DEBT OF GOOD CONSCIENCE

Every U.S. citizen including all newborn babies owe a $46,000 as their share of national debt.   
I suppose that I could really go off the deep end here about the national debt of the United States of America. That is not what my thought is today.  I rarely, if ever think about our national debt.  It gets expressed in numbers so large that they actually mean nothing to me.  It is therefore time for me to introduce you to a cultural form of indebtedness that doesn't get much play here in North America.  It is what I want to translate into English as the Debt  of Good Conscience. I am calling it that from the concept of the debt culture of countries in Asia and other parts of the world.  In the Philippines, the Tagalog culture calls it Utang sa loob.  That is to say, Internal debt (internally known through a sense of gratitude). In the Ilokano culture. It is called Utang a naimbag a nakem.  Good will debt.  I have heard that other cultures have a similar cultural idea of moral indebtedness  but I am not familiar with them, so I will stick to what I know. This is a more complex form of indebtedness than appears on the surface.  There is a part of this debt that can never be repaid.  That which is "owed" to parents, close relatives, siblings and other special people who have participated in the person's upbringing.  There is another level of debt that is generated by the "normal" exchange activities of life.  The relationship to the school teacher, the minister, the employer, the friend's parents and the friend, of course.  This is a debt that can generally be satisfied through the gentile and polite exchanges that take place between people throughout life.  We have a level of this in our culture as well.  We usually call it "social pressure" or "social obligation."  We also catch ourselves saying things like, "I really have to got to this birthday party.  They do so much for us."  As you know, we have a lot of this that goes on in life, but we don't seem to have a good name for it yet.
The highest form of this debt is practically impossible to wipe clean.  Most  often the principals on either side of the debt scale die before the slate can be wiped clean.  In some cultures, the person who leaves a large debt hanging out there is judged to be unworthy of a happy situation in the after life.  Does that sound familiar?  I don't know about you, but I've heard something akin to that in certain circumstances during my life.
Frankly, I more often than not, feel like I have some "debts of good conscience" out there that I will never be able to pay off.  I also, frankly, try to smooth it over by being nice to others in the hope of putting the scales into balance. I hope that somehow that will work.  I have one hanging out there that bugs me a lot.  If I ever get the courage, I'll tell you about it.  who knows, maybe if I publish it on the Internet, a solution might present itself.  Now there's a thought.  I think I will sleep on it first.  It is a nice story, until it gets to the point where I goof.  The more I think of it, the more I know I'm going to tell you about it.  
As far as the USA national debt goes, my suggestion is, forget it.  There's nothing we can do about it anyway.

LASTING MARRIAGE -- NOT LAST MARRIAGE

"HOUSE AND RICHES ARE AN INHERITANCE FROM ONE'S ANCESTORS, BUT AN INSIGHTFUL WIFE IS FROM THE LORD." (Proverbs 19; 14)
The ex-Voice from the Kitchen, now Belle, and I had an interesting experience this evening.  We were at the church where we spend a lot of time.  We sat in on a reflection/instruction about marriage given by a Catholic priest.  You know, the kind of people who don't get married by choice.  They still think that  the have what it takes to make sense when they talk about marriage.  Belle and I are Catholic.  Very Catholic, as a matter of fact.  We do believe that celibate priests have something to contribute to the knowledge base of how to live so that you can be successful at marriage.  This guy didn't do too badly.  I wasn't sitting next to Belle.  I was sitting next to my Puerto Rican colleague from New York.  So you know that she and I had a good time whispering nasty remarks to one another during this whole thing.  Especially when he said that women think that men are so uncomplicated that there is no mystery to them at all.  I leaned over and said, "That's 'cuz we only have one thing on our minds all the time."  She laughed and said, "Even you?"  Wow, and I thought that she knew me.  The guy was kinda cool.  He is an Irish guy originally from Maine.  He is good company away from the Altar too.
I did have a serious thought through this whole event.  I ran it by Miss P.R. and she agreed with me.  I mentioned that when you hear a Catholic priest talk about successful marriage you hear a lot about Love and Law.  Love is the real glue of the relationship.  Since Matrimony is a Sacrament in the Catholic Church, Love is the key element that has to be present to make a marriage successful.  Law is a stand-by reality in case Love and spirituality need something to lean on.   I agree with that, as long as you're not talking about Romantic Love.  Romantic love is fine, but it sure is a roller-coaster ride.  When it comes to identifying the core of successful marriage, I have come to side with the more scientific crowd, usually called psychologists or whatever else.  I think that they have a better take on what the foundation of a successful marriage is.  This includes the Sacrament of Matrimony.  No, it is not because the scientists are married and the priests are not.  In fact, the intellectual product that you hear from these scientists is far from being 100% connected to their own personal situation.  No, no.  Socrates was right when he said that knowing is not the key to morality.  Believe me, I agree with the scientific results of the scientists, but I have to abstract from their personal behavior.  But you knew that already, right?
Anyhow, they say that successful marriage is based on a well constructed mutual understanding relationship.  This well constructed understanding between the spouses serves as the foundation for Love.  It produces deeper love than Romantic Love.  Through understanding, the love that develops is based on intellectual strength rather than on emotional flexibility.  This does not obviate the need for the law, both legislative and moral, but it makes the relationship more stable and more satisfying. Since this is a more comfortable and satisfying state, Romantic Love episodes are also more gratifying and contribute more effectively to the stability of the union.
So, what do you say?  Interesting thought, right?  Say yes.  
I don't disagree with the priests, at least not with those who have some brains and who use them.  I do, however, think that they should incorporate a little more psychological science into their sacramental and moral reflections.  Challenge us a little bit.  Challenge themselves a little bit more too.  
In case you're wondering, I do believe in the Sacramental power of Matrimony.

VALUE vs MEANING

I have experienced a lot of life and a lot of exits from life.  Each exit from from life is different and each one translates the value of the life into a more universal meaning.  Value is defined by observable behavior.  Meaning goes far beyond value.  It penetrates more deeply into the internal life of those who get touched by the life that creates it.  There are many levels of life, and many expressions of it on earth.  The flowers of the fields and the gardens, the birds of the air, the fish in the bowl, the animals who share our living space all have a value.  They also all have the ability to inject meaning into our own human life.  Because these life levels do that,  we appreciate the meaning of human lives that touch us.  We all know that someday we will have to do without the real value of  the lives of our friends and relatives.  We also know that we will carry the meaning of these lives with us until we, in turn reach our limit.
Each life has limits.  The value of each life has limits.  The meaning of each life has limits.  Human life, like any other form of life can only go just so far and just so deep.  We all know that.  We see it in our own lives.  I can use myself as a handy example for that statement.  I have childhood friends whom I have not encountered personally for over 60 years.  Some of them would like to see me again, and vice versa.  Others are glad that they don't have to endure even the faint thought of my existence, and once again, vice versa.  Interesting thing about that feeling...It applies to some people with whom I deal almost every day, too!  The other thing that we all know is that the joy of life is in presence, not absence.  The deepest emotion of joy that comes from life is from its meaning, not from its value.   When we comment about someone that we admire don't we say, "X means a lot to me?"  We don't usually talk about value.  Not me, anyway.  I would find it nasty to say about a friend, "Yeah, she/he is worth a lot to me."
So, like everyone else, George Woodworth, he of revered memory, meant a lot of good things to many people.  He also, just like the rest of us, turned his share of people off.  So, since I represent those who revere the powerfully meaningful good part of  him, let me try to mention some of the more powerful meanings that will continue to survive the life that has finally come to an end.
1. His honesty.  When he loved you, you knew it.  When he didn't, you knew that too.
2. His ability to love deeply and to share it.  George is perhaps the best thing that ever happened to Kyocera.  He fell in love with Mr. Asa Jonishi and many others who held key positions in the company.
3. His ability to appreciate and absorb the culture of the Japanese people and of the corporation itself.
4. His loyalty, to people and to the corporation.
5. His ability and willingness to share his knowledge and life experience without the fear of losing his job to someone who learned from him.
When I came into his life, he took a chance on me.  I was at the threshold of a change in career.  All I had was my culture and my intellect with no work history in the United States.  I had solid educational credentials with a long history of overseas endeavors, including my masters degree from a foreign university.  When I got the chance to interview in front of Mssrs.  Jonishi, Hasegawa, Imamura, Nagai, Shirai, Heath, Woodworth and Umemura, I must have done well because I remember that I did not have to ask anyone, not a one, to repeat a question because of tortuous English pronunciation.
In the interest of full disclosure, I had also received the endorsement from one of George's most respected friends, Jack Swank.  He is the one who asked me, "You're a Catholic priest, isn't it against your religion to be anti-union?"  I laughingly answered that by the time I was ordained everyone knew that I was anti-union and they anointed me anyway.
In the end, I got the job.  I left after about 5 years.  I haven't heard the end of it yet.
There was competition for the position.  I do know that.  But because George was willing to gamble, we worked together well and never ceased being friends.  Our trust in one another and our deep acculturation to the environment was certainly beneficial to Kyocera.
That's it for now.  December 1 is the last "Cumpa."

ALMOST THREE WEEKS LATER -- A CRY FROM THE GRAVE

This day begins the  era of endless silence for a voice that has been supporting me for thirty-four years.  The entire experience of this beginning is marked by the end of an era.  
It all began to come home to me when I decided  that to solve a small language question, I would email a Japanese friend of mine who follows this blog.  When I thought of doing this, I immediately realized that I had not heard from a long time supporter of mine for many days.  This fellow would send me at least 3, many times 5 or 6 emails per day.  They were the usual kinds of emails that people flood the ethersphere with these days.  Some I would open, some I wouldn't.  This pattern of his went on for over two years, so I could recognize the repeaters from the new ones.  So life went on.  When I thought of my Japanese friend, who also happens to be close to the emailing friend, I sent an email to the Emailer and said, "if you need help, tell me."  Then I emailed the fellow in Japan.  After that, since my curiosity was getting the better of me, I researched my email to see exactly how long it had been since the last email I had received from the once forgotten, now remembered emailing friend.  It turned up to be November 8.  Nearly three weeks.  I went about my business and kept checking my email to see what would happen.  Early this morning, it happened.  The mutual friend from Japan told me that George had died two days before.  
Now this is really the negative side of life in the fast lane.  A person who is present in my life every single day of the week, through more than one or two "pings" a day, disappears for 17 days and I don't notice the absence.  It is but through a coincidental mental connection that I even had the faint inkling of an irregularity.  It reminded me of when I shaved off the beard that I had carried for over one year.  It took a week before the first person made a remark about the fact that I was now clean shaven.  One week!  It is like information overload.  Or is it like an environmental habit, such as a "favorite" shrub that gets cut down from next to the main entry to your home and it takes a week or more to realize that there is a "hole" where the shrub used to be.  But this is a human friend.  Not just any, ordinary friend.  Read on...
I finally got some contact information.  His telephone number reached me.  I immediately called and the wife answered the telephone.  She had been seeking me for the entire three days.  She even went the fifteen miles to where she knew that I once lived full time.  She knows that my son lives there.  She got there, saw his vehicle in the driveway.  Knocked on the door a lot and got no response.  She finally went back home and found someone who could manage her husband's computer and was able to send me the telephone number by email.  We spoke for about an hour.  
Email is what you make of it.  It can be mechanical and it can be personal.  A continuous flow of it from the same source can become "white noise."  Like the stream behind your country home.  Or like the car radio that is on but not communicating because there are too many other claims on the driver's attention.  That's what happened to me.  It is too bad that the "Endless Silence" started early because my senses were someplace else.  

CUTE, CUTE CROWD CONTROL, NO HALBERD, but...

I was talking with a missionary priest this evening and we mentioned Vatican city in our conversation.  It made me think of a run-in that I and some friends had with the Swiss Guard.  I have to tell you that the only pleasant thing about the entire episode is the telling of it.  It was not caused because we were perceived as a threat to the Pope's security.  It was caused by the fact that we had taken advantage of a crowd crush and went for a stroll behind St. Peter's Basilica and were making our way to the gardens.  Of course we never made it.  Because it was a festive occasion, the guard was decked out in the ceremonial uniform that you see here.   Most often, on weekdays, the uniform is a dull, bluish grey.  When they are in their work-a-day bluish greys they lose their boyish, sweetie-pie aspect and look just like the tough New York, no nonsense street patrol.  The baby faced crowd-control patsy shown above is very noticeably armed with a well honed, very pointy sword.  He knows that you know that he knows how to use it.  So, that's why he can be polite, even downright charming.  Pose with you for pictures, say a few words in well formed English syllables and then move on to the next cluster.

We got stopped by one of the gate guards whom we thought we had snookered.  When his partner returned to the gate after a snooping round, our man came to greet us, yes, halberd in hand.  The business end stayed up and away from the line of sight, but the shaft running down alongside his pretty knicker uniform pants, gently resting on the ground said all we had to know.  The business end of his person was drilling holes through us.  The fierce blue eyes in this guy spoke the only language we had to know.  He was so polite, respectful, speaking softly but firmly in Italian, powdered lightly with a Frenchy accent.  We feigned ignorance.  He gently tried French.  Blank.  Feigned, of course.  He smiled.  Shifted his feet. Sharpened his eyes.  Returned to Italian.  "Reverends, this is not a joke.  You are leaving now, and I will follow you to the perimeter."  He moved aside, halberd still up, thank God.  As we passed before him, we muttered deeply felt "Thank you's" [in Italian, of course] and walked with purposefulness to the neutral zone.  When we got to the end of the line, he said, "Reverend Fathers, do not play games with the Swiss Guard."  In really, really nice English.  We all laughed nervously while he and his partner were victoriously smiling.


If you are ever in Vatican City, enjoy the sight of the uniforms.  Do not be fooled by them.  They are covering a small but tough and dedicated army that serves the Kingdom of God.  Death in the line of duty would be a reward for them.  They are Swiss, but in Vatican City they are more than Swiss, they are Catholic, they are tough and they are fearless.
The photo on the right is what they look like most of the time.

I AIN'T HAD A THOUGHT NOW FER 24 'OWARS

Za matter a fack, I think if'n I had one, I cain't 'member it no how.
If anybody talks like that, it shore as shootin' ain't me.
An' if anybody talks like that, t'ain't no way 't kin be me neither.
Now, that might sound like an exaggeration, but somewhere out there is a person or two who can communicate in that style.  The only place I have even come close to that kind of communication in English is in the movies.  I do have to say that I did come across the close relative of that kind of  speech in France.  The interesting part of that experience is that I could understand it and my French colleagues could not.  There are some things that surpass the boundaries of our world.  Here are a couple of examples.
This is a direct quote from a comment on the "365..."
How about "bakero"? Ask your Japanese friend what it means if you do not know. Heeeee.
My comment back was, "Why would I ask a Japanese the meaning of a Spanish word?"
She writes back, "Are you completely sure?  The Japanese used to say that on Palau all the time."
Sure looks to me like I have to get some help from that linguist PhD again. I'm sure he'll say something smokin' smart like, "It's a mystery to me, Bubba."  Ouch!  Smile, Kevin.  'F'ya don't treat me good, I won't babysit ya no more."  
On a more serious note, I decided that I would, in fact, send an email to my blogging Japanese friend and ask him if he can help with this expression as used by the Japanese soldiers during the occupation of Palau.  I mentioned to my friend from Palau that the Japanese had perhaps heard it in Portuguese occupied Macao and were using it as an insult against the locals on Palau.  This kind of stuff happens.  
I promise that I will let you know what I find out about this.  I just know that you are all fidgeting with frenetic anxiety about  this intriguing reality.
Finally, I have to tell you that in thinking of the Japanese, I  thought of my dear friend G. Woodworth.  I haven't heard from him in nearly three weeks and I used to get at least five emails from him every day.  He's not Japanese, and it's a long story.  Someday, if you behave, I'll recount it to you.  For now, do me a favor and hold your breath.  OK?
Thanks.

THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING, .99c STORE BLACK FRIDAY

Some things that caused me to have some thoughts today.
1. I was bitten by the "clean up your car" bug.  So, out came the vacuum cleaner and the "Crack reacher attachment" and I got to work.  Man, was I ever doing great.  Things got interesting when I go to the trunk.  It was there that I discovered that I didn't have a jack in the trunk!   What?  No Jack!  Where is it?  I can't believe this.  When, in the last seven years did the jack leave the car?  Holy Moley!  That's the bad part.  The good part is that I had two jacks in storage in the shed.  I found the one that was for a car like the one I have and my problem was solved.  Sweeeet!
2. I was also attacked by the fix your garden hose bug.  That was rather easy until I discovered that someone had "touched" my spare parts drawer.  Grrr...  When the boys were young and growing up this really used to get me bunched up in the system.  Today was frustrating because there was no 12 year old youngster around to blame and to jack up [pun intended] my blood pressure.  It took some shuffling around, but I did locate the parts I needed and got the job done.  Super efficiently too, 30 minutes for a ten minute project.

3. The find of the day, pictured here.  While being conquered by the "sweep the Patio" virus, I moved a cardboard box under the bench near the south wall and it had something inside it that clinked.  Hmmm... Naturally, being a curious young dude, I opened the box and much to my surprise I discovered some San Miguel Beer.  Twelve bottles.  Two of them had the clamp-on top of the one on the left.  They were both empty.  The others with the more traditional metal crimped cap still were full.  Upon closer examination I determined that these bottles were in fact direct products of the Philippines and did not have provenance from the United States.  It had to be that a relative or a friend had sneaked them into this country from Manila, all the way back in 1990.  This was the year of the centennial of the existence of the world famous brewery whose home is Manila, Philippines.  The broken label on the neck of the special bottle on the left has the "100" written on it and served as a seal of authenticity during the year of the anniversary and was not exported as such.  The bottle on the right was produced entirely in the Philippines as is clear by the part of the label that cannot be seen in this photo.  The celebratory label with the crowned "100" and the flag waving over it is a sign of when the product came to be.  So, see, it was quite a day.  THEN...
4. I didn't have my camera with me because it was after sundown and I never expected to see anything worthy of my photographical expression.  I had gone to Home Depot and was returning when I saw the store-front of the $0.99 outlet emblazoned with huge lettering "SUPER SALE"
Now, boys and girls, we know that  the global economy is in the tank and just mightily squirming, trying to get out.  If I get the opportunity, I'll stop by there and squint around trying to see just what that means.  I can't help but wonder what the impact on the hard working third world peons will be.  Who knows?  They are perhaps so poor that they have nothing more to lose.

That's it.  My "Black Friday" was a fun day.  I also had the blessing of a nice two hour nap.  A luxury in my life.  
Besides all that, because I am publishing this while the clock is still on the 11/25/2011 side of 12, my electronic accountant is going to credit this production toward the 365.  And that's OK. what the Hay, this coming year I get an extra day to do the same amount of work.  God is good!

IT'S THANKSGIVING -- HEY, TEXT AND DRIVE

I had to put this up the moment I saw it.  It is perfect for the heaviest driving season of the year.  I and my wife once drove through the San Joaquin Valley in Central California at the breakneck stop and go speed of 10 miles per hour.  Yes, boys and girls, 300+ miles on the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  This cartoon is so rich.  Enjoy it.
x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x
Now, this is the hour when the "Bell Tolls."  It is exactly one year since the very first post of this blog came into existence.  It continues.  Different title, same intent.  To keep me thinking and helping you to do the same.  My computer says that this is the 365th post for the blog.  The calendar says that it is November 25, 2011 and that completes a 365 day year.  However, for technical reasons I get credit for fulfilling the quota, but for actual readership purposes, the number is only 363.  So, now that you know that I am a complete failure, you must be saying, "Why continue?"  That's an easy one.  I still have a lot to say.  I still have something different enough just about every day to keep you interested.  I still have enough autobiography left for my children to discover that I have to continue.  I have some plans for future "Thoughts" that will serve to rattle your cages a little bit as well.  Since I am fond of cage rattling, I can't stop this while I'm planning so much fun.
Let me kick this off with one that happened today.


When is the last time you had a "silent discussion" with your spouse?  Mine was today.  It was short.  There was no "winner."  It makes for good telling.
We're going to the Thanksgiving dinner.  We get off the highway, go toward the bottom of the ramp and see, off to the left, a tall, thin, mustachioed mendicant.  Immediately Belle [I am honoring her request to stop referring to  her as the "Voice from the Kitchen.] says, "Do you have something for him?"
I saw two things that did not resonate with her. 1* The light was about to turn in my favor.  2* The man had a small dog on a leash.
My retort: "If he can afford to feed his dog, he doesn't need my money.  After he eats his dog, I'll contribute."  SILENCE.  Oh yeah.  It lasted about five minutes.  It ended in a nice, concessionary tone expressing sympathy for our ailing #2 son that we had to leave at home.  During the silence, I could hear her disagreeing with me, but I think she had also come to the factual observation that by the time we had reached his position by the side of the road the light was green.  So an eleemosynary act under those conditions would have been inappropriate at best and stupid, at worst.  So, in the end, it makes for a cute story with a happy ending.  Besides, I'll make it up to God by doubling the next one.
A good start to the new batch of "365 Thoughts."
Have fun.

THANKS TO THE ENGLISH FOR...

While I was in church this morning, I had a bunch of  Brit/USA thoughts flit across  my mental horizon.  Somehow I wonder why the English get so much of our attention.  After all, they were not the first to the party.  But they sure stole the show, didn't they?  Right out of the gate they have the largest, oldest operating company on the North American continent (Hudson's Bay Trading).  They aren't even the first Christians to make it here.  Not even the first missionaries.  Just as they were behind Raul Amundsen to the  South Pole, they were behind Leif Erickson to North America.  Perhaps, thankfully for them, Leif was more interested in the fish than in the land.  Or maybe he had a solid home life, who knows?  Then, of course, the Spaniards claimed the sunny south.  Their predilection for warm weather must have had something to do with the way the flags were planted.  The Portuguese were in on the game too, but no one could tell them apart from the Spaniards except for the fact that their language was so sloppy, that no one could understand them.  It is possible that they made friends in Brazil because of their delivery of cheap labor from Africa.  So, with all of this spinning round and round in my coconut, I came home and found a little boy in a shirt that was printed with an image close to the one at the head of this piece.  It's then that the following happened:
Dear English, thanks for the pretty color scheme for our own flag.
                             Thanks for letting us borrow and remake your language.
                             Thanks for being more interested in Canada than in US.
                             Thanks for disliking the French more than US.
                             Thanks for exiling the best cooks to Louisiana.
                             Thanks for wearing those nice, bright red unis to Concord.
I have told you once before that I worked for a British Company for a couple years.  Some of them have a sense of humor about "losing" the "States" and some do not.  No matter who they are, they do enjoy the days off.  They also like to claim Thanksgiving as their gift to us.  That, dear friends is a story for a different blog and a different time.  Be that as it may, I do hope you are having a blessed Thanksgiving episode this year.

THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS -- GOBBLE, GOBBLE

THE NATIONAL BIRD OF THE USA

Do you know why I put that caption there?  Give it a thought.  You must know that before the Bald Eagle was declared, by an act of congress to be the national bird, there had to be a discussion, right?  The guys in Washington had to debate the question right?  So, come on, you do agree with me that one of the candidates for the honor had to be the Wild Turkey, do you not?  Maybe someone knows, but unless we go back to the acts of Congress of the early 1780's, we won't really know.  What we do know is that Benjamin Franklin wrote a letter to his daughter deriding congress and its decision to choose the Bald Eagle over the Wild Turkey.  Was he ever in on the discussion?  We do not know.  Is this a serious letter or a tongue-in-cheek bush beater?  We don't know that either.  So, the Bald Eagle it is and my national bird remains:

Now, a moment of autobiographical revelation.  Turkey was rarely, if ever, the center piece of the Thanksgiving celebration on 1 Hartford Street.  We had a huge pot of stew made of  meat balls, pigs' hocks and thickened with a generous amount of burnt wheat flower.  The technical, scientific name for this delicacy is "Ragou au Pates de Cochon."  It is the one meal that MJT Dion did and her pre-eminence in the art of its preparation was never challenged by anyone else.  This stew, perhaps a cousin of  Acadian Gumbo, has not graced our table for nigh on to 27+ years, as follows:

It was a year when Edward Dion, who was suffering from Alzheimer's Syndrome had occasional outbursts of clarity.  MJT decided to fight her agora phobia to come to Southern California accompanied by her grand-daughter Lisa, just for Thanksgiving.  It was a foregone conclusion that the STEW was the fare of the day.  We all put in our time for the meticulous preparation.  The crowning moment was when Ed arrived and saw "Mina", he smiled, got happily agitated and for about ten minutes stayed close to "Mina" though he could not speak.  She too was speechless, but from emotion.  It was a marvelous celebration.  I will never forget it, and I'll bet that if you ask Lisa about it, she just made get a little weepy for a moment too.

Since then, we have turkey and bunch of other stuff.  We are a mixed culture household [always have been, only now it's more Asian than Canadian], so there are a lot of varied expressions of the celebration.  Except for one.  It is always a religious occasion for us.  I could get Theological and Biblical here, but let's just say, that if Thanksgiving is to be true to its nature, it has to take the Creator and the Father and the Son and the Spirit seriously in the expression of gratitude.  Even if you start with the centuries old tradition of harvest festivals, we are convinced that you have to place God at the head of the event.  Therefore, no matter what your position about Thanksgiving is, please remember, for at least one instant, that it goes beyond the turkey to God.  That, my friends, is my thought for the day.

WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO BE WHEN I GROW UP?

This is not the way I wanted this "Thought" to start.  When I was looking for a theme "tag", I saw this and I knew that I should have thought of it 30 years ago.  So I have been trying to turn my body mechanics around a bit so that I can get my right foot to plant a swift and fast retributionary pain into my glutii maximi before I continue with this piece.  Especially since I knew then, [30 years ago, I mean] what the right answer to the child's question was, is and always will be, and I didn't put it out there for my son to use it.  Yuk!  I'll tell you why I should have been more alert at the end of the "paper."

I was about six or seven, I guess when one day I asked MJT Dion what she wanted me to be when I grew up.  She simply said, "That's up to you.  I'll never tell you what I want you to be."  Well, that was disappointing.  I didn't think of getting back to her 40 years later to repeat the question.  After all, I was somewhat older, though, like all boys, not yet grown up.  But, Hey, I forgot and never did get around to it.  In fact what I did do was to ask EFR Dion the same question when he appeared from work on the same day.  Boy, was I ever in for a shock.  He said, <your mother and I have promised ourselves that we would support you to become anything you want to be, as long as it is good.>  Just one minute here.  You mean that you and she actually have a strategy?  Sheeesh!  I can't begin to tell you how many nights I twisted and turned over that one.  Remember now, I wasn't even eight years old yet.  I don't know how old I was , but I sure know that I was not yet 8.  
It was the Sunday after the fateful day [I really remember this] when we were sitting around the "parlor" [sitting room, you know] reading the "Funny Papers" and everyone was there.  I asked if it was permitted to us to ask for advice about what to do with our lives.  The two adults looked at one another, I think they felt embarrassed, and they joined in to assure all of us that we could feel comfortable to ask them what we wanted and that they would help us.  You are reading this, shaking your head and not believing what you are seeing in your head.  But it is true.  Also, it did make me feel better.


Thirty plus years later.  Number one son, he who lived the first five days of his extra-uterine life without a name, asked me the fateful question: "What do you want me to be when I grow up?"  He had to think that he was in trouble or something because it took a few seconds while I enjoyed my life flashing before my eyes before I could answer.
"I want you to be a kind and honest man."  
"No, I mean, what do you want me to do, like work?"
"It doesn't matter to me, as long as you are kind and honest."
"What about Mama?"
"She thinks the same way."
"Really?"
"Yes, dear."
"Can I ask her?"
Now picture John Alden <standing first on on foot and then the other, and not knowing on which one he felt the better.> [Longfellow, Miles Standish]
"Of course."
I continue my chore, tremblingly, to be sure, in the conviction that I was now going to  have a series of miserable  nights, like those of yesteryear.
I should have relaxed.  The Voice of the Kitchen and I had had the "talk" long before the "question."  
My son has never commented on this.  He has asked for guidance, fully knowing that the spiritual part of his life was to come first in anything that he did, or was.


We had prepared ourselves for this moment because we are aware of the cultural differences that exist in our lives.  It has worked out well.  We think.


Now, about the ANSWER.  When my son asked me the "question" I knew the answer, but it didn't impose itself on my brain at the time.  The mother in the picture above has the right answer.  Be happy.  The goal of everybody is to be happy.  I learned that in my very first class in Philosophy 101.  The goal of every human being is to be happy.  How could I miss that?  I went to school from age 5 years and 9 months through age 28 and 3 months and I failed the easiest test question that I ever got.  Talk about Dunce, with a capital "D"!
Of course, I could talk to you for another year explaining what that "Be Happy" means, but just let me suggest that you stand in front of the mirror and talk it over with yourself for a while.  It will be less boring that way.

BREAKFAST(S) OF MEMORIES

When I was a boy.
When I was Papa.

When I wake up now.

I remember Pablum left over from my baby siblings.
I remember Quaker Oats.
I remember buttered slices of toasted bread.  Dreikorn's it was mostly.  The local bakery, of course.
I remember Allard's milk.
I remember the milk man, too.  Leo Durand.  A kind of distant relative, he was.
I remember listening to the adventures of the Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers and Gene Autry.  That's where I got to know about Hot Ralston, Wheaties, Kellog's Corn flakes, Shredded Wheat, Cheerios.
Actually,some of the above entered my life through the Shadow, The Green Hornet, Dick Tracy and the Texas Rangers.
I remember buckwheat crepes with real maple syrup.
I also remember Aunt Jemima pancakes with real maple syrup.
I remember fried eggs and bacon with toasted bread.
I also remember that we did not own a pop-up toaster.
I remember Easter Sunday breakfasts with fried ham slices, fried eggs and fried potato slices.
I remember that strawberry preserves were rare.  Welch's Grape Jelly was the daily, and it seemed, forever fare.
I remember that breakfast was ALWAYS eaten at home.

I remember Italian breakfasts.  Fresh bread ["buns" I guess you could call them], simple local cheese and coffee.
This lasted for four years.

I remember Filipino breakfasts.
Dried, salted fish, rice and coffee.
Some fresh bread [Pandesal], butter, preserves and coffee.
Fresh avocado with calamandin and coffee.
Fresh papaya [yellow or pink] with calamandin and coffee.
Sausage, rice and coffee.
Calamandin is a small, lime-like, soft peeled citrus fruit, sour.

I remember when I was Papa breakfasts.
Sausage, rice and coffee.  Quaker oats for the sons.
Toasted bread, peanut butter, strawberry preserves and coffee.  Milk.
Quaker oats all around, coffee for me.
Sunday morning breakfast nook time after Mass.  Great stuff.
Great coffee.

Breakfast now.
Anything edible that I don't have to cook and coffee.
Anti hypertension drugs.  Coffee
Anti gout drugs.  Coffee
Salmon oil capsule.  Coffee

This is almost my entire life.
See how simple it is to be happy.
See how simple it is to live long.
All it takes is COFFEE.

MYSTERY OF LANGUAGE AND MUSIC

 I did this because I was thinking about the mystery of language and music the other day.  It's not a big mystery, I guess, but I do think about it now and then.  I wonder if there is a language technician somewhere in the world that I am going to meet one day.  During our conversation, that individual will be able to take the mystery about which I am going to write, out of my life.  During our conversation, the mystery will be turned into complete intellectual understanding.
Consider the different sounds of languages.  Consider that there are languages with practically no hills and valleys in their accentuation.  These are the languages where you can never put the accent on the wrong syllable.  Then there are languages where the accents add a lot to the meaning of the words spoken.  There are languages that have a lot of twisted tongue involvement.  Some have accents and tones too.  Some need to have the speaker put some throat stops into the sections of certain words.  I suppose I could go on, but I trust  that by now you get the point.  It is an introduction to the mystery of language and music.  It struck me the other day that although there are some languages that to some people may sound strange, and even unpleasant to hear, some languages come across as fluid and pleasant to the ear.  Even to the person to whom they mean absolutely nothing.  Now, after all that, I ask, <Why is it that every language has the ability to produce sweet music?>  Good grief, even the German language has sweet music, much of it admired internationally.  We've all heard the famous World War II bar song about Lily Marlene, right?  Oh, and by the way there is also a very sweet bar song that came out of Japan during that self-same war.  What about the famous Tagalog song, Dahil Sa iyo [Because of You].  What about Olivia Newton John?  Or the Beatles? Or Tom Jones?  Did you ever hear them speak during an interview?  What happens to their Cockney when they sing?  What about Celine Dion, my almost relative?  Or, for those of you old enough to remember, what about Maurice Chevalier?  
You all know that there has to be a mystery there somewhere.  It struck me the other night because I was listening to the National Public Radio station and the featured music was Norwegian love songs.  I was blown away.  Such sweetness!  I couldn't understand a word, but I was floating in air.  It struck me then that I would perhaps never understand what was happening, but as long as it was so beautiful, I would continue believing in it.
That's the way it is with mysteries.  As long as you enjoy them, you don't have to understand them.  We are surrounded by many such realities.  Some we embrace, some we reject.  Some attract us because of their ability to draw us into thinking that we would unlock them someday.  Some draw us to them because we like them just for what they are.  We feel no need to understand them as long as we can continue to enjoy them.  One way or the other, and maybe some more in between, I think that it is a good thing that I don't understand every little and big thing that accompanies me through life.  Not only would that make it impossible for you to live with me, it would be impossible for ME to live with ME.  Now that you know that about me, you have no reason to cry at my funeral.  If you did, THAT would be a mystery.

WORD ASSOCIATION GAME -- REALLY

CLICK HERE FOR PAUL'S REACTIONS

Here's what happened to me today.  I was driving back to our residence from visiting our relatives in a city 90 miles away.  The radio was transmitting "Prairie Home Companion" with Garrison Keillor.  In a very short time this program succeeded in getting somnolence to attack the Voice from the Kitchen and Garrison Keillor ruled the cabin for the next 60 or 70 minutes.  Along the way, I got this silly game going inside my head that surprised me because it didn't seem to have been triggered by anything that Guy Noir was doing to solve his case.
So here it is.  I would think of a country and then say the first, or only, person's name that crossed my mind right after becoming explicit about the country I was naming.  So, I am inviting you to have some fun with me.
When I arrived home, I listed the countries that I had "named" in my head and the name of  the first person who claimed the cranial space.  Then I would do the same for the first country that came to mind, in perfectly spontaneous and serendipital order.  I will give you the list of the countries in the order that I wrote them down.  This too was a rather "stream of consciousness" exercise.  If you want to play, just do what I did.  If no one pops up, don't sweat it, just move on to the next one.  The first point of interest is to see how many you can get.  The second point of interest is to see how many of  yours will duplicate mine.  Finally, you will know some that I didn't think of, so you can add them and send them to me for my enjoyment.  You will find my "associations" by either clicking here or on the link below the map at the head of this post.  Ready?  Get set.  Go....
USA
CANADA
ARGENTINA
VENEZUELA
ITALY
FRANCE
ENGLAND
HOLLAND
SWITZERLAND
GERMANY
NORWAY
CHINA
JAPAN
SINGAPORE
TURKEY
IRAQ
EGYPT
KOREA
AUSTRIA
AUSTRALIA
PHILIPPINES
EL SALVADOR
NICARAGUA
MEXICO
HAITI
SOUTH AFRICA
INDIA
SPAIN
POLAND
PORTUGAL

MEMORIES -- 4 E V E R -- NO COMPETITION

THREE THINGS PICTURED HERE THAT WILL NEVER, EVER BE FORGOTTEN.

This is the first one.  I laid eyes on this picture yesterday.  It happened to be on the front page of section "C" of the Press-Enterprise, local paper of the Inland Empire region of  Los Angeles.  When I saw it I immediately exclaimed, "Wow, that's a ... "  Now there are some of you in the audience who should be having the exact same reaction.  You should know that this is a model that was first built in the 1930's.  It has a long and illustrious history.  After you have dusted off your memory and are still a little curious about the details, click here and enjoy yourself.

Now there are many of you who look at the picture on the left and immediately say, "Hey, ain't that a sweet 1955 Chevy?"  It sure is.  I remember that EFR Dion nearly bought one of those. A bright red convertible.  The dealership was just next door to the Hudson dealership and the staid and well put together boss of the universe was feeling some testosterone stirring around when he laid eyes on that baby.  I was there by his side when he was thinking it over.  Needless to say, I was all for a Chevy over a Hudson.  As all my siblings know, the bright red Chevy convertible went to someone else and the Hudson from next door came home with us.  Still, look at that sweetheart.  Admit it, you'd love to have it.  I know I do.

This third piece of Americana is one that had a home in the breast pocket of EFR Dion for as long as he was able to afford a fountain pen.  [Extra fine nib] Everyone of you of a certain age can recognize this admirable writing instrument.  It is from a time when you either wrote with a pencil or with a pen.  If you were an active manager or salesman, you had to have a pen that carried its own ink in a bladder.  If you were a desk jockey [not a part of the language back then] you had a sleek, elongated pen that sat arrogantly on your desk.  It was for your signature and the signature of the executive who was agreeing to a  $100,000.00 deal.  It was not there for the doodling of the hoi polloi.  I nearly forgot.  How many of you know what brand this is?  The brand did not have to write its name anywhere on the outside of the instrument.  The white dot said it all.  Still does, as a matter of fact.
I hope you enjoyed this.  Next time, you're gonna need two, yep, two, ears.

WORK AT HOME SCAMS -- TODAY'S TERM

Go to Home Income System, and fill out the basic form to get instant activation.  They are still giving over a 75% Discount.
Go to XXX, fill out the basic form and we will provide the training and materials you need.  Take advantage of our 35% Discount.
Go to YYY, fill out the basic form and give us the name of three of your friends who are in need of work and will teach you how to get them up and running.
Need to make your body better?  Want to turn yourself from a 98 pound wimp to a 160 pound Adonis?  We can get you there in 90 days.  Fill out the basic form, follow the directions and we'll do the rest.  
z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z/z
If these words seem familiar to many of you, it is because you read them on the back covers of magazines that you found either in your own home or at the homes of your friends.  This is one of those human situations that proves the saying, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."  There is always someone trying to get into your pocket.  More than that, there is always someone whose able to make you feel good about having let him into your pocket.  One of the funnier characterizations of this is the comedy scene where it is shown that the Indians had allowed the snake oil salesman into the camp.  The scene shows how the Indians outwit the salesman through the interpreter.  You know, when the salesman says three words in English and the interpreter carries on for three minutes.  The silly end is that the salesman buys the ploy and loses everything to the Native Americans.  The present situation resembles the humorous scene just described.  
Believe it or not, the old scheme of promising large income to anyone who wants to apply the secret way of doing business at home is alive and very well.  The ad goes on and on for column after column, page after page on the Internet.  At the end all you have to do is to send the insignificant sum of $15.00 to acquire the secret and access to someone who can help clarify it for you.  Come on!  I am not 300 years old, but I have caught in to this one.  I confess that that I fell for it once.  I forget what it was all about, but I do remember sending $5.00 for the secret.  That will tell you how long ago it was.  But going forth...I received a large, well decorated envelope [9 x 12, brown], and fully stuffed with a Santa Claus middle.  I ran into the house with visions of $ dancing in my head.  What a blow to my ego!  All it contained was a wad of newspaper pages with pictures of smiling "successful" people saying how many $ they made every week.  Then, there were about five pages stapled together telling the recipient how to get others to get the secret instructions.  All of this carefully worded so that the real bottom line slowly crept up on you.  The same holds true for the Internet "snake oil" purveyors of today.  I know this because I spend a lot of time on the Internet looking for telecommuting work.  Boy, what a snake pit!
Finally, here is the punch line.  This is the site you've been looking for.  43,000 job openings in Moreno Valley.  Talk about Stercus Taurorum.  There are only 500,000 people in Moreno Valley.  I have to tell you that Moreno Valley is doing very well with jobs.  All kinds.  The greatest number is in the medical field.  Kaiser is expanding and there is a Medical Care Park being constructed in one of the many wide open spaces of the city.  Patently, there are not 43,000 openings.  There are however a lot of area training "schools" ready, willing and able to take government money in the form of a student loan from you, to prepare you for those jobs.  So, the wheel keeps turning, and the more it goes around the more it comes back around. Beware, it could make for excellent conversation fodder for your wacky Uncle Shatterdipicous on Thanksgiving.

GOOD & EVIL ---

At least one of you knows which is which

The other night we were in a situation where the topic up for discussion was prayer.  Along the way, toward the end of the session, the problem of evil in the world came up.  The all pervasive presence of evil in the world was the provocative attitude of the moment.  Yes, the Devil is the one who runs the world and we don't have much chance of winning, or at least that is what it seems like.  I don't have to tell you that I have had a thought or two about this over the years.  You don't have to tell me that you too have had a thought or two about the same topic.  Because it is such a common thought and a common topic I decided that I would make it a little interesting and a little lighter than what it can turn out to be when it happens over the Thanksgiving table when Uncle Shatterdipicous [Nasty Greek] brings it up.  So, here we go.
One of the problems we have with Good and Evil is that we sometimes have a hard time telling them apart.  That's why I got the bright idea to put up the Kanji symbols for the two.  Now, except for my Japanese friends, I doubt that any of you know which is which.  Which is the point.  There is Good that we know is Good and there is Evil that we know is Evil.  We sit here thinking that if it were always that easy, life would be smoother.  Ha!  Think again.  Most of you adults know that sometimes the sweetness of the evil is mighty inviting.  C'mon, admit it.  I'm going to leave that one alone.  After all, I don't want to get too graphic.  I still have to have a good enough conscience to be able to sleep tonight.
Now, what about when Good and Evil look exactly the same?  It happens all the time.  We know a lot of goods and evils that serve two purposes.  What about certain insects that are harmful to us but also help to keep our world in balance?  [All except for mosquitoes]  How about the plant that you love to have in your house, except when you have a child who may be tempted to put some of it in his mouth and die?  How about fire?  How about the Sun?  How about our fellow humans?  How about that essential being, water?  Now, water is an interesting one.  Water can be its own enemy.  Did you ever think of that?  Every time you go for a swim, just remember that you are using the nature of water against the water itself.  If only we could do that for all the evils that we encounter.  Wouldn't it be nice?
Finally, I got riled the other night because the topic was naming our times as so evil that there could never have been any time worse.  The devil is getting the upper hand.  Now listen, I'm an old man.  I know that there is a lot of evil in the world.  I also know that it's not a newcomer.  If you want to see some evil, read your history book.  If you've thrown your history book away, read the Bible.  You'll see that they had short-changers, slave drivers, murderers, rapists, whores, rustlers, religious sex under the altar, for money, of course,  the selling of war prisoners to the allies to use in wars away from home, gambling, drinking, gerrymandering and watering the tavern wine.  I could go on, but I won't, it only continues.  It gets more common because the population grows, but nothing changes, except that as humans get smarter they find slicker ways to get it done.
There were some champions of the Good in the room too.  It is also true that we human beings have come a long way on the good side.  We still live the commandments to take care of one another.  We have better medicine, better transportation, better communications, better education, better understanding of language, better engineering, better food to balance our diet.  What about Doctors without Borders; Amnesty International;  Habitat for Humanity;  National Association of Free Clinics;  Salvation Army;  St. Vincent de Paul;  Non-Profit hospitals and schools;  Non-Profit special housing cooperatives;  non-profit rehabilitation centers, Monasteries...I could go on and on,  but I will finish by reminding all the pessimists in the room of the helping reaction that occurs in times of natural calamities.  
The existence of Good and Evil side by side in the world, starts with the ability that we humans have of choosing ourselves over everything else.  It's easy to say, but the complications that this simple reality causes are enormous.  So outlandishly enormous that even Uncle Shatterdipicous can't bring them back to size...certainly not at Thanksgiving Dinner.


OK, you win.  The "Good" is on your left.  The "Evil" is the other one, on your right.

THE BAT AND THE MUSIC

I had quite an experience the other day.  There is something about me that may or may not come as a surprise.  I am an amateur (lover) of classical music.  Now that I have said that and you're looking at the picture, there are some of you who know what is coming next...almost.
I was driving along with the radio tuned to the classical music station.  The introduction to the next piece was Die Fledermaus.  My face broke into a smile because I like this piece.  I did not expect the emotional response that followed.  As the music worked its way onto the car, I became overcome by the  meaning of the rhythm and my insides were moving along with the music.  This doesn't happen to me very often.  At least not as often as I observe it happening to other people I know.  I see people tapping their feet, swaying their bodies, rolling their eyes and just floating over the reality of the world.  I see them on the dance floor and wonder what they are feeling.  I guess I got a little lesson about that the other day.  As I was driving along I was moving my body to the rhythm of a bat in flight as depicted by the music.  What a feeling.  In fact I came home and came right to my laptop and turned to "YouTube.com."  Wow, that was quite an experience too.  What happened to me there really made my day.  I am still sore from the reaction that the YouTube.com presentation caused.  So, as you can tell from the picture at the head of this piece, I went from the sublime to the ridiculous.  (The root word there is Latin for "to laugh.)  So, not "stupid" but laughable.  If you click here, you'll get the point.  You'll perhaps even go back for more.
So have fun.  Know that I am a guy who loves classical music, especially in the venue you're going to find at the end of this link.
Enjoy this Fledermaus by Van Gogh

EVERYONE KNOWS YOU WON -- BUT YOU LOST

60+ years ago (1947) I and my brother listend to the Joe Louis / Jersey Joe Walcott boxing match description over the radio.  We had to beg EFR Dion's permission to allow us to listen to the radio in our bedroom beyond the 9:00 PM curfew for the "great" occasion.  It was the "fight of the century", just as they all are.  That's another "thought" that will have to wait.
We listened.  It was clear to everyone that Walcott had won.  The judges proclaimed Louis the winner.  My brother and I were puzzled.  When we brought the topic to the wise man of the household all we got was "If Walcott was to win he had to knock Louis out.  That's what it takes to beat the champion."
The other night, I watched the first championship fight I had taken time to watch in many decades.  It pitted Manny Pacquiao against Juan Manuel Marquez.  Many people think that Marquez beat Pacquiao.  But Pacquiao was the champion going in and of course, he left the ring still the champion.  Marquez failed to knock him out.  In fact, Marquez failed to take the fight to Pacquiao.  He fought not to lose.  Pacquiao also fought not to lose.  So what took place was  a contest of counter punching.  The outcome, of course, was then decided in favor of the reigning champion.  It has ever been such in boxing.  Now that I am somewhat older, I think I have the intellectual answer to the situation.
In boxing, there are only two people contesting.  In the case of the champion being challenged by a non-champion, the preferential option of higher capability is on the side of the champion.  After all, the champion has already proven his competence.  The challenger has shown high proficiency, but not to the level achieved by the champion.  It is therefore incumbent upon the challenger to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is better than the champion, not only on this given occasion, but on any other occasion that might present itself.  It does not prove anything if the challenger performs at a level that shows simply that he is good enough not to lose to the champion.  Let's stay "real" here.   A duel that is a "draw" only proves that the adversaries are both poor shots.  In that case, the upper hand does not change sides, does it?  So, in boxing.  A margin of victory by one or two points, even under the careful electronic supervision of the latest and most keely developped technology does not a victor make.  It only proves that the challenger avoided a defeat at the hands of a person who has proven himself to be more profficient up to this point.  So, mister challenger, you lose.
Such is the logic and the culture of boxing.  It is not left up to the spectators to decide.  It is not up to the warriors to decide.  It is a sport and it is therefore up to the arbiters to make the ultimate decision.  The warriors know the logic, the culture and the rules.  The warrior, such as the one who dared challenge Manny Pacquiao on this night, who dares to fight so as not to lose rather than to fight to win decisively is doomed to lose.  That is exactly what happened on November 12, 2011 to Juan Manuel Marquez.   It took me some  60+ years to understand, but I am glad that I now can be comfortable with the logic and the culture -- but not the sport as such.  But that is another story.

SADIE HAWKINS DAY

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadie_Hawkins_Day

There are some of you who don't know Sadie Hawkins.  It was the 4th of November and I was at the morning Mass.  November is a special month in Catholic life.  It is the month during which we remember to pray for our Dearly Departed.  Don't ask me how the human mind works.  Don't even ask me how my mind works.  Don't even ask me why I presume to be human.  So, therefore, do not ask me why I remembered, during these solemn moments, that November 13 is Sadie Hawkins Day.  I saved this until today out of respect to Al Capp, Lil' Abner and, of course, Sadie herself. 
The other day I asked our elder son, Marc if he knew Sadie Hawkins.  He said that he did because there are Sadie Hawkins dances around all the time, even now.  I asked him if he knew who Sadie Hawkins really was,and to that he had to say "no."  If you click on the caption of the picture,you will be sent to the very interesting and very correct report on Wikipedia.
You will notice that the art of this cartoon depicts people in a way that accentuates a culture with stereotypical characterizations unacceptable to our contemporary way of thinking.  In the era when this cartoon hit its zenith, rare was the individual who would have considered this class of humor denigrating or harmful.  Today,of course, this cartoon would fall under the heading of unacceptable profiling and would never be allowed to prosper.  I am presenting it to you because of the "spin-off" reality of Sadie Hawkins, whom very few of us really know any more.  There is a cultural lesson to be learned here.  Therefore, learn it first, and then laugh away, because it is funny, contemporary mores be damned.  By the way, that's a thought of mine for today too.

SO YOU'RE THE WITNESS, EH?

So you think you know who and what you are looking at.  Really?  This is a good one because it comes from a real photo.  Where is he looking?  It ain't for nothin' that I got him off to the left.  Most of these visual and mental "hotfeet" are line drawings or some of the 3d challenges that are around this days.  You've seen them, I'm sure.  I'm good at those.  It only takes me a matter of seconds before I "see" the background figure.  In case you are wondering about this, let me dig one out for you.
These are all copyrighted, so here's the address for you
It has been said many times that the weakest evidence that can be presented at trial is the "eyewitness" testimony.  We  have all watched the television program that points this out graphically, if not perfectly correctly.  Interestingly enough, as we get older,we have to agree that it is true.  "Seein' is believin'" ain't always on da money.  Strange, isn't it?  But true.  One of my favorite Bible stories is the saga of Susanna.  I will let you enjoy yourselves by inviting you to sit on the couch sometime today and read it as a story that has a moral to it  as well as a neat ending.  [Daniel, chapter 13]  If you  can't find it, email me and I'll tell you why.  Or, you can click here for the answer to your problem.

I guess I have to visit my own life,or at least one of my favorite episodes for a good example of what I saw and what you saw.  I was driving home one night from a long night's work at a freight yard where I was a security guard.  It was about 12:30 AM and I was on the main thoroughfare approaching an intersection.  I was cruising at about 35 MPH.  I KNOW that I had a green light.  I was driving a small Korean Elantra and before I knew it, I was kissing the front-end of a HUGE YUKON.  No one ever proved what happened. I saw Green and the Yukon saw Green.  So who was right?   Well,I think that it was the Yukon because the Elantra went to heaven that night.  So, I guess that seein' ain't believin', at least not all the time, and certainly not outside of Missouri!

For those of  you who might be wondering why Soshana was bathing in her garden and not in the house, let me just say that she did it because that was where the well was.  When I was in the missions of the Philippines, I too had to bathe where the water was.  Not all the time.  Sometimes though, when I was OUT THERE in the boonies, I was not fortunate enough to have a garden in which to bathe. I used the hand pump that was handy on the corner of two paths.  I was careful to be modest, but when you are a white guy and you are in the public eye with all that white skin out in the open, you're bound to draw a crowd.  It's kinda like, "Look at him, he's glowing in the dark even if the moon isn't even out tonight!"  So, don't blame Susanna.  The  two old guys had it coming, and they got it.  Chalk one up for the bright young kid.  Where is he when we need him so badly?