his father. Now I have the one written by his wife. All are great treasures and I appreciate reading and re-reading them.
"In the Shadow of the Swastika" tells of young Erika, and opens this way: "Located on both sides of the Elbe River, Dresden is the capitol of the Free-State of Saxony, a province of Germany. It was a city of rare beauty whose buildings in rococo and baroque style had won world renown. Nightly performances were the rule both at the large playhouse and at the opera with its exquisite building. There were parks and fountains, a zoo, and a circus as well as many very beautiful castles. The collections in the museums were breath-taking. Truly, Dresden was a city of art and culture. this is where I was born on June 1, 1927,...."
Erika's father was Jewish. The reading of it gripped me with dread and fear. How beautifully this tragic event was written. "Hitler's ascendancy to the chancellorship affected people I cared about, and I mourned theloss of these friends for years. However, I could never tell anyone how I felt." Her memory for events, places and individuals is remarkable.
Simultaneously, PBS ran a six hour series on Auschwitz. It was doubly horrifying. Sometimes it was so difficult to absorb, I had to tape the second hour of the presentation to watch a different day.
February 4th was the birthday of one of my heroes, Diedrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and theologian in Germany who took part in the plots being planned to assassinate Hitler. He was arrested, imprisioned, and eventually hanged following the failure of the assissination attempt. Prior to his imprisonment he was involved, with others, in setting up the Confessing Church, an underground group opposing the Nazis. Many of these leaders were sent to internment camps.
"In the Shadow of the Swastika" tells of young Erika, and opens this way: "Located on both sides of the Elbe River, Dresden is the capitol of the Free-State of Saxony, a province of Germany. It was a city of rare beauty whose buildings in rococo and baroque style had won world renown. Nightly performances were the rule both at the large playhouse and at the opera with its exquisite building. There were parks and fountains, a zoo, and a circus as well as many very beautiful castles. The collections in the museums were breath-taking. Truly, Dresden was a city of art and culture. this is where I was born on June 1, 1927,...."
Erika's father was Jewish. The reading of it gripped me with dread and fear. How beautifully this tragic event was written. "Hitler's ascendancy to the chancellorship affected people I cared about, and I mourned theloss of these friends for years. However, I could never tell anyone how I felt." Her memory for events, places and individuals is remarkable.
Simultaneously, PBS ran a six hour series on Auschwitz. It was doubly horrifying. Sometimes it was so difficult to absorb, I had to tape the second hour of the presentation to watch a different day.
February 4th was the birthday of one of my heroes, Diedrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and theologian in Germany who took part in the plots being planned to assassinate Hitler. He was arrested, imprisioned, and eventually hanged following the failure of the assissination attempt. Prior to his imprisonment he was involved, with others, in setting up the Confessing Church, an underground group opposing the Nazis. Many of these leaders were sent to internment camps.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Life's Passages
Years ago a brother-in-law recommended I read "Passages: Predictable Crises of Adult Life"" by Gail Sheehy. I read it. I have gone through the whole book, literally, and find myself in Part Seven: Renewal, or at least a No-Panic Approach to Physical Aging, and a Redefined Attitude Toward Money, Religion and Death.
It is strange how a person can progress from "Setting Off on the Midlife Passage" to decline and decay so fast you don't know what happened. I have gotten to the point that I can even talk about the worst time in my life and not get a knot in my stomach and a clutch in my throat over it. At one time I was quite desperate over it. I hied myself off to a psychiatrist who asked me why I was sitting across the desk from him. "I am here for suicide prevention." I can recall how calmly I told him that, and how quickly he found me a counselor who helped me climb that mountain. Prevention is good in any one of life's critical passages. I know that some are not preventable. Some are, thank God.
I wonder why it is that when a person finds life so delicious, so comforting, so blessed with relationships, time, and home; why, I wonder doesn't that come sooner in life. Perhaps it does with some people. I am thankful for it right now. Instead of being fleeting, here today, gone tomorrow; it goes on for me daily...weekly...monthly. I certainly enjoy being seventy.
It is strange how a person can progress from "Setting Off on the Midlife Passage" to decline and decay so fast you don't know what happened. I have gotten to the point that I can even talk about the worst time in my life and not get a knot in my stomach and a clutch in my throat over it. At one time I was quite desperate over it. I hied myself off to a psychiatrist who asked me why I was sitting across the desk from him. "I am here for suicide prevention." I can recall how calmly I told him that, and how quickly he found me a counselor who helped me climb that mountain. Prevention is good in any one of life's critical passages. I know that some are not preventable. Some are, thank God.
I wonder why it is that when a person finds life so delicious, so comforting, so blessed with relationships, time, and home; why, I wonder doesn't that come sooner in life. Perhaps it does with some people. I am thankful for it right now. Instead of being fleeting, here today, gone tomorrow; it goes on for me daily...weekly...monthly. I certainly enjoy being seventy.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Washington National Cathedral
The Prayer Service at the Washington National Cathedral this morning was meaningful and beautiful. C-SPAN does us a service by broadcasting what it does. I am grateful that I was able to experience it.
Ronan Tynan, the soloist, could bring one to tears with "How Great Thou Art" and "Ave Maria." Whoever was responsible for arranging this service is to be commended. It was everything this Liturgical Lutheran could ever wish for to enhance worship.
Rev. Mark Graig from Dallas was chosen to deliver the sermon. It is nice to know that we each have 86,400 seconds each day to use as we wish. Internalizing that I am humbled to think how I have squandered this gift, day after day.
The offering could have been used in any number of ways. It was proper that it be used for our service people and their families.
If I am not mistaken, the circular stained glass window is the same as that in Nedros Cathedral in Norway. Perhaps it is only similar. Our National Cathedral is the 6th largest in the world.
The inauguration ceremonies were inspiring in spite of what the British press says. So they mock and make fun of Bush's speech. Personally I thought it was filled with hope. What, I say, is wrong with hope?
Ronan Tynan, the soloist, could bring one to tears with "How Great Thou Art" and "Ave Maria." Whoever was responsible for arranging this service is to be commended. It was everything this Liturgical Lutheran could ever wish for to enhance worship.
Rev. Mark Graig from Dallas was chosen to deliver the sermon. It is nice to know that we each have 86,400 seconds each day to use as we wish. Internalizing that I am humbled to think how I have squandered this gift, day after day.
The offering could have been used in any number of ways. It was proper that it be used for our service people and their families.
If I am not mistaken, the circular stained glass window is the same as that in Nedros Cathedral in Norway. Perhaps it is only similar. Our National Cathedral is the 6th largest in the world.
The inauguration ceremonies were inspiring in spite of what the British press says. So they mock and make fun of Bush's speech. Personally I thought it was filled with hope. What, I say, is wrong with hope?
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Talk Radio
Upon reading newspapers from 'home,' the one thing that always amazes me is just how today's technology equalizes knowledge. The Black Hills Pioneer had an article about Sam Kephart broadcasting the World Talk Radio from Spearfish. He has a Wednesday segment on "Science and Society." Science is as difficult to listen to as it is to read. But good for us, right?
My other talk radio events are not so noteworthy. Art Bell started it for me when I couldn't sleep a few years ago. I think I have lost some hearing in one ear because I plug myself into my night stand radio and fell asleep with all the paranormal blab going on for hours and hours. Now Art Bell has been replaced on weeknights with George Noory. Both are a little spacey.
You know Sturgis, of the Motorcyle Rally; one of my girlfriend's nephews, Jim Thompson has a radio program I sometimes listen to when I get terribly lonesome for home. He gets on a political rant sometimes; and you know those South Dakotans are! Western music, feedstore advertisements, gentle banter with cowboy callers-in. It is very folksy.
My other talk radio events are not so noteworthy. Art Bell started it for me when I couldn't sleep a few years ago. I think I have lost some hearing in one ear because I plug myself into my night stand radio and fell asleep with all the paranormal blab going on for hours and hours. Now Art Bell has been replaced on weeknights with George Noory. Both are a little spacey.
You know Sturgis, of the Motorcyle Rally; one of my girlfriend's nephews, Jim Thompson has a radio program I sometimes listen to when I get terribly lonesome for home. He gets on a political rant sometimes; and you know those South Dakotans are! Western music, feedstore advertisements, gentle banter with cowboy callers-in. It is very folksy.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Lutheran Gay Policy: Same But Different?
In the Omaha World Herald this morning, the staffwriter, Angie Brunkow, quotes our Nebraska ELCA Bishop, David deFreese, "What we need to say as clearly and strongly as we can is that we have a wonderful tradition of putting issues up on the door, nailing issues up on the door and inviting discussion."
As it was in Germany for Martin Luther, this IS an explosive matter. In our own little St. Timothy's Lutheran church, the discussion across the table last summer was sometimes heated and people differed. It was no different in my own kitchen across that table over ice-cream.
The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America task force on policies of homosexual clergy and same-sex unions is essentially requiring clergy to remain celibate outside marriage. It also recommends that the church maintain its stance against same-sex blessings. At the same time it gives local church leaders more flexibility in deciding whether to discipline congregations that ordain gays and lesbians in committed relationships.
The 'plink' (pink link) above takes you right to the horses mouth, so to speak. When I googled ELCA this came up in an article in The Christian Post: " Reformed leaders within the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) called the denomination’s January 13 report on homosexuality “duplicitous” and “disingenuous,” and criticized it as nothing more than an “attempt to avoid an outright schism” in a theologically split denomination."
A theologically split denomination! Is it really that bad? Maybe I just choose not to notice.
The Sioux City Journal quotes the Iowa Bishop, the South Dakota Bishop and also deFreese from Nebraska. Quoting The Rev. Delwyn L. Oliver, chaplain of the Western Iowa Synod's Sioux City Conference: "I know there are those who are upset that the recommendations did not go far enough, either to the right or to the left," Oliver continued. "Some people will find my opinion to be blasphemous. Is it not time that we recognize that we are all sinners in need of God's grace and that by casting stones at others for their 'sins,' we foolishly attempt to divert God's attention away from our own sins."
I am realizing that with each article I read, I read it through my own myopic lens. I focus on those statements that I agree with and am horrified by the ones I don't. Is this how churches blow up?
I found a great deal of comfort in the Salty Vicar's list of "What I love about the Episcopal Church." We Lutherans would do well to think about what it is we love about our heritage, while growing into a communion that lovingly accepts those different from us. Yes, even those that love the contemporary service.
As it was in Germany for Martin Luther, this IS an explosive matter. In our own little St. Timothy's Lutheran church, the discussion across the table last summer was sometimes heated and people differed. It was no different in my own kitchen across that table over ice-cream.
The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America task force on policies of homosexual clergy and same-sex unions is essentially requiring clergy to remain celibate outside marriage. It also recommends that the church maintain its stance against same-sex blessings. At the same time it gives local church leaders more flexibility in deciding whether to discipline congregations that ordain gays and lesbians in committed relationships.
The 'plink' (pink link) above takes you right to the horses mouth, so to speak. When I googled ELCA this came up in an article in The Christian Post: " Reformed leaders within the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) called the denomination’s January 13 report on homosexuality “duplicitous” and “disingenuous,” and criticized it as nothing more than an “attempt to avoid an outright schism” in a theologically split denomination."
A theologically split denomination! Is it really that bad? Maybe I just choose not to notice.
The Sioux City Journal quotes the Iowa Bishop, the South Dakota Bishop and also deFreese from Nebraska. Quoting The Rev. Delwyn L. Oliver, chaplain of the Western Iowa Synod's Sioux City Conference: "I know there are those who are upset that the recommendations did not go far enough, either to the right or to the left," Oliver continued. "Some people will find my opinion to be blasphemous. Is it not time that we recognize that we are all sinners in need of God's grace and that by casting stones at others for their 'sins,' we foolishly attempt to divert God's attention away from our own sins."
I am realizing that with each article I read, I read it through my own myopic lens. I focus on those statements that I agree with and am horrified by the ones I don't. Is this how churches blow up?
I found a great deal of comfort in the Salty Vicar's list of "What I love about the Episcopal Church." We Lutherans would do well to think about what it is we love about our heritage, while growing into a communion that lovingly accepts those different from us. Yes, even those that love the contemporary service.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?
The impact of the horror that started 6.2 miles below the surface of the Indian Ocean just off the coast of Sumatra, displaced a section of the ocean floor over 700 miles long and 10 miles wide, nearly 100 feet upward. An equal amount of ocean water on the order of 135 cubic miles was moved violently upward and outward. The huge tsunami waves brought devastation to coastlines 4,000 miles away.
Night radio talkers ponder Armageddon. Cal Thomas ponders "God and Suffering" on op-ed pages around the world. He says, "Human tragedy is bad enough, but listening to some theologians trying to explain it is doubly irritating. He goes on to relate that the archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, wrote a Jan. 2 column for the Sunday Telegraph in which the front-page headline about the column proclaimed, "Archbishop of Canterbury admits: "This makes me doubt the existance of God." Thomas goes on to say that "the headline writer misrepresented the archbishop's view, but so convoluted was Mr. Williams' statement about the disaster ...it is understandable how the writer of the headline reached his conclusion. Theologians should offer hope and truth. The pagans serve up enough doubt."
Cal Thomas sends his readers to Job, Chapter one, in the Old Testament. Job responds to his skeptical and nagging wife, "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble."
Still quoting Thomas, "...consider Abraham Lincoln's second inaugural address. Seeking to understand the Civil War catastrophe, Lincoln concluded, 'The Almighty has His own purposes."
This conflicted Lutheran does not believe God did it to those people. Unfortunately it is the result of plate tectonics. I think He is there to help the victims get through it, with the help of the rest of the world; people, one on one, doing the work of God in this horrendous time.
Night radio talkers ponder Armageddon. Cal Thomas ponders "God and Suffering" on op-ed pages around the world. He says, "Human tragedy is bad enough, but listening to some theologians trying to explain it is doubly irritating. He goes on to relate that the archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, wrote a Jan. 2 column for the Sunday Telegraph in which the front-page headline about the column proclaimed, "Archbishop of Canterbury admits: "This makes me doubt the existance of God." Thomas goes on to say that "the headline writer misrepresented the archbishop's view, but so convoluted was Mr. Williams' statement about the disaster ...it is understandable how the writer of the headline reached his conclusion. Theologians should offer hope and truth. The pagans serve up enough doubt."
Cal Thomas sends his readers to Job, Chapter one, in the Old Testament. Job responds to his skeptical and nagging wife, "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble."
Still quoting Thomas, "...consider Abraham Lincoln's second inaugural address. Seeking to understand the Civil War catastrophe, Lincoln concluded, 'The Almighty has His own purposes."
This conflicted Lutheran does not believe God did it to those people. Unfortunately it is the result of plate tectonics. I think He is there to help the victims get through it, with the help of the rest of the world; people, one on one, doing the work of God in this horrendous time.
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