THIS IS AMERICA,SPEAK ENGLISH TO THEM

There is a secret behind these beautiful plants

It has been a hobby of long standing that we have many orchids on our property in San Diego.  For several years now they have been a wonderful sight to see every year around the time of the Easter holiday.  In fact, there have been years when they have been so beautiful that they were chosen to grace the altar for the Easter liturgies.  Sadly, the past couple of years have not been quite so festive because the plants did not flourish to the accustomed degree of bounteous florescence. Something had to be done.  The Voice from the Kitchen was working out of town and so she trained her sister in the fine art of tending the orchids.  The first full year of the Cymbidium 💓 Presentacion (Chona for short!) is about to enter the home stretch for the blooming of the orchids.  It is evident to the practiced eye that this is going to be a gooood year.
This evening we got to talking about the visible signs of the future success of the Cymbidium ranch.
Chona was proudly exposing her devotion and constant attention to the robust looking plants.  She is so happy that the beauty that is developing is not just the result of technically correct farming.  Oh, no! Not on this ranch.  There is a powerful spirit of love both spiritual and physical where kissing, petting and cooing are integral elements of the process.  Achon actually shared the cooing and whispering and near signing with which she communicates with the orchids under her loving care.  At one point of her light hearted description of her relationship with the lovely plants she switched to speaking English. English?  We burst into laughter without saying a word.  She knew why we were laughing.  She joined us in the uncontrolled laughter.  When we calmed down a little bit, she explained that Carlos, her spouse, told her that she would have better success of she were to make love to the plants in English.  He explained that she should communicate in the language of the land.
So she was demonstrating to us how she acted with the orchids.
Sit tight.  When these plants come into full effulgence, I will show you the fruits of the love affair between Presentacion and the orchids of 6912 Quinn Court, San Diego, CA 92111.

HOW YA DOIN'?

Just the other day
I was in the mood to make some of my friends happy that they are not the only ones who forget things and spend a lot of time searching for something that they had in their hands just 5 minutes before.  I get several responses telling me that the humor that I intended did in fact make them smile.  Sadly I received a couple of comments that came from the sadder side of life.  The sadness of chronic and intense senility, though not spelled out in the message was present in the "spirit."  I felt it.  I still do.  Who knows, I may even be in denial...If so, I pray that I and those around me be always blessed with the humor of the disjointedness of the things I do.

That's the mental part.  Wait until you see the physical part.  That's quite a sight too.  Numb hands that can no longer tie shoe laces, pick up coins from the floor, turn the pages of a book, (thank God for e-books) make a fist and/or even spread out all the way.  Wanna talk knees?  Naw, there's only one good one anyway.  Eyes are OK, thanks to the fact that they are 50% real and 50% plastic. Teeth come in at about 40/35/25 -- real/plastic/gone.

The hair that I have is thin, but I still have enough hair on my head to cover it all so that I have about as much face to wash as I do hair to comb.  My eyebrows have been trying for years to hijack more and more space than I want to give them.  I'm winning that one, thanks to my scissors.

My ears don't hardly work any more.  So, I won't waste your time if you don't by trying to talk to me.

You can tell that I am a ramblin' wreck.  But that's only on the outside.  I don't have enough time to talk about the parts you can't see, touch or hear.  I also don't have a polite enough vocabulary to talk about those other things.

So, overall, if we get to meet within the next few months, the topics of conversation are already pretty well defined.  

C ya!

DO YOU HAVE A PAST?

 Of course you do.  I do too.  We all do.  We all have a past and we also all have a past...(wink, wink).

These days we're being exposed to a lot of facts that provide the definition of what we expect from the present and the future of the people who are being considered for employment in the new government of the United States.  Sadly, I think, there seems to be so much stock placed in the distant past of the candidates and so little hope in their ability to rise to the challenge of what the future calls them to be.
I have highlighted a simple, innocent graphic at the beginning, but my reflections about the present reality in our country call me to deeper considerations.  We are at a level of discernment that is far deeper than the physical development from caterpillar to butterfly.  We are in an environment where the guiding axiom is "The past is prologue."  History is history; actions call forth similar actions and thus habits are formed and life does not change.  No room is made for introspective self reconciliation which calls forth that conversion from mechanical repetition born of habit to considered, prudential behavior born of the comfort that conscientious dedication to the common good brings about.  This comes from intense listening to the voice of the Spirit.

Belle, the saint behind the Voice from the Kitchen an I are preparing to lead 40 people to Bethlehem and other holy places in ten short days from now.  We will be exposed to many different ideas and behaviors during the 11 days of prayerful experiences that such an adventure calls forth.  We will present the possibility of this conversion to those entrusted to us by God in the Land that He chose for His people.  It is our sincere prayer that not just our 40 people will find the ways of God more appealing to them, but that the key movers of the turnover in our United States government will allow themselves to be changed by them as well.  
We pray that all will heed this simple saying, 
"Those who do not reconcile themselves with their past are condemned to repeating it, to their detriment and to that of those whom they think they are serving."

WHODUNNIT? CAT OR HAWK?

I have been wondering whether to put these thoughts on my blog entitled No Crying at My Funeral or just restart my 365 Thoughts with pure white feathers all over the front of the house. 
I got up, showered and looked out the window to check on the weather.  What I saw on the ground was a bunch of white shards of something.  I know that I didn't have a white light globe anywhere, so I wondered what all those white pieces could be.  Once I had covered my wrinkled self to shield the world from the obscenity of my prune-like ugliness, I went out for a  closer look.  What I saw was a fairly rare display of the leavings of what had to be a clash of interest between the recipient of gentle nibbling kisses from the sweet lady who forgot to close the gate on the cage and a raving, hungry cat, or some other craven carnivore.  Actually, some of the parts were still in pretty good shape.  The wings were still practically intact.  So much so that some other crippled bird could use them.  Except maybe, a hummingbird.  The tail was nowhere in sight.  Breast and down feathers were decorating the gleaming dewy area with their still pristine white sheen.  The tail feathers were bent and damaged and strewn around in an repugnant display of the effects of effective violence.  Imagine, all the poor cockatoo was able to muster was a sad, "Kiss my ass" defense.  Is it significant that the head is nowhere to be found?

I know that some of you are awaiting a moral to this story.  There is one, of course.  In fact, there might even be several.  Some may come from the Bible, some may come from another source.  Some may be moving for me and some for you.  If you're young, (most of you are) you may not be moved at all.  If you're old, maybe you're not moved, just reassured that the warning to "be prepared" is not just for the Boy Scouts.  Wherever you fall on the scale of this true story and the moral of it, remember: Lock the cage; Lock your house; Lock your car.

OXYMORON ? or just MORON ?

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Drink your drink and I'll food my food

Mid-life crisis therapy.  Must 65 or older

Illiterate?  Write for help

     Dear Al Gebra:

                We don't know where your X has gone,

                 neither do we know Y.

Philosopher at a cafe:

                 A cup of coffee please, with no cream.

Waitress:

                 We are out of cream.  How about with no milk?

Leslie Stahl to Donald Trump:  "Are you going to get a special prosecutor to go against Hillary?"
Donald replied, "Well, I don't want to hurt them."

There are some things in life that make the space between your ears clang in vicious dissonance.  Like swearing to high heaven that our veterans are precious and should be provided with the best of care.
In the next breath comes the declaration that those who got caught don't deserve respect.
Hmmm, what about those who have survived captivity?  Maybe they should just be left to rot?

Or maybe, they are the best...like ruined cream (Yogurt?) is really good!
Where would we be without soured wine (Vinegar?)

Think about it a little bit.  Don't be a MORON - Have fun, be an OXYMORON!

DONALD TRUMP IS NOT A BUSINESS MAN

                                                                           

Bill Gates and family - Business man
& philanthropist

I know that it has been a long time since I have published what could pass for a thought.  I think I finally have found one that I can describe well enough to have it make sense. I will try to keep it to my usual 500 word target size,

Bill Gates and Paul Allen left college early because they had ideas that they wanted to sell to the world before anyone else.  Their ideas were of the sort that would change the world.  The change would not be simply material but intellectual, moral and economical all at once.  What they had to offer to the world was something that heretofore had been unknown.  In order to manage the introduction of their ideas in the best possible way, they thought it best to leave school and start to share their discovery to the world.

Their first stop was IBM.  IBM worked with them as did NCR, XEROX and maybe others.  Together, they began to change the way the world lives.  These are businessmen.  These are humans who understand that the generation of wealth comes from the management of human collaboration for the mutual good of their enterprises as well as the world at large.  

Donald Trump, landowner

Donald Trump is a landowner.  He rents parts of his property to those who want to use it.  He doesn't create wealth for anyone, singular or enterprise.  He has nothing to offer to the world with the collaborative creation of wealth as the goal.  He is the owner and he rents his property to those who want it or need it.                                                         Donald Trump doesn't negotiate collaborative agreements.  Donald Trump makes deals that create wealth for him and leave the renter with the task of creating Donald's wealth.  In Donald Trump's universe there are but two classes of living humans:  winners and losers.  There is no grey area.  His success comes from what he takes from you and he sees to it that you get nothing but the bare minimum from him in return.  That's the world he lives in.  In that universe the only way to make a good deal with Donald Trump sitting across the table from you is to walk away while you still have your money in your pocket.

Given this situation, it is clearly impossible to expect that the parallel universes of Trump and the rest of humanity will ever intersect.  All the "FactChecks" in one universe will not bring about change in the other.  In fact, we have seen that our universe as represented by the federal court system doesn't intersect with the "zero-sum universe" of Donald Trump. The truths of Trump's universe do not overlap with the universal truths in the parallel universe of the rest of us.

Trust me on this one.  The only tool we have is in the voting booth.  Save all your receipts so that if there is a Trumpist Revolt you will be able to prove that you only voted once, in your universe, anyway.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

I have to say that it makes me shake my head in stupified wonderment when an expatriate turncoat spills venom on the country that he thinks will elect him to guide it.
Especially when he spews his vomit on the primordial place in the Americas where it is possible to see the entire world pass before your eyes, if you open them and drink the reality of it in with a slow, savoring passionate act.

When we were growing up in a small college town in Western Massachusetts, my father, born in Zenon Park, Sakatchewan, Canada made it a point to take us to New York City twice a year.  Once in the Summer to see the Boston Braves play the Brooklyn Dodgers and once in the Winter, before Christmas to visit Rockefeller Center.  Each time we would visit different corners of the great city and each time we would be instructed that "if you want to see the world, you can see it in New York City." I dare say, Ted, that if you want to see the world, maybe you should just leave and go see it on site, close up and personal, but not here.  Most of all, Ted, if you're going to insult us, stop trying to convince us to let you lead us.  Where would you take us?  Surely not to Calgary, you've already disowned that, and the whole darn country too.  Nice going, Ted.  Now you want us to buy your snake oil?  

I have a true story for all of you.  It is a story about New York Values.
I think it is either 1948 or '49.  We were being treated to a visit to New York by our church pastor, Father Arthur Brodeur MS and some of his choice volunteers.  We were going there to see the Boston Red Sox play the "Damn Yankees" at Yankee Stadium.  This was before we were old enough to be able to say "damn" with impunity.  Anyway, we're in New York and my brother and I are a little bit looser than the rest because we've been there.  So, everyone is having a good time.  Eating at the automat was the big thrill of the pre-game tour.  So it gets to be close to the time to go to the stadium, so we get led to the subway station and warned to stay close to one another.  Which we do.  We're on the platform. We hear the train.  There it is.  The word comes from the leader, that's the train.  It stops, my brother and I are first in line.  The door opens and he dives in before me, being smaller and slicker, and the voice from the rear rings out, "No, not this one, the next one!"  I am able to put it in reverse, but the press of those wanting to board was too great for the little boy to buck and the door closed with him inside and everyone else in the group on the platform.
So, all we can do is to wait for the next train.  I was worried, but I told the priest not to worry 
because if the train went to the stadium, my brother could find his way because we were used to baseball stadiums.
Let's go feel some of those New York Values.
New Yorker to little boy: "Where are you going?"
Little boy: "To Yankee Stadium."
New Yorker: "Ok, that's good because I'm going there too.  I'll show you where to go."
Little boy: "Oh, thank you."
New Yorker:  "Where are you from?"
Little boy: "South Hadley Falls, Massachusetts."
New Yorker: "That's pretty far."

The train stops, the man guides the Little Boy to the ticket taker.  He explains the situation.  The ticket taker looks up the group reservations.  Tells the New Yorker and the Little Boy where the group seats are.  The Little Boy with the help of the New Yorker goes to the seats reserved for the church group.  After some twenty minutes, the group arrives, the ticket taker assures us that the Little Boy is fine.  We check in, go to our seats where we find my little brother patiently awaiting.

Take that, Ted!  Now go get lost in Machu Pichu and see how the vaues are there.  
You've already shown the word what you think of Cuba and Canada and now you insult the country that you're trying to schmooze into making you its leader.  You're quite a piece of work, Ted.