SHORT MAN SYNDROME, OR ???

All day today I have been debating with myself about the thought for the day.  The reason for the debate is that although both have a good dose of humor, one is safe for work and the other is on the borderline of PG17, if you get my drift.  So, in the title I put the one that is the safer, even though it is the one that I would just as soon avoid.  After all, at 5'3" and shrinking, I would want to stay away from it.  But, there are some fun things that have happened to me along the road of life that make this a family environment topic although there is one little drop of salaciousness  in it.  It's a long story, but you won't mind it, because after all, short is short, right?
When I reached 13 years old I stood 5'4.5".  When I was twice that age I stood 5'4.5".  When I was 5x that age, I stood at 5'3.75"  I am now sitting, but when I do get vertical, my pompom only reaches 5'3" off the floor.  If I live long enough, I'll probably sink into negative verticality and thereby get myself into the Guinness Book of Records.  I think that one of the reasons why I decided to hate basketball is my lack of height.  Of course I always said that I disliked basketball because it is a girls' game.  I always said that in hockey, I could always crush the creep with the puck while in basketball I had to wave at him on the way by because to touch him would be a foul.  That was not then nor it is now my kind of game.  I could never come up with a good alibi for not playing football, so I always blamed my parents for that.  Hey, when falling behind, punt, right?  I also blamed my lack of height for my inability to play tennis well.  That, my friends is pure stercus taurorum.  The truth of the matter is that I am at a nearly total loss at games where a racket or a paddle are involved.  I mean, come on, how tall do you have to be to excel at table tennis?  Enough of my athletic prowess, oops, I mean, lack thereof.
I never really thought that I was over-compensating for my short stature until one time a senior manager who was more politician than manager made a disobliging comment about my aplomb and poise on the public speaker's podium at a company function.  I let it go because I knew that with his lack of true ability, I would outlast him anyway.  In fact, three months later I was drawing up his termination papers.  Some years later, though, I came across a situation that made me laugh and realize just how sensitive I can be about this reality with which I live.  I was working as a senior manager at a Mexican company and there were 11 women working in the department that I headed.  The first thing that I noticed during the first departmental meeting that I held was the fact that each and every one of those women was taller than I was then and certainly than I am now.  I would catch myself joking about it a lot.  It didn't take me long to come to my senses and realize that I was not comfortable with the situation.  So I tried to get over it.  Besides, wasn't I the hammer?
I think that the funniest thing that ever happened to me, even in the days when I was 5'4.5" was when I had a collision with a woman in a new office that we were setting up.  It was a great job.  It was for Lionel trains when they had set up shop in Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico.  We were moving from our original office space to more spacious accommodations.  Things were hectic.  We only had two telephones for 10 people, one rest room available for the time being and absolutely no defined office areas, not even fuzzy wall modular ones.  One day, it was my turn to answer one of the phones.  A call came in for Diana who worked clear across the open area from where I was sitting.  I put the phone down, wiggled out of my seat, turned right to go around my desk and as I turned left, I walked into the 6' Diana, nose first only to have my head enveloped by her generous mammary endowments.  I was stunned, and started to laugh as she shook her head and said something about &*%$@+g midgets.  After which we, both of us, became the butt of jokes and snide remarks around the office for the next few days.  We both survived it.  She, in fact made a remark about my overcoming short man syndrome by enjoying plowing into well-endowed women at work.  Trust me, this is one story that I do tell time and again.  It is one of those moments that we were warned against when we were in Catholic school.  It is forbidden to recount such events because of the morbidly lustful emotions that they bring to mind in the telling.  So, you have been dutifully reprimanded for willingly participating in a moment of forbidden "morbid delectation" the literal English translation of the Latin name for that sin.
After all that, you're wondering about the thought that I avoided.  I know you are.  It is about a professional person I know who has been adversely affected by the downturn in the economy.  Yes, it happens to everyone.  It is a longer story that just these few sentences.  It could be funny if it weren't so sad.  Prayers are in order here.

GROUCHY KURMUJJIN -- WHO'S THAT?

Yesterday I got wrapped up in politics.  I follow politics because it is good for my blood pressure.  My blood pressure stays high enough to let me know that there is still life in me when politicians speak.  I often wonder whether they are human beings or not.  They must be, I guess because they know how to talk. Lord, yes, they can talk all right.  They rarely say anything, but their lips are moving and their Adam's Apple is moving up and down.  So something is happening there, but no one knows what it is.  I think that inside all of us there is a politician.  We just do not dare admit it.  Despite the distaste that we learn to develop about politicians, we also have to realize that without them we would be hard pressed to have an organized society.  We are created such that we need to be organized.  We are not cats, after all.  Cats, at least the domestic kind, seem to get along very well in a community of one.  After they break loose from the litter, they haughtily go their own way.  As we can easily observe, dogs are more like we are.  They need community and organized hierarchy in order to live well.  If they can't find it among themselves, they train a human or two to walk along the path of life with them.  It's beyond my ken, but some humans allow themselves to be taken along for that walk.  Hold on to your seats now, I admit, at least intellectually if not emotionally, that there is a little bit of cross species attraction in humans too.  Good thing too.  It contributes to the welfare of the life forms on the planet.  Even the Grouchy Kurmujjin and I have about .000001 of such an attraction.  When it comes to dogs, we prefer to wok them than to walk them, let alone walk with them.  Truth to tell, the two of us have about .00000000001 attraction to politicians, putting dogs in a better position than the human sub-species, politician.  It is important to note that it is not essential for us to have positive attractions to certain realities to make them necessary to  life as we know it.

Grouchy Kurmujjin

SSooooooooooo ...  Who is the Grouchy Kurmujjin?  That is he on your right.  He happens to be one of my alter egos.  He is the glorious Misanthrope in me.  He too has a blog.  It drips with socially, politically, diplomatically and other forms of non-acceptable behavior and language.  He is the part of me that I keep at the .00001 level in this blog.  It is not easy sometimes, but I combat his appearances here with humor.  It is important for me to acknowledge his existence.  It is also important for you all to at least meet him in passing.  He, after all is also contained in the drop of water about which we spoke yesterday.  If you want to have a little fun, you can click on the red letter links [not this one!] in order to find yourself in the pure and unadulterated presence of the Grouchy Kurmujjin.  You will notice that the counter on top of the page indicates that there are not too many blog reading people who know about my buddy.  I can assure you, however, that there are many, many warm-blooded human beings who know him personally, and know him very well.  They are the ones who read the local obit page every single day in the hopes that they now know that the prairie daisies will have a little extra boost on their upward climb to the surface of America's Finest City.  [That is sunny San Diego, California, for those of you who may not know.]
One of these days I will introduce you to the other me's.  Yeah, there are four of us.  They have blogs too.

IN ONE DROP OF WATER ... ALL THE OCEANS OF THE WORLD

You all remember this.  Be honest.  You do.  So, just to keep you happy, I'm repeating it.  The subject is different, but in some ways, the same.  Besides, in some ways today almost follows yesterday in the line of thought that I dropped on you yesterday.  It is also related to the item on "Minimalism" which I am sure that you also remember.  Mostly because you never forget anything that I put in front of you.  
First, a little introduction.  Last weekend when I was preparing to sell the antique Edison phonograph cylinders, I stumbled across my collection of Kahlil Gibran booklets.  This man had a good run with me.  For some years, he was the trigger for my meditations and reflections.  His influence on me slowly diminished in favor of the collection commonly known as the Bible.  But he is still hanging around in my life.  Today, here is what happened after last weekend.  I tripped over a little book of his quotations entitled "Patterns of Happiness" published and distributed by Hallmark Editions.  Kahlil Gibran's work is in the public domain, but Hallmark's is not.  That's the reason for the quick nod of acknowledgement there.  Anyway, here's the sentence that hooked me: In one drop of water are found the secrets of all the oceans of the world.  

That is not a scientific statement.  It is a spiritual one.  It is related to the philosophy of Friar William of Okham and the answer to yesterday's Zen question.  It is an invitation to give the universality of Truth a chance in our lives.  We live in a world where the detail is the shell that contains the fullness of the reality from which the detail falls.  We must give faith to the certificate in order to discover the fullness of the value of the experience.  We are constrained to delve into the sincerity of the affiliation in order to discover the strength of the effort that it took to earn the intimate relationship with the sponsor.  We are conditioned to believe more in the throne than in the human effort that it takes to keep the throne meaningful.  We believe that in DNA we come to full knowledge of the person.  We even get to the point where we believe more in the color than in the quality of the human.  We do the same when we shop for an automobile.  The detail of the manufacturer and the color of the finished product are more important to us than the essential conglomerate of the finished product.  
I could go on and on, but I've got you into this deep enough for one thought.  if you want to have a little more practice with this kind of stuff, check out Khalil Gibran a little more.  Or, you could open your Bible and check out the book of Proverbs.  If that doesn't get you going, nothing will.  Not even Khalil Gibran.

WHAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING YOU'VE EVER LEARNED

There's always room for one more

Challenging question, right?  when you took a look at that you started to turn the dial on your mental Rolodex to see if you could come up with a concept, a fact, an idea or a practice that you could fearlessly say, "This is the most important thing that I have learned."  You've read this far down on the page and you still haven't got the answer that will make you comfortable.  You've already whipped through at least three illuminations, or as they say in Kabbala, Emanations, and you are still not satisfied with what you've found.  You're even starting to feel a little uncomfortable and even a little peevish because you know that I would not be presenting a question without having an answer ready.  You're right, of course.  I will tell you right away that the answer that I have is more Zen, than anything.  It is something that I ran across today among some notes that I had scribbled some 60 years ago.  Those were the days when I could write, but had not yet learned how to read. :-) ...  So, yes, I do have an answer.  Yes, the picture you see contains a hint to the answer.  The caption also contains a hint to the answer.  Look, I can smell the burning rubber from here.  Relax, will ya!  Here's another hint, encapsulated in a short parable.  Stop me if you remember that I've told it before.  
I was waiting for a bus to take me home from the community college that I was attending.  I was 37 years old and had the opportunity to finally get a passing grade in algebra.  It was one week away from finals.  I was talking to a wise old Silver Eagle, classmate in algebra, telling him that I was going to change careers.  I told him that I was not worried, what with my masters degree and the six languages that I had come to know over the years.  He simply looked at me and said, When you get out there you will find dozens of competitors for the same work who speak 8 and 9 languages with twice the education.  Get ready.  The bus came and I went home wondering about the truth of the Senior Citizen's statement.
I did change careers.  I still do pretty well with a handful of languages.  I never put the statement to the test.  The world put me to the test with it.  It took me a while, but I came to believe it.  In fact, I came to see that it is true, not just for language skills, but for every single element of human existence.  You've read my mother's saying elsewhere on this blog, "You can always find someone worse off than you."
I'm here to tell you that every single day you can always find someone much better than you, at anything you might think you're the best at, in, with...you choose the preposition that fits.  That, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, aunts and uncles, Angels and Archangels, etc... is the most important thing that I have ever learned.  Why can I say that?  I can say that because it is the answer to today's title question, that is, "It is what I learned after I was convinced that I knew everything."
There's always room for one more, not just in the material world, but even in the confines of an arrogant mind.

BIRTHDAY BOY -- FROM THE BAY STATE -- ONOMASTIC BOY -- TIJUANA, MEXICO

Yes, today we have a birthday boy.  He is a very loving brother of mine who is righteous in every way.  He has but one very public vice...He insists on hitting little white balls and then chasing them himself.  This is very strange behavior, indeed.  Most people I know would not admit it, though they may admit that they train their dog to do it.  He is, despite this weakness, a true Prophet with a faithful following.  He has a deep religiosity and a sincerely Apostolic spirituality based on the Gospel stories.  I read him every day.  

He is today celebrating [I think he's celebrating] the anniversary of his original and only birthday.  It is therefore required of us to pray for him, thereby asking God to keep him in good health and in good humor for the benefit of the Communion of Saints.

So, happy birthday.

/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/

St.e Anne & Mary, St. Joachim

Today is also the special feast day of the Virgin Mary's father, Saint Joachim.  I have a serious friend in Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico by the name of Joaquin [Joachim] and I always salute him on this day, even though I know that if he crossed the threshold of the church, the roof tiles might vibrate and cave in.  Joaquin is a darling guy who is a straight shooter, a "say it the way you see it" kind of guy.  I was his direct supervisor for a couple years while I was the director of human resources of a large company in Mexico.  He is one of the three best management hires I ever made in 30 years of human resources experience.  I therefore ask that your prayers go out to him and to his family.  Even if you pray in English, God can handle it and give Joaquin and his family what they need in Spanish.  One way or the other, everything will be pleasing to God, both for Reef Lector and for Joaquin Samaniego.

Notice that I do prefer icons to western style paintings.

CRAIGSLIST -- IT'S POWERFUL STUFF

THIS IS A POWERFUL CLEANSING AGENT 

Don't kid yourself.  You put a small dose of this stuff into cyber space and in one hour your inner space will be as clean as a whistle.  It is just absolutely amazing.  We have been running to our computers and pounding out short notices about some of the clutter that we have been collecting around the house in San Diego.  One day, it took about one hour to clear the property of six twin size mattresses.  Start your announcement with the word, "FREE" and you can give up any hope that your telephone will be still for more than about 5 minutes in any give first hour.  One of my friends has a bunch of clutter that he and his spouse want to spin off into other far reaches of the planet.  So, instead of nailing cardboard notices on light posts, they hit the airwaves on Craigslist.org.  The stream of lookie-loos is endless and at the end of the day, they have $25.00 in their pocket after having converted a few of the sniffers into buyers.  Yesterday, [July 24, 2011] is the one that really got me going.  I had been working on and off at getting an antique collection of phonograph cylinders inventoried.  Along the way I had Googled a lot to see what it was that I had been trundling behind me for 50+ years.  What I found out was that the "treasure" that I had envisioned had shrunk to not much more than a day for two at Disneyland.  By that I mean, that what used to cost $0.35 in 1900 is now worth, on average, between $3.00 - $8.00.  So, at $3.00 the return on the "treasure" figures out to be about 8% per year.  Pretty poor,considering that the McDonald's stock that we bought 5 years ago has appreciated at an annual rate of about 12%, not counting dividends.  Therefore, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, collecting stuff for the gain is useless.  So, guess what?  Yup, Craigslist, is what.  Why Craigslist?  Simply because it is there.  I followed the advice of at least two professionals to see what  the easiest way to get the best prices would be.  Sheesh!  It was like going back to university with the dissertations that they gave me.  But, I did try.  Ya know what?  NOT ONE SINGLE ANSWER FROM ANYONE of the gurus and high-tone collectors that they named, that's what.  So, I come home from Mass on Sunday morning at about 10:30.  I swig my coffee, chomp my fritter, swallow my Lisinopril, slink over to my magic box, call up Craigslist.org, ads...slide the mouse over to "Collectibles" and write the following:
<Collection of 198 black wax Edison phonograph cylinders; 12 blue amerol cylinders, 15> <"Indestructible cylinders" machine and horn.   $600.00   Linda Vista>
<Price is firm. Cash or cashier's check. Local sales only. Inventory upon request. Email or fax.> 
<No partial sales. (925) 784-0079> 
Enter.  Check the time, 11:06
Get a cup of coffee (Yeah,another one).  Go help a lady with a heavy package outside.  Brother-in-law says, "Your telephone rang."  In I go.  Check it out.  11:18 and a guy is looking for my stuff.  He asks a bunch of questions about which I have no idea.  I tell him to give me 30 minutes and I'll get back to him.  He says, "OK."  I know that he's interested.  He wants pictures.  The Voice from the Kitchen is a half world away in Georgia with the camera.  Kodak moments, goin....hey! just a minute here.  I got a 'phone.  [Notice the time warp here, folks.  I'm selling 110 year old stuff and taking pictures with a telephone, for goodness sakes!]  Anyway, I take the pictures, put them on the Internet for my buddy [He's not a "friend" yet, this is NOT Facebook, ya know!].  I call him up.  No answer.  I email him, of course with the pictures.  No answer.  Now I'm wondering if I have one of these Craigslist deviates on my hands.  It's already getting to be nearly 1:00 PM.  Oh well, relax.  There are a lot of stones on this shore. 
2:00 No contact.  No other bites.  
2:30 I have to go to the airport to pick up you know who arriving from Georgia.  I call the guy and say, I'm out of pocket for the next couple hours.  Hope to hear from you.
3:00 Nothing.  Phone rings.  Dr. Isabel M. Dion.  Should I tell her I'm selling the cylinders?  Naw.  There's no action yet anyway.  She tells me that she is at the baggage claim.  That's cool, I'm around.
4:30 We get home.  My phone is dumb as a giraffe.
5:30 KKKrrriiinggggg!!!   BbbbzzzzBssss, I have bells and vibes.  "Hi, do you mind of I come to see your collection."  
"Sure, come on down. "
"Good.  Give me 30 minutes."  He's coming from 18 miles away.
Where did I hear that before.?
He comes.  He looks. I conquer.   $600.00 slick as snot.  It is now 6:30 PM  He goes home.  I go and take the ad down from Craigslist.  110 years ago, it was easier to play music on a phonograph than it was to talk to someone over a telephone.  
The next time you have a moment to yourself with not too much to do, think about how many more things you can do in 6 hours than your grandfather could 110 years ago.  You'll be amazed.  
By the way, we are not finished with Craigslist.  We have so much stuff to throw to the winds, that Craigslist is going to be our "Perfect Storm."
For those of you who may be wondering what I have presented here, I offer this picture.

THIS IS A PHONOGRAPH CYLINDER -- BLACK WAX -- # 9459 ABOUT 1905

If you're interested, Google Phonograph Cylinder Player in the "images" section.  

ENTREPRENEUR OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD

This old lady is a fixture in the neighborhood.  We have been "helping" her for well over 20 years.  She is the official curbside recycling engine of our community.  We all know her.  We do not know her name.  We know that she understands "Good Morning" but not much else.  She usually has a smile.  She usually appears to have the same volume of cargo no matter what day it is.  We do not know what here starting point is and we do not know where she is going.  All we know is that she is grateful that we offer her all the recycling that we have, except paper.  Cans and plastic bottles are her favorite.  She is grateful for each and every one of them.  We are quite sure that she is Vietnamese, but then again we also have some doubts.  She could perhaps be Cambodian or Laotian, Hmong, or...  All we know is that she has been supporting herself in this manner for all these years.  As far as we know, we are not the only ones who provide her with recyclables.  Many of our neighbors do it too.  She does seem to have a regular route and some sort of routine.  We do know that she is a "loner" and that she prefers to not have much contact with those who approach her.  We respected that by taking her picture from the back.
The next time  you are tempted to think that you have a hard life, please give a short thought to our "Bag Lady."  She works hard every single day and no one who sees her on a regular basis really knows her and she doesn't know us.  We try to help her and she seems to be happy with our effort.

THE BLOGGER AND THE VOICE FROM THE KITCHEN, 12 MONTHS AGO

WHO IS THAT GUY?
No wonder Sharon wouldn't let him wok her dog.  Hhmmm, maybe that should be "walk"
This was 12 months ago in Utah.  The family reunion.  I still weight the same but my face is fuller and my faithful spouse, Isabel never gets to show her age...because she is ageless.
It is always enjoyable to go through pictures of the past.  Most times they show happy, younger faces, and sometimes, as above, they show older, more "experienced" miens.  I stumbled upon this as I was going through some older emails that I received from Auntie Em and I thought I would show you one of the great mysteries in life...How such a beautiful creature like the one at my left can love and marry such an ugly one.  You and I see it every day.  I, when I look in the mirror.  You, when you go out in public.  MJT Dion ("Mina", to some, grandma to others) used to often say, "The world is a kind place.  If you look around you can always see someone who is worse off than you."  She used to spend a lot of time doing just that.  When she saw one, she would point it out to everyone around her at the moment.

JUST A TAD BETTER, BUT LOOK AT HER!

Well, I just thought that I would point that out.  I will now leave you with an up-to-date photo taken a mere three weeks ago. You won't believe it but the guy in the middle is older than I am, 5 years older.  Of course he doesn't have two sweet children and a mortgage!

HORSES ASSES ARE VERY IMPORTANT + SNOPES LINK

This is a rather wonderful story, just about perfectly made for a Kurmujjin like me. Today, as I was coming up the highway and some driver behind me was trying to crawl up my tail pipe, two things came to me.
1. Why are there so few horses and so many horses' asses?
2. I then remembered this item from 2 or 3 years ago.
So, I pulled it up and offer it to you.
-----------------------------------
This is the first time I ever publish a story that I get through email networks. I hope that you enjoy it as much as I do.  I even went to the trouble to go to www.snopes.com for you.   http://www.snopes.com/history/american/gauge.asp

If you have some time, relax, put a smile on and enjoy.
The US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That's an exceedingly odd number.
Why was that gauge used? Because that's the way they built them in England , and English expatriates built the US railroads.
Why did the English build them like that? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used.
Why did 'they' use that gauge then? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.
Why did the wagons have that particularly odd wheel spacing? Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England , because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.
So who built those old rutted roads? Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe
(and England ) for their legions. The roads have been used ever since.
And the ruts in the roads? Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing. Therefore the United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an Imperial Roman war chariot. Bureaucracies live forever.
So the next time you are handed a Specification/ Procedure/ Process and wonder 'What horse's ass came up with it?' you may be exactly right.
Imperial Roman army chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the rear ends of two war horses. (Two horses' asses.) Now, the twist to the story:
When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory in Utah . The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains, and the SRBs had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as two horses' behinds.
So, a major Space Shuttle design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of a horse's ass x 2.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
And you thought being a horse's ass wasn't important? Ancient horse's asses control almost everything...and CURRENT Horses Asses are controlling everything else !!

Here's a piece of totally useless information for you.  When Generalisimo Franco was the dictator in Spain, he changed the width of the railroad tracks throughout the country.  This assured that no train carrying troops and/or munitions from outside Spain could successfully enter the country.
Here's a nasty joke.  These mounted police in Europe always travel in pairs.  That is because one knows how to read and the other knows how to write.

EPISTEMOLOGY[2] -- HOW DO I KNOW THAT I KNOW ...

How do I know that I know where West is when  I am being guided by my Massachusetts mind?  There are many of you out there who have never experienced this puzzling reality.  So, sit back and see if you can somehow relate.
I was born, brought up and grew up mostly in Massachusetts.  I have dear friends who are my age and who have the same genesis.  I left Massachusetts many years ago, have lived in many places on the planet since I have left.  For the last 37+ years I have lived in a part of the coastal region of California.  I have friends who have approximately the same historical trajectory in their lives.  So, we started out lives on the East [Right] Coast and are now living on the West [Left] Coast. So there are times when our "congenital" drivers take over our lives and we loose track of what is East and what is West.  Really!  I know this because we have talked about it among ourselves more than once.
It all begins in the womb.  Doesn't everything?  Here we are growing and developing in water, in a water that knows that the Great Water lies to the East.  The Womb Water releases us into the aegis of the Great Water of the East.  We grow up and mature under the Aegis of the Great Water of the East and it becomes an intimate element of our being.  Now, out of  the womb, but captive to the Prime element of reality, the Great Water of the East, we mature as we reckon our comings and our goings by the calling of the Great Water of the East.
Then, we forsake the Land Mass called East and settle on the Land Mass called West.  This is a very dangerous move.  We will now have great difficulty ever knowing exactly where we are.  We are forever the children of the Great Water of the East, and we will never be anything or anyone else with allegiance placed anywhere else.  Just the other day, when I was driving a mere 1.5 miles inland from the Great Water of the West, I took a turn that pointed me in the direction of the Great Water from the East because that is what my entire being knows.  My brain knew [and knows] where the water is and the Water imbibed my brain with directional signals so that I turned TOWARD the water [East], when I knew full well that the sign and the arrow said West and not EAST.
I made the turn and suddenly realized what had happened.  I still can't believe it.  I've been here on the West Coast for over 30 years.  My friends have been here for about the same amount of time.  We still are victims of the disconnect between Brain Epistemology and Total Being Epistemology.  Forget the big words.  Just show me the way.  My essential epistemological question at this point is, "What happens if we move to St. Louis?  Is the Mississippi River big enough to cure us of our epistemological imbalance?

WHAT IS YOUR INTERNET "NOM DE PLUME?"

Four Inch Devil

Do you want to have some fun?  Check out your "Contacts List" and look for your favorite alias?
Mine has such gems as:
Craftyqt
Woolygem
Handheldmomma
Tantricfire
Emrldize
Reef_Lector
J_Rock
Polneon
Badazmofo
Takengo
Xqzmoi
Yoincaha
If you look into your contacts list you will certainly find some rather creative ways that your correspondents have found to describe themselves.  As many of you know, email names are not anywhere near as creative as screen [online] names can be.  Email names have the tendency to announce the reputation or the attitudinal tendencies of the "owner" in a way that is socially acceptable, with a little bit of humor thrown in.  So, I have found that email names are more indicative of the receiver's personality, as a receiver, more than they are of the sender's attitude as a sender.  That is generally why I have noticed that the "screen names" of the habitual visitors of certain sites reflect more the "sending" elements of the visitor's personality than the "receiving" elements.  These are elements of a psychological study that I do not care to conduct myself, but just simple observations that make me smile as I am sitting in front of my CRT.
It makes me smile because, as I have said somewhere else in these "Thoughts", anonymity is the strongest enemy of progress.  if you have something to say, say it, in plain words and let the chips fall where they may.  Therefore, analyze why you have chosen your online identity.  If it is the same name that was bestowed upon you by Papa and Mama, congratulations.  If it is the same name that was bestowed upon you by your God guided vocation, congratulations.  If it is the name that was bestowed upon you by rituals meaningful to your ethnic background, congratulations.
I sometimes use a name online that is descriptive of a physical attribute.  It was bestowed upon me by Mother Nature.  I'm not happy about it, but it's all I have.  Congratulations.

JUST WALKIN' ALONG, ON MOONLIGHT BAY...

Another thought today.  Imagine, two on the same day.  How did that happen?  It happened because I saw something that kicked my mind into gear.  Sorry, this is the wording of the original.  Something serious intervened and prevented the publishing of  this "Thought" at the intended moment.
I saw a young woman walking along the sidewalk toward the crosswalk of a busy city block.  She was in a professional caregiver's uniform and was either going to a patient or going home.  What caught my eye and my imagination was that she was carrying a modern communication device, erroneously called a "cell phone."  What she had in her hand would more properly be designated as a pocket computer.  That digression aside, I went off to my younger days and remembered all the places to which I walked, and a little later, rode my bicycle.  It seem to me that I ALWAYS had to carry something with me, either out of necessity or out of "convenience."  Always.  I had to carry my school books; I had to carry small packages of groceries; I had to carry my sports equipment; I had to carry my lunch bucket, or bag, depending on the year and the availability of one of the two lunch buckets we had in the house.  For years, I would have moments when I would dream and wish that I could just walk along with absolutely nothing to carry.  Just let my arms be arms and follow the rhythm of my natural gait.  Oh, how I yearned for the opportunity.  I thought it would never come.  Then, just like everything else, the opportunity came.  But there were strings attached.  Walking was the one exercise that was free, [like in, no $ required].  What a joke!  Walking isn't free.  It shackles you to a schedule; it ties you to a given distance to be conquered in every decreasing amounts of time into infinity.  [Infinity just triggered another "thought".]  But, hey, at least the accompanying package walks under her own power, so I don't have to carry a load.  My arms are free to maintain the rhythm of the gait.  When I walk to her left, I don't even have to carry the full load of what she says into my deafer ear.  Actually, the discipline required to maintain an exercise regimen is a load, but the freedom it brings is a gift.
Let me tell you that there is one way to walk that I enjoy most of all.  I am in fourth or fifth heaven [seventh is for other things,] when I am in a natural, human-free environment surrounded by flowers, trees, bushes, water, the clouds and the sky and the animals, especially birds.  There I walk carrying a pair of binoculars around my neck, and occasionally in my hands, of course.  There was a time in my life when I did this a lot.  Since then [50 years?] I have done it all too little.  That is a walk that I like and it is one to which I can always be invited.  When I see a bird flit for there to here; when I hear a chirp or a song, I have to follow it up.  I guess we are always dreaming about something that we do not have.  It must be human nature.  In my case, I enjoy the dreams for an instant and then back to doing what I have to do.  You have just read about dreams of action and circumstance.  You will generally not catch me dreaming about things.  I am comfortable about things and do not pine for better nor for more.
The one things that I do dream about is the fulfillment of my desire to die with my boots on, strapped and ready to go.  That, and the warning that there is to be no crying at my funeral.

A MINIMALIST WE CAN ALL LIVE WITH

Father William of Okham, "OCCAM," is the famous author of the "lex parsimoniae" [the law of parsimony, 13th century, AD] or, as my younger son likes to say, "Pa, remember, less is more." [21st century AD]  Now, you're not going to believe this, but I thought of this in the morning while sitting in church where I was supposed to be praying.  Of course, I was accompanied by the Voice from the Kitchen, who very often doubles as "Conscience."  I do confess, I enjoy the 8:00 AM daily Mass.  It gives me a reason to see if I can stand and walk after I have been kicked out of my horizontal comfort by Mother Nature Herself.  Sometimes she gets the nasties and makes me exercise two or three times in the course of my intimate embraces with my dear Morpheus.  There was none of that on this occasion.  So there I was sitting there in church and thinking about a famous Franciscan Friar Minor by name of Father William of Okham.  He is the person who inspired Bertrand Russell to label Father William's philosophy, "Occam's Razor."  After Russell, a well known Italian author, Umberto Eco wrote about this philosophy extensively in his dark humor novel, "The Pendulum of Foucault."  Why am I bringing all this up?  No, not because it is important, but just because it is a "thought."  It is a very interesting thought, as a matter of fact.  Have you ever asked yourself why it is that reality seems so complicated to you?  I'll bet you have.  You never gave a thought to see if someone had existed at some point on the history line who had thought differently.  Imagine telling a politician Numquam ponenda est pluralitas sine necessitate. [Plurality must never be posited without necessity]  Most of us have been told more than once along the road of life, "KISS it, Baby." [Keep It Simple Stupid]  Now with all of that, so many of us get lost in the morass of unnecessary complication.  Maybe we should all go out and be Franciscan Friars Minor!  Nooooo, not us.  We find it more fun to live a

Rube Goldberg life, like this automatic chin wiper invention.  Cool, don'tcha think?  We need more of these, especially in Maxims on the Champs Elysees of gay Paree.  I'm sitting here and I'm remembering the piece I sent you a couple months ago, picture and all, about the little green Ford Falcon and the tiny motor that it had under the hood, the manual transmission box tucked gently behind the block and the cute little distributor sitting atop the overhead valve boxes underneath the red-capped air filter.  Remember that? [I found it for you, click here.]  Now, that was simple.  The joy of gazing upon such simplicity has disappeared from our lives.  Detroit, among others, should discover Occam's Razor.  So, the thought for the day is, "Less is more."  Or, "The simplest explanation always stands a 60-40 chance of being the best one."  If you can't be a Franciscan, for whatever reason, keep one handy in your cell phone.  It could come in handy.

SHALOM

This is a wonderful "thought" from a friend of mine.  I want to share with you all because it is so deep and true to what we learned in Theology class 50 years ago.  
Enjoy:

There is a state of mind that is a help in being receptive to the answers to prayer. This state of *Being* or

mind is the urgent help of calm confidence, and peace-filled open mindedness, to our Father God's Word.

Shalom is this alignment, this connection, to the Divine Directions given us in the stillness of the present

moment. Our Lord Jesus Christ purchased this 'alignment ' for us so that we may partake of the many

Blessings that our Father God has for us.     In, with, and through, 'Shalom' we are above the inactive,

stagnant, uncertain, and fear driven mindsets that often surround us. Unshakeable Trust envelopes our

*Being* causing even our understanding to be still and know that God is God. Shalom causes our Lord

Jesus Christ to move with and through our actions, moment by moment.      Each moment we (you and I)

have the 'Now' opportunity to allow God-Omnipotent to change disorder into order, chaos into cosmos,

death into Life. This assurance of Shalom gives us the trust we need to be healthy, happy, prosperous, and

Loving, no matter what the surrounding circumstances may dictate to us.      Shalom is the Peace that

is felt, and the security found in our Trust of a renewed Faith.    Shalom in, with, and through us

does not demand, (command) our Father God to do according to our desires. With Shalom we trust

that the *Perfect Fulfillment of  Good* will occur properly and at the *Now* appointed time.

Shalom is always available, always present to be found.     So, with this focus known as Shalom !!

Lets let our Father God be our Father God, and show His marvelous  actions in all that we do !!!

                                                         Br. Phil Bara. 7-12-11

I ALWAYS GIVE 110 PERCENT -- I'VE NEVER GOT LESS THAN "A+"

So you never got less than A+.  What are you going to do when you get to college and no one, absolutely no one, is going to be impressed.

The Oxymoron of the Age

Ah, that will tend to make you wonder just what it really means to get more than 100% of anything in life.  I have a personal story about the reality of 100% and the reality of its academic equivalent, the "A" grade.  I was in the lower grades of school and I was being pressured at home to get better grades.  I was constantly being asked why I didn't have 100 here and why I had got only 92 there.  At first, I was defensive and angry and frustrated.  Without getting too personal here, I did not particularly appreciate the root of the complaints.  So, one fine day I decided that I would learn what I wanted to learn and if that meant getting lower grades that mr or miss "whoyamaycallum" in the other seats, so be it.  Of course there came a day when a parent of miss ... bragged about her daughter's grades in front of you know who.  Did I ever hear about that! I didn't lose my cool, I didn't get angry.  I kept on living knowing what I knew and convinced that all I had to learn in life was to be safe and secure with my understanding of life.  After a while it became clear to the parents of this young boy that grades didn't matter to him.  It was at that moment when EFR Dion laid down the law:  "You had better never bring home anything less than 100 in Religion and Conduct."  I never did.  That was and still is MY "A+."  Nothing else matters.  If you conquer those two things, in academia and in life, the rest is nothing but a combustible to keep you warm.

I thought that I had conquered that particular enemy until one day I got a rude awakening.  I was teaching theology for a diocese through the Catholic University tied to the diocese.  I had been there as a lecturer for many years. One season, I gave a final grade of "A-" to a person who was bright but who also had some significant weakness in the area of study that concerned me at the time.  It was like I had personally ignited Kilauea and Pinatubo and Fuji all in a 24 hour period.  In four plus years of participating in the theological studies offered in the program, she had never been graded less than "A+."  To stay on the track of keeping this a short paragraph, I was called before the director of the program, in the presence of the "offended" one.  I gave my side of the story.  I told the director that she was free to change the grade.  I also made it clear that it would be an icy day in Hell when I would change the grade.  In closing, I made clear what I thought of supposedly "intelligent" beings who thought that "A+" was a truly existing reality.  Results?  I was never invited to teach there again.  "A+" still gets awarded.  I'm happy because I do not have to walk through their brand of stercus taurorum any more, neither there nor anywhere else.

There is however a negative side to this kind of inflated evaluation of mediocre performance.  We see it all the time.  It is all around us.  We go around granting mercy to those who are far from deserving of it.  We fall into the trap of expecting to find the person who is performing at 110% and in the process we find ourselves accommodating the individual who performs at 80%.  Look around you and you will see what I mean.  Worse still, the performers themselves fall into the trap of thinking that they are indeed performing at a level that exceeds 100%.  It's not realistic.  The other day  was asked to evaluate a customer service rep from a worldwide communications company.  I was asked to remember that the graph was from 1 through 5 and that I was expected to grant "5's" across the board.  I curtly said, you mark "3" in every box and at the bottom, make a note that the executives of the company should listen to the recording of this call.  What I noted in the recording is not really important here.  What is important here is that the mission to help people is more important than the satisfaction that we derive from it.  If we put our personal gratification before our mission to the world, we are performing at a 3, and possibly less.  There is no A+ nor is there a reality greater than 100%.  Get used to it.  If you do, you will have no reason, absolutely none, to cry at my funeral, because funerals are the ultimate proof that when you reach the end, that is the culmination of your 100%.  Great or minor, it is never more nor less than 100%.  We should not be teaching our followers anything different.

DEAD AS A DOORNAIL

Have you ever used this expression? If you did, did you ever ask yourself what a doornail is?  Or was? or used to be? Was it ever a living thing?  If it wasn't living, how could it be dead?  If it wasn't living, how could you compare an "ex-living thing" to something that had never lived in the first place?
There are other sayings that have nails in them, and for those, it is quite easy to figure out the meaning.  For instance, "You just hit the nail on the head."  Then there is the famous, "You just drove the last nail into the coffin."  Easy stuff, right?  A lot easier than "Dead as a  doornail."
You're asking yourself why I got off on to this path. Believe it or not, I lost a good hour's sleep last night with this thing.  I awakened to go to the "biffy" and while there the reality of the "doornail" attacked me.  I then realized that although I had used the expression fairly often on the road of life, I had no idea what a doornail is.  The fact of the matter is that I have seen many doors that look like the one in the picture at the top, but I never realized what the decorative studs were meant to represent.  I never realized that doornails are centuries old.  They were placed in doors to strengthen them and make them more difficult to penetrate.  They were purposely longer than the door was thick so that they would go clear through the door material.  They were then clenched so that they could not be easily removed, thereby making the door safer and stronger.  Now, it should be clear to you all that a clenched doornail is never going to be good for anything ever again...therefore, DEAD.

NOW, you know what I now know.  I did not know it last night.  I repeat, It kept me awake for a good hour.  I have had many nights like this.  Trying to figure things out that were impossible to learn because of the invincible ignorance of the moment.  These days though, I have a computer and I know that in the morning I can educate myself.  It is a good feeling.  Much better than the feeling I used to have when I knew that I was going to have wait until I got to the University before I could ask my Brazilian friend about a language torment that had kept me awake a good part of the night.  I was fortunate enough that the night when I got the news that Jack Kennedy had been shot in a language that I was woefully deficient in at the time, I was close enough to a source who could help me out.  I didn't sleep a wink that night though, not for mental stress but for trying to keep the short wave radio focused on developing news from the United States.  One way or the other, sleepless is sleepless.

AMERICAN SOIL?

AMERICAN SOIL

American soil?  Really?  Where?  Do we know what we're saying?  Sometimes  I wonder.  The language that we use sometimes makes us smile.  Imagine a person from the US government, locked into a stone building in an over-built concrete jungle saying, "We want to know if any of these perversely perfidious acts took place on American soil?"  The humorous element here is that not even a weed could grow where these so-called perfidious acts would  have taken place.  That's language for you.  We say things to make a point, but sometimes someone in the room takes the thought down lanes that the speaker did not intend.  Who among us has not been victimized by the two-edged sword of what is called in French, "double entente?"  Remember the piece entitled "Paraprosdokian?"  Sure you do.  You know where you read stuff like, "War is not so much about who is right, but more about who is left."  So this afternoon as we were driving along the freeway on the way to San Diego, we heard the expression, "American soil."  It made me smile.  I was riding along on 8 inch thick, reinforced concrete through stony hills. I just knew that I had to react to it here.
So, there you have it.  I will now leave you in peace.  I have a date with the Salvation Army, so I had better get some shut-eye.

HEY! HOW YA DOIN'? -- I'M O.K., YOU?

See this fuzzy cartoon character?  Just like the question in the title.  Fuzzy.  Not fuzzy to us, in North America, but fuzzy and mysterious in other parts of the world.  We ask each other this question only because we don't want to stop at a pure "Hello."  It is so ingrained to hear, "OK" that when someone really says the truth, like, "I got this tooth that's killing me" we are caught off guard and all we can come up with is, "Uh, gee, umm, sorry to hear  that."  It's so bad that for the most part we just say "OK" or "Fine" and get it over with.  We then go on our way and the friend leaves because there is nothing else to say.  Now, before you say something innocent like, "We Americans are really weird" please allow me to put you at ease.
France is slightly more complicated.  It goes like this:
9:00 AM  "Bonjour" (Good day) "Bonjour." followed by a handshake...obligatory.
9:01 AM  "Ca va?" (It's all good) "Ca va."
9:01:30 AM "Bien dormi?" (You sleep well?) "Oui, merci." (Yes, thanks)
I have never dared to tell the truth during this exchange.  If I had the least bit of discomfort, I would never declare it because I have no idea how the interlocutor would handle it.  I have to admit that when I first arrived in France, I had to translate the culture of the whole interchange into our abbreviated form.  It was not easy.  It was surprising for me to see the greeter just leave as though nothing had happened.  It seemed to me that such intimate information should lead to something better than an abrupt separation.  But hey, "C'est la vie."
Italy really is different too.  Similar, but more, how shall I say, Italian?
"A, Paolo, buon giorno!" (Hey, Paul, good day)  "Come stai?" (How are you?)
"Bene.  E tu?" (Fine.  And you?)
"Bene, pure.  Hai ben dormito?" (I'm fine too.  Did you sleep well?")
"Si.  Grazie.  E tu?  Buoni Sogni?" (Yes.  You?  Sweet dreams?")
"Si.  Tutto bene, grazie.  Un cafe, Paolo."  (Yes.  All's well, thanks.  How about a coffee, Paul?")
Notice how personal the interchange is, without being intrusive?  After it's all over, we Americans figure that we're never going to get any work done that day.
The Philippines have a rather interesting cultural pattern about greetings.  It is mandatory to greet everyone that you encounter upon first laying eyes on the individual.  "Good morning" (or whatever part of the day it is) is all it takes.  It is also mandatory to take leave upon separation, but this is rarely a separatory blessing, it is just a simple, "I'm leaving now."  It is also mandatory to greet someone with an invitation to eat if that someone happens to appear while you are at table.  We don't do it the same way.  In the Philippines it is a simple "Let's eat."  But remember, it is just a mandatory greeting, not an invitation.  I know.  It took me a little while before I learned the difference between the greeting and the invitation.  So, the next time you burst in on Filipinos while they are eating and they say, "Oh hello, Father.  Let's eat."  Remember that you're supposed to say the equivalent to our American "I'm fine", which is, "No thanks, I just ate."  This not a lie.  It is true that you just ate yesterday.  Just like, we all know that you are fine, but that you'll be better when you get back from the chiropractor.  
I have many vignettes about language culture that I could entertain you with.  A few of them are errors that I made along the road of my short life.  Most of them in public, if you please.  Some in Italy and some in the Philippines, but perhaps the funniest one happened in Tijuana, Mexico.
We were talking to the owner of a landscaping company.  This was a woman in her early 40's, very sharp, very well educated and very business oriented.  I and my assistant were taking her around the property of the manufacturing plant where I was the director of human resources and the outside "environment."  As we were talking about the way to trim and maintain the edges of the property along the bottom of the chain-link fence, I used a word that I imported from another language which I thought meant "edge" or "border."  I saw her face stiffen and relax all in the space of a couple of nano-seconds.  I saw my assistant blush to the point of wilting the nearby flowers.  We all stayed in character for the 15 minutes  that it took for the meeting to come to term.  We shook hands (Mexican women have good handshakes) and parted.  When we (I and the assistant) got to my office, he softly announced that I had used a slang word spoken on street corners to name the male member.  All I could do was to laugh.  Then, I wrote a letter of apology to the lady.  I thanked her for staying cool.  I also pleaded that she continue to speak to me in Spanish during our business encounters.  Which she did, after we finished laughing at my linguistic faux-pas the next time she came to examine the work of her crew.  If I we ever meet again, we will speak Spanish, as usual, but only after revisiting the humorous side of my moment of cultural indecency.

WHAT DID WE DO BEFORE...???

I was at the Holy Mass yesterday, thinking of a bunch of non-spiritual stuff. This was caused by the priest saying something in his sermon that I hadn't reflected on before, even though I had heard the Scripture for more than 65 years.

DO YOUR CHILDREN KNOW THIS GAME?

"Why didn't more boys kill people instead of playing 'Mumbly Peg Baseball with sharp knives all Summer long?"
"Do they still make 'Lil' Red Ryder' B-B guns?"
So, I ask, "Do they still make pen nibs that you have to dip into the bottle?"
Oh, by the way, "Do ball point pens still write underwater?"
I also ask, "Do they still make bicycles with horns and headlights?"
On, yeah, "Why don't they put the shifting lever on the steering post any more?"
"Have we forgotten that tires used to have inner tubes?"
"Why did we have to put only 32 lbs per square inch of air in "fat tired" bicycle wheels and 75 lbs in skinny tired, racing bike wheels?"
"When about 90% of autos have automatic transmissions, why is it still less expensive to buy an auto with a manual, five-speed transmission?"
"When dogs don't mind eating their own vomit, why do people spend big money buying expensive dog food with exotic ingredients?"
"When people profess that all they need to know about God is in the Bible, why do they go to church to listen to someone preach at them from the Bible?"
"Why does the choir leader announce the number of the following hymn when it is clearly displayed on the Hymnal Guide protruding from the wall for all to see?"
"Why do we run for our cell phone when we are looking for our misplaced wallet?"
"Why do we send emails to one another when we are working in the same 15' X 15' area?"
"Why do we complain when we are told to reread e-mails and other documents to check for mistakes?  Is it because we are afraid that we'll run out of carbon paper?"
"Why do we comb our hair after showering just 15 minutes before retiring for the night?"
"Why do we wash bananas, oranges and lemons before eating them?"
"With food so expensive and jobs so scarce, why do we grow grass instead of vegetables?

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

You've all received lists similar to this one in your email.  I sat here and did these all by myself.  I'm telling you, many of this came to me in church and much of it also came to me as we were driving the 90 miles back from San Diego to our home in Moreno Valley.  I hope you enjoy it.  The one about combing your hair after a late night shower has a story to it.  It's actually a GP rated story, but it is too inane for bright people like you.  So, for tonight, "Thh,tthhaaa,  tha, tha, thasss, aaa-aa-aall Folks."

COMPETITION -- ME AGAINST THE WORLD -- ME, IN THE WORLD?

THIS IS NOT JUST HUMOROUS,
IT IS CHALLENGING

Thank you, Doug Savage.  This is a very demanding thought.  The "thought" of competition came to me this morning while listening to the story of how the sons of Jacob had to swallow their pride and their guilt since they had decided to throw themselves at the feet and the mercy of their brother Joseph.  He, whom they had nearly killed, but subsequently saved by selling him to some Egyptian merchants.  He, in turn, saved his whole family from sure death by starvation by using the high position of power and influence that he had attained in Pharaoh's court.  I had to think that he had to be one tough competitor to be a lowly stranger in the land of the highly civilized and rise to a position of authority and power in the capitol. I admire people like that.  I admire people who are starving, yet go to New York to jump-start a career.  It's the thing to do for certain people.  You know, "If you make it here you can make it anywhere."
I remembered Joseph, of course.  I fairly wept when I heard the reader declare the forgiveness with which Joseph covered his brothers.  It got even more emotional when he had them swear an oath that when his prophecy that they would someday be liberated, came to its realization, they were to bring his bones back to the Promised Land so that he could be buried by his ancestor, Abraham.  It is powerful when someone who has won it all doesn't forget where he/she came from.  
I was also thinking of the time when, at the very front edge of my change of careers I was talking to an older friend of mine about my career plans.  I said that I was not really afraid about being jobless for very long since I have a master's degree and speak, read and write four of the popular languages of California.  He was not impressed.  He prophesied that I would soon find out that the world is populated with people with more education, better focused education and who speak read and write seven languages and who have five certificates to prove their value to the world.  The truth of his words was soon slamming head-on into my life.  What a lesson!
I did OK, but I never forgot that prophecy.  How could I forget?  I had to confront its existence in fact, every single day.  
It took a long time, but along the way I discovered that I would win some and loose some, not simply based on cold, hard reality, but helped along by that other little respected, but highly effective reality, politics.  I hate them.  But I also like to eat.  Slowly but surely I came to realize that as difficult as it is, getting into league with the competition can contribute the key to the answer to tomorrow's dilemma.  I didn't learn that in the vast ocean of me vs them, all 5 billion of them.  It was more me, side by side with the strict few immediately below and immediately above.  I learned this from observing the behavior of lawyers in the courtroom, and in the "courtyard" so to speak.  In the courtroom they are locked in "deadly battle," yet they are civil to one another once they cross the threshold and go to lunch.  Go back to the cartoon by Doug Savage and think about it a little bit more.  The lawyers know something that we don't always know and appreciate.  They know that the key to their winning the argument is perhaps to be more clearly revealed to them through the behavior of their direct opponent than through the efforts of their very own labor, both individual and corporate.  This is an extremely counter-intuitive conviction that I have about life.  This is a conviction that I have developed because I came to this conviction by going back to my friend Karl Marx and his philosophy of material dialectics.  It is in the fruit of the tension between the negative and the positive that new manifestations of the truth are born.  The courtroom is the perfect laboratory for this exercise.  I saw it on two occasions from the jury box and at least four other times in the deposition room when I sparred face to face with the claimants' attorneys for hours on end.  There were two of those.  One who taught me how not to be a human being and the other taught me some of the positive lessons illustrated above.
I leave you now with one of my favorite sayings.  It does not come from anyone famous, but from a fondly remembered fiery ice hockey opponent against whom I enjoyed "playing." He used to say, "Competition is good for the soul."  I agree and I respect his insight. I did not cry at his funeral, and he, naturally, will not cry at mine.
...neither should you.

ROUTE 101 -- DISNEYLAND, KNOTTS BERRY, LA & HOLLYWOOD BOWL

Yep.  It was 1956 and we did it all in one day, round trip from San Diego...err, I mean Leucadia, about 30 miles north of the metropolis otherwise known as "America's Finest City."  Don Dion, Ed Dion, Betty Dion, Norm Dion and Paul Dion all in one car.  I forgot what model.  I also forgot what month, but it had to be Summer, some time.  Ed and Don, aficionados of classical music had planned for a long time to attend a concert at the Hollywood Bowl.  As a reference, this marks a spot 125 north of Leucadia.  Also as a matter of reference, Historic Route 101 of "Shoot the Juice to me Bruce" fame, was at it best and widest when it was three lanes.  As the song says, it has big red "stop" signs too.  Remember, the Interstate system was not yet anywhere near completion.  In fact, President Eisenhower had just barely got the idea off the ground.  However, I do remember that there was construction happening east of Route 101.  This construction was to be the road that is now affectionately known as "The 5."  Californians never say "I-5" or "Interstate 5."  We have "The 5", "The 405", "The 8" and so on.  Everything else is just, "the road to..."
I do not know how many of you have ever been to Disneyland.  It really doesn't matter. I guess.  Suffice for me to say that it was new and not quite so big and wide.  But, you'll now that when I say that we spent all of two hours there, you'll feel that we went through the place at break-neck speed.  I have to admit that I do remember "Main Street."  Hey, that's enough for a 1st timer, right?  Now, on to Knotts Berry farm ansd another two hours.  Phew, great place.  Now, up "The 101." There was no "5" yet, remember?  Los Angeles, here we come.  Now this place was really a "downer."  I would never come here just for this place, ever again.  New York, Yes!  LA, Ha!  Years later, EFR Dion finally saw LA and concurred with me.  Hey, New York was HIS city.  He only had one look at LA and that was more than enough.  Me too.  No matter how many times I have been there, I have yet to like the place.  But, we went.  I saw it, and that was all I needed.
We worked our way up north to Hollywood, saw The Sign, visited "Sunset and Vine" as well as "Hollywood and Vine" made famous on the radio shows with which we had become so familiar during our growing years.  Grauman's Chinese Theatre didn't make much of an impression on me, but in later years I took a little shine to it.  From there we wove our way through the streets of Hollywood until we reached, mysteriously, I thought, the Hollywood Bowl.  Before the show began, we bought hot dogs to sustain ourselves.  We had not eaten much, so we really tore into the hot dogs.  Then, to our surprise, we realized that it was Friday.  I, the seminarian of the group, assured them that since we had lost track of time and day, that there was no culpability involved.  We went to our seats and sat for the concert.  What was playing?  I don't remember.  All I remember is that Isaac Stern was the featured soloist that night.  Was he using a Stradivarius?  I don't know that either.  All I know is that we had a loooong drive back to Sa...no, Leucadia.  I am quite sure that the driver did not sleep, but the rest of us did.
That's all I remember.  But somehow I wonder if we could qualify for the Guinness Book of Records for completing such an ambitious schedule in only one day.