1:00 AM -- FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY THE FRIDGE

 

Remember Dagwood and Blondie Bumstead?

Their children, Alexander and Cookie?

Don't forget the dog, Daisy.

You're seeing this because last night, at about 1:30 AM, I awakened with a driving hunger pang.  I ran out to the fridge, opened 'er up and the first thing that flashed before my imagination's eye was this:

Once I got over the shock of the first wave, the first thing that came to mind was, "I wonder how many millennials know who this is?"

Then I started to muse about the value of such a memory.  Why was I covered by a cloud of "Dagwood-ism?"  What was the value?  What was the Lord Almighty trying to tell me?  I was really mystified and I am still digging around in the spiritual centers of my being to see if I might find something important to learn about this experience.

In the fog of reflection and quasi meditation, I never got an answer to my mental probing about how Dagwood ever did get to wrap his mouth around the monumental sandwiches that he was fond of contructing.

One thing did come to mind:  The difference between Daisy and Snoopy.  Daisy never did quite make it the exhalted level of Snoopy.  She never strutted around on two legs like that most famous of all Beagles.

Finally, as I was going about the business of taking the lid off the agenda of the new week, all the while reminiscing about Dagwood, I began to try to count the number of jobs I have done in my lifetime.  

Now, that, as you may all imagine, is a story for another day.

SEASHORE, and MORE, -- VOICE OF GOD

 "DOES THE SONG OF THE SEA END AT THE SHORE OR IN THE HEARTS OF THOSE WHO LISTEN TO IT? 

Kahlil Gibran

This is one of those thoughts that made me shake my head when I read it.  The person to whom it is attributed is a favorite thinker/poet/guru whom I have followed for many years.  It is a fascinating reality that after having dedicated so much spiritual energy basing my personal meditations on Gibran's thoughts that I could have been confronted by this one out of the blue. 

Besides the fact that this thought is engendered by the soothing memory of music, I have to confess that I have been reaching inside of myself to make sense of the rages of water, fire and innimical viruses as they have become rather prominent factors affecting our human situation of late. 

One of the facts that have been lingering around the edges of my meditative nature have been the memorial celebrations surrounding the obsequies for my godson, Hadjr.  The deepest solemity was celebrated on the breast the Pacific Ocean, in many ways, the soul of true San Diegans. It was there that the Song of the the Sea swallowed our hearts and minds in the unison of love. The Song of the Sea did not stop on the sands of the beach on that day...Not for me.  How about you?

You were not there, you say.  Ok, let me ask if the rage of the fires in the northwestern corner of our country end when it runs out of fuel or does it continue to make our soul shiver even long moments after we have been freed of its infernal fury.  

These are just some musings concerning the impact that lingers in the spiritual corners of our being as a result of what we experience in their presence.

MY MADONNA, by Robert W, Service

 How many of you have a favorite poem?  Think about it. You must have one.  From           Early to bed, Early to rise,  Makes one happy, healthy and wise ,  to “The Song of Hiawatha” or one of my favorites,  “Evangeline.”  

Each poem is like a little piece of time travel. That’s really the beauty of poetry. It has the ability to take you back to that very sparse moment that the poet experienced. A true poet can capture both massive and microscopic events and portray them in words with the same vibrancy and grandeur. One man writes about the tragedy of Gettysburg, while the other muses on the delicate way Autumn’s first leaf touches the ground.  One makes me cry as Evangeline’s canoe slips past the one in which her beloved is sleeping while another one reflects on the bygone virtues of the anonymity of those who fill the graves in a small country churchyard.  This is why I love poetry. All moments, both large and small can be captured the same.  Think of national anthems. Some are loving and sweet and some are bellicose but, in every case, they become the core of the citizenry.                                    

Think of religious hymns. They are poems that proclaim what we believe.  The following poem is one I picked out for its sweet cynicism and poignant humor.  It is one that makes me think. I have visited it and revisited it many times over the years.  It always takes me from the surface to the depths.  Hope you enjoy it too.                                          My Madonna – by Robert W. Service                     

         Let me suggest that you Google  "Robert W. Service"

I discovered him some 20+ years ago.  His work is vast and varied.  I am a "mood" reader of his.  

Enjoy.

 

REPORT THI

LEARN TO SPEAK ENGLISH (Originally published in mid 2015)

 

I keep getting these moronic emails that keep yelling at people to learn to speak English.
To all you sweethearts out there who want to force anyone in the United States to speak English, there will have to be a law that allows you to apply that force.  So far, you're out of luck because the United States has no law defining an official national language.
Then, all of you bright luminaries surely don't think of the many variations of "standard" English that you have to choose from.  Which one(s) are you going to allow to exist here in the United States before you start arresting people for not speaking the legal form of English?
Think of it as an expression of our highly touted freedom. Yes, indeed.  We are free to do so many things.  We are free to move around at any time of day or night; free to stand on a street corner alone or in a group of five or fifteen; free to write nasty things about our government; free to say nasty things about the government in public; free to espouse the religion of our choice; free to marry the person with whom we are in love, even one who does not speak English for crying out loud!  Maybe worse yet, one who only knows how to speak Nigerian English.  Oh, pain and suffering! I've been living with a loving spouse who only knows Filipino English!  My children are irreparably damaged by the mental confusion caused by this horrible disability.  They may not even be truly American with this built-in speech warp!  
And what about me?  I was reprimanded the other day for a translation from French to English because it was rejected for being US English instead of UK English. That ignorance took $50 out of my wallet!  
So, all you freedom lovers out there, just what version of the English language are you going to legislate for our fair country?  Will my Scottish friend have to fear imprisonment for his total inability to speak US English?  What's going to happen to his freedom of expression?
So, dear linguists, enjoy the freedom that you have to write what you want about the language(s) we speak or don't speak in this country.  As for me I am going to speak whatever language it takes for me to get fed and/or find my way to the men's room.

Note:  The initial publication in Krussty Kurmujjin evoked a comment from my Scottish friend: "When I go to visit family in Scotland they repremand me for speakin US Emglish and using US slang terms.  Scottish English is the purest form of English."

FRONT PAGE NEWS -- HOLYOKE DAILY TRANSRIPT TELEGRAM -- MASSACHUSETTS

 Those were the days when we had real money.  That 50¢ was enough for five days round trip bus fare from home to school.  Truth to tell, that was the student discount fare.

The bus company was local.  The Holyoke Street Railway Company was the name.  

My favorite story out of all that could be told about that period of notoriety is one that didn't make the papers.  It is the story of the doctor who owned and operated an x-ray lab.  His services were required because after about two weeks the coin proved to be too heavy and too large to be expelled from my stomach to the outside though the bowels.  I was being poisoned by the digestive process taking place in my stomach.

The surgeon who was going to perform the invasive extraction needed an x-ray of the situation.  My father, EFR Dion and I went to the x-ray lab.  The doctor there did not believe my father (no one was about to believe a nine years old miscreant) that I had indeed swallowed that size of coin.  After a short back and forth the doctor said, "If he did swallow a half-dollar coin, I'll pay the tab."  

Click, click, whrrr, whrrr, clunck and hold the x-ray up to the light and...Whooaa, that looks like a half buck!  Reach into the pocket, put a coin up to the screen and the Doc had to pay.  My father and I laughed all the way home.

The next evening they took me to the hospital.  I was there for a full week.  I was on a baby food diet for 8 full weeks.  I missed nearly four weeks of school.  I studied at home after the hospital and passed all the final tests so I did not have to repeat the grade.

The coin?  My father ordered me to give it to the church in the form of a candle offering.  There was no way he was going to allow me to glorify my imprudence.

That was 1946.  I haven't seen a 50¢ piece in decades.  No, I never swallowed another one!

DETOUR, THERE'S A SPIKEY ROAD AHEAD

HERE'S MY STORY

Believe it or not, I was "rescued" from a lonely desert life in 1975!

Back then I was slightly smaller than a tennis ball, quills and all.

Now I am close to 24 inches high and 24 inches in diameter.  

My stiff, very hardy sharp quills are an average of 1.75 inches long.

I have been in this location, Paul and Belle's yard, since 1981.

I am a jovial, friendly type who in my entire life have never harmed anything nor anyone.

I am the quasi companion of the loving human who took me out of the desert.

The Human:    

The Author

It was summer time and I was a vicar at a Catholic Parish in El Cajon, California.  I had the temerity to invite my agoraphobic mother, MJT Dion to come from Massachusetts for a few days.  Little did I ever dream that she would agree. Huh?  Here's what happened.  She told everyone that her son had invited her to California.  One of her dear friends, the dearest of dear friends said, "Well, it's not the moon, Mina, let's go together."  Now it is clear what happened:  BFF rules!  My mother actually gets on a plane and flies from Massachusetts to San Diego.  Thanks to Eva, BFF, Mina's gonna fly.

Don't get me wrong.  This was not the first time.  Her first flight was in honor of her dear baby, Roland.  It took her first born, me, to corral her but it was her sweet baby who won the prize.  Massachusetts to Texas.  That's a whole 'nother story, but not for now.

So back to me, sitting there by the side of the road in Borrego Springs, CA.  

I actually convinced MJT to get out of the vehicle to come and imitate Moses by walking the desert.

Mama never knew what a desert looked like.  All she knew was that the Israelites had a bad time there.

But, as afraid as she was, she trusted God to let her set foot in the desert.  Unlike Peter, she took a short, very short spin and jumped back in the car.

Once she was there, I was glad that no one would disturb me any more.  

WRONG!!!

The next thing I know is that I am in a damp, suburban style earth. That would be OK except that I am wondering what my future is.

First:  Potted plant.  Yecch, nothing worse. 

Then:  Nice rich soil with lots of water and other great food.

Finally (Maybe):  Comfortably warm sunny embrace most days and all the water I could ever hope for.

Finally, MJT is gone; Eva is gone; I am here.  Remember that when you are in the eternal threshhold

I would appreciate a simple wave and a sincere goodbye.

I REMEMBER WHEN...

I REMEMBER WHEN...

Let me invite you to have an interesting trip down your personal memory lane.  I am inviting you to think back at the times you said (or didn't say) "This, I will not forget."  Some might be safe, but many of them will be in the category of "stories that I will have to tell my children."

 Here are some samples of mine.

 1 - The day when I saw my first dead human being.  My aunt Cecile. (1942 

No, it was not traumatic.  I asked my father (EFR Dion) if I could touch her.  He said "yes."I touched her hand.  I can still feel it as I write.  I am convinced that the experience of what happened that day helped me to put dozens of fellow humans on their peaceful way to God.

2 - My first three days at school.   (1942)  

Enough of that personal stuff.  How about some history?

3 - The Hiroshima bomb (1945)  I was playing "back yard" baseball.

4 - Street celebrations of VJ day (1945 Driving home with EFR Dion with 3 pickerel in the creel.) 

5 - The St. Louis Cardinals beat the Boston Red Sox in game 7  (1946 Driving home with  EFR Dion's  brothers, Ed - driving - Normand and Donald) Note the French spelling of Normand.

6 - US Olympic Hockey Team beats Russia for Gold in Lake Placid, NY  (1980- I was alone with the two "babies" since the Voice from the Kitchen was conducting an RCIA session.)

7 - The assassination of John Kennedy  (1963 - We stayed up all night following the reports coming across short wave radio.  I was in Rome. It was after the evening meal. I was receiving the          sacramental cloths from the religious sisters who had the clearance to launder them.  I could hardly understand Italian at the time.  The young religious sister persisted.  I got the message.)

8 - Oklahoma City bombing  (1995)

9 - Campaign of lies by George W. Bush to justify attack on Iraq before the regime of Donald Trump.  This was the most viciously immoral White House that I had experienced before this one.

10 - Middle East airplane attack especially in New York  (2001).  We were living in Fremont, California at the time.  Son Jo-El was relaxing on the floor in front of the TV after breakfast before going to university.  I was listening to him say that a plane had hit one of the towers.  I was in the middle of telling him that this was not new.  

I was saying that in 1945 a B-25 bomber hit the Empire State Building.  Suddenly, as we watched the screen, #2 son exclaimed  “Oh *%@!" as the airliner struck the second tower before our very eyes. He never reported to class that day.  I did not report to work.  We didn't know it, but there was more to come.  If so, we did not want to miss it.

11 - 4 years of University studies in Rome, Italy -- 1961 to 1965 

12 - For a Catholic kid, I can boast that I have received all seven sacraments

Why have I done this?

I and the Voice from the Kitchen enjoy these and other points of interest in my life and in hers as gifts of God.  We hope that you can enjoy the memories that you have for your own peace and comforting entertainment.

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT TAKES AWAY LIFE -- IMPRISONMENT RUINS IT

I have often thought about the thoughts that you see above.  Lately they have been more insistent because for the last three+ years we the people of this country have seen human life attacked on many fronts.  

Lately, with the re-introduction of capital punishment in the USA, I have been shaking my head and clenching my teeth over the frontal attacts on human life that have been perpetrated against us.  You see, we humans are a community of creatures not simply a collection of individuals.  That means that what happens to one is felt by all and what happens to the many, shakes the one.

That is true of the heroically good as well as the demonically evil.  That is a truth that doesn't seem to resonate very clearly in hearts of people.  It seems that the spiritual vibes of loving happiness and devotion are in a constant skirmish with the power of the volcanic, burning heat of destructive anger.  

Beyond that, I wonder if we creatures of mind and emotion are confused about the definition of our values.  

Do we ask ourselves about the way we judge our behavior? 

Do we sk ourselves if we believe that humans actually have an impact on global warming?   Do we know what we mean when we proclaim ourselves to be "pro-life?"  Do we even know what we mean when we proclaim ourselves to be "pro-choice?"  Do we bother to dive to a deeper understanding of what it means to be "socialist?"  Do we try to reach into the inner meaning of what is means to be "capitalist?"  

I think of many things along such lines and then I shake my head when I read some of the false choices that people expostulate to make themselves appear to be more intelligent or more virtuous than they really are.  I think of the discussion that I encountered the other day before the execution of a man who had been on death row for more than a decade.  There was a question about the efficacy of the drug to be used to cause his death. The question was how long it would take for him to die.  Really?  I remember that same discussion from a few years back.  I wrote to the publisher and suggested the guillotine.  That never fails.  But, wait!  It is said that it is so quick that brain death is not immediate and that even the eyes still function for that fractional delay.  Hmmm, back to the drawing board.  In no part of the discussion was the idea put forward that after more than a decade on death row that this person's life had already ceased to be his own.

I present all these scenarios to make the point that the only one who really knows how to take life away is the Creator of life Himself.  I also am telling you that, since I am leaving the management of life to the Creator, my only choice is to be "pro-choice," just as He wants us all to be.

LAW AND ORDER --

Oh, Boy!  Law and Order.  There has been a lot of noise in the politisphere about this lately.

Law and Order!  What is that?

Easy - Law is what is on the "books" before I got here.  [I refer you to the Mosaic LAW.]

           Order is the way I tell you to act according to my reading of the LAW.

Here's a simple example of order according to Joseph Thibault, my one and only Grandfather and the living patron saint of EFR Dion, my father.

"Never cross the street in the middle of the block.  Always go to the intersection to cross the street.

Now, I am rarely a pedestrian on a city street in this, the 21st century.  Now,  I tell you that I am aware of the wisdom of the order cast upon me at the ripe old age of 5 years, 9 months old.  ( 1942 )

Can you see the connection between our venal lawmakers (AD 2020) and the hypocritical Pharisees of  BC ?? to AD 100?  

Law is what takes place in the courtroom.  Order is what I can get away with.

Law is what the Supreme Court says I can do.

So now, what I opined was right.  I arrest you, you disagree.  We seesaw back and forth in court appeals until we get an order.  By the time we think we have a resolution, other court decisions have superseded the one that we have on the dockett, so we amend our position to accommodate our desires to fit the elements of the newly proclaimed legal reality.

You see the path here.  Law is nothing but an embryonic reality that has quasi infinite potential for evolutionary replication.  

To quote the famous person against whose life my father dedicated my name,    

     "...because the law brings wrath. And where there is no law there is no transgression."

                      (Paul, Romans 4:15)

Think of this as you wonder why any intelligent human being would think that a conservative person and a progressive person would have different understandings of the law.  Isn't the law, law?

BTW:  Smile. There are three topics that have eternally, non-ending half lives:

law

politics

theology

I bring my musings to an end by expostulating without regret or fear of having erred:

It is essential that to save the constitutional republic of the United States of America a constitutional convention must be convened NOW.

Might be a good idea not to forward this one!

SAN DIEGO CALIFORNIA CITY LIFE

THIS IS ABOUT 100% WHAT I SAW LAST NIGHT

Last night, I had to run to the pharmacy for a very small but important pill -- laxative -- in the hope that morning would bring the relief that makes octogenarian life worth living :-)

I gathered my car keys, my wallet and my telephone, final instructions from the Voice from the Kitchen and went directly to the family car.  No garage, just a driveway.

It happened to be almost dark but still a little bit gray.  I went to the driver's side of the car, unlocked the door, slid into the seat, did all the habitual, ritualistic things and before I knew it I was rolling backwards down the way.  

Then, in the various fractions of seconds between the initial instant of control and the total awareness of the space, I saw the full glory of the beautiful body of the animal what was escaping from beneath the front end of the car.  WOW!  So glad that he was more interested in getting away from me than to fight from his hiding place. 

I must say that over the years we have come to appreciate the presence of these beautiful, nocturnal rodents.  We have never become friendly with them, but we have always been accepting of their presence.  This evening was about the closest that I have ever come to triggering the defense mechanism.

Isn't it nice to have an occasional burst of  "close call" joy?

They are beautiful.  

INDEPENDENCE DAY - A SMILEY STORY -

It's early December.  I am the Director of Human Resources of a large electronic components manufacturer in San Diego, CA.

I have just finished finalizing the schedule of paid holidays for the coming year.  The entire senior management group has reviewed and approved it.  I make the required number of copies for the managers and supervisors of the clerical and assembly departments.  I walk around and distribute them.  I return to my office only to find two very fidgety production floor supervisors.

They greet me politely, ask my permission to enter - 

I willingly grant them entry and before we can sit down one of them says, in a shaky voice, "Why don't we have the 4th of July off?"

Me:  Whoooaa!  That can't be right.  Really, I forgot that?

"Yes, sir.  It is not written here, anywhere"

Me:  This, I have to see.  Show me.

"Here, sir.  See - Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving Day, etc.  Why no 'Fourth of July' holiday next year?"

No, I did not laugh; I didn't roll my eyes; I did not even change my tone of voice.  I was talking to first generation Americans for whom "Independence Day" had no significant meaning.

I invited them to have a seat, a cup of coffee and asked them to give me a moment to tell them something.  I then explained to them that Independence Day is the Fourth of July.  I then asked them for a moment of patience while I made a small change to the posting for the general public,

"4th of July, Independence Day."

Many of them could file that in case the question came up in the naturalization interview that many of them would be preparing to face in the year to come.

DOUBLE EDGED LINGUISTIC SWORDS

“Personally, I’m always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.”

“An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.” 

“I only believe in statistics that I doctored myself.”

“Safari, so goody.”

“In politics, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.” (Perhaps not from Churchill)

There is always something to be learned by listening to someone who has a better command of the language than we do.  It is the liguistically gifted person who many times leaves us wondering, "Now why didn't I think of that."  

I admired my maternal grandfather for the way he could get get the most out of language by simply modulating the intonation of his voice.  For him, this was a way of making  either a humorous postulation or a final, sharp tipped point.

I'll never forget his favorite way to put down people who did not appreciate/understand the successful achievements of professional, hardworking members of the community.  I have to translate from the original French:  "Happy the poor in spirit (wink, wink)

for the Kingdom of heaven shall be theirs." (Matt 5 - Beatitudes)

It's like Churchill said about Clement Attlee, "...he has much to be modest about."

So, these are not oximorons, but because they are challenging, I couldn't leave the opportunity pass me by.  

So, what's the point?  It is this:  be prepared to appreciate the truth in the form that it presents itself to you ... prepare to be confronted by it in some strange places and in some strange ways.  Be ready.

OXIMORON WISDOM - YA CAN'T FIND IT IF YA DON'T LOOK

"You should always go to other people’s funerals. Otherwise, they won’t come to yours." 

(YOGI BERRA) 

"Most people my age are dead at the present time." (CASEY STENGLE) 

"As long as I've got a chance to beat you I'm going to take it." (LEO DUROCHER) 

“learning's a gift, even when "pain" is your teacher!" (MICHAEL JORDAN) 

"Superman don't need no seat belt." (MUHAMMAD ALI) 

"The only thing a golfer needs is more daylight." (BEN HOGAN) 

"We're so busy watching out for what's ahead of us that we don't take time to enjoy where we are." (CALVIN & HOBBS)

"We have met the enemy and he is us."  (POGO THE POSSUM aka WALT KELLY)

Now, let me tell you that July is going to be a very good month.  I am in the perfect position to tell you that because I am a summa cum loyalty to the wisdom of Pogo, the Possum/Consigliere of Albert the Alligator, mayor of the Okeefenokee Swamp whose history was created and detailed by none other than Walt Kelly.  So what fact proof is it that allows me to impose credibility on you according to the sage of the swamp?  Simply this:  

          Friday the 13th ain't comin' on Friday in July.  

Brothers and sisters, what more proof do you need?   Enjoy the bad luck free seventh month of ol' double 20...

But ... stay safely protected in the friendly, virus-free confines of your cozy nest.  I say, enjoy it now in preparation for the Friday 13th infection which is scheduled for coming November.  I don't ever remember Pogo having any preventive antidotes  for that eventuality.  

BTW, do newspapers have cartoon pages anymore?

I used to read the newspaper comic section all the time.  I even remember the very beginning of "Peanuts."  Those were the days when Snoopy walked on all four legs and he never had a thought bubble of his own.  

BTW, how many of are wondering what I am talking about?

Love ya's all.

THIS IS BIGGER THAN I THOUGHT

THIS IS DAUNTINGLY SCARY

There have been many things that have happened to me without warning.  Not all of them are equally good or equally bad;  not all are equally overcome or equally impossible to vanquish.  Some are so all consuming that they drive us humans to stand there, mouth agape, body trembling, heart pounding overtaken by the wish that what is happening will end soon -- like, SOON.  Somehow, it never does.

Real story from experience in a 3rd world country

Like this one.  7:00 PM during the first few moments of a parish meeting on the ground floor of the rectory, two young men crashed in from outside and breathlessly shouted that they needed help because the central marketplace was on fire.  The eastern edge of the marketplace was but 150 meters west of where we were.  

We responded in a quick reflex move that took us out of the door and running toward the blaze.  As we approached, we separated and each went his way to assess the situation.  Our group was quickly fractured, four became awe-filed spectators and two became engaged, driven by an inner force that they somehow could not define but which looked and felt like cunning, defensive anger.  The two forged ahead and discovered ways to fight back.  Like little Chihuahua dogs, finding openings where they could cheat the fire and steal some of its forage.  The two of us suddenly discovered that there were some pockets where valuable equipment could still be salvaged.  

We rounded up spectators and got them to help us save what could still be saved without putting ourselves in imminent danger.  We worked our strategy the length of the 150 meter frontage of the all wood structure.  We were in a "good" position since we were downwind from the flames and therefore somewhat protected by the soon to be consumed material before us.  Behind us was the open space of the central "common," as we say in Massachusetts.  It was there that we placed what we were saving.

The adrenaline was an inner tsunami that could not be quelled.  There quickly came a moment when we discovered that the dwellings across the street from the inferno were in danger of being torched.  We were able to marshall some young people to collect water so that the dwellers in the endangered buildings could hang wet blankets and other materials out of the windows to prevent the fire from spreading.  Some were able to bring water to the roof.

If we thought that our efforts to salvage material belongings was a steep challenge, we were in for a deeper and more painful reality:  accompanying the weeping and disoriented owners of the shops who, in the space of a few short, calamitous hours, found themselves completely divested of their entire inventory of goods, cash, equipment and, in some cases, shelter.  

In the end, we who were powerless to prevent the ravaging of the market, who had not lost our material assets, who were not totally downtrodden and able to bring a visible and tangible reality of human fraternity to those who were suffering huge losses, approached them and did our best to console them at the moment of devastation.  We did not stop the holocaust but we like to think that our miniscule outpouring of physical and emotional leverage brought some comfort and hope to those who were victimized.  

This happened 50 years ago.  I have not visited that town since then.  It might be possible that they have invested in a disaster preparedness organization over the years.  

Parish priest, San Mateo, Isabela, Philippines

MY AVATAR

           No picture attached here.  What you have to appreciate is the line drawn cartoonish creature on the right side of your screen.  That is what I have adopted as my avatar going back quite a few years.  This is the work of our second son.  This depiction of me is much more than just a little joke that is produced in a light hearted moment on the occasion of some calendar highlight.  You know what I am talking about, I'm sure...Birthday, Father's Day, Thanksgiving, etc.  I can't clearly remember the year nor the occasion, but I have treasured it from the start.  It is from that moment that I knew that this is the image that resides in my loving son's soul.  For that reason, I have adopted it in my deep soul domicile as well.  That's why I call it my avatar.

          Since this avatar is an embodiment of my identity as it dwells in the heart of my son, I keep it in the warmest corner of my creative spirit.  Notice that this expression of who I am includes two elements that are now nothing but figments of creative imagination.  The spirit of alcohol has become nothing but a mnemonic symbol, a reminder of joys past.  Joys that, as we all know, are better carried in our soul as lessons learned and as elements that help us to find deeper joys in the present.

          Note that there is no expression of tobacco.  That is a singular truth about me.  I have never indulged in the smelly practice of burning sot-weed before, during or after the moments of joy that high class whiskey releases in the heart of the imbiber.  

          I am glad that I have this artistic embodiment of the relationship that exists between me and the intimate creatures with whom I share the the deepest meaning of life.   I have written this in the hope that you can find something in the story that will bring something valuable to your life.

BTW, it has been 7 years since the last drop of alcohol has passed my lips.  Not bad for an "old guy", right?

THE NICE NIECE SHARES HER LOVE

13 year old niece expresses love

Elyza Loreine

The other day the Voice from the Kitchen received this on Facebook.  I don't do Facebook so I 

contacted the person who had sent it and asked all the pertinent questions.  As it happens, the 

artist is the daughter of the person who originated the Facebook post.  This is a source of joy

for us because the mother is our niece and the artist is her daughter.  When we first saw this

we were moved.  We did not know the age of the artist at the time.  Now that we know, we are 

all the more deeply impressed.

A part of our emotion in relation to this development is due to the fact that we too have a child

who is quite significantly endowed with artistic talent and when we behold what he produces

we feel the gratification deep down in our soul.  I feel the same way about the work of this young

lady.  I feel it as it comes over the email in the notes that her loving mother sends.  I am all the more impressed by the fact that we have been told that her favorite medium is acrylic paint.  I don't

really know why, but that strikes me as being rather impressive coming from a 13 year old.  

Furthermore, it makes me so happy to feel the loving support emmanating from a nurturing mother.

I hope that all of you will find some degree of spiritual warmth in the artistic expression

adorning the top of this page. 

By the way,  The "Papa Puttss" cartoon at the top of the right margin

is a rendition of the author if this blog as produced by the son

mentioned in the body of this post.  I am so proud of it that I

use it as my avatar in almost all that I produce.

YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK

"You should write a book!"

The Voice from the Kitchen tells me that all the time.  She asks me questions in the hope of getting a one sentence answer only to be subjected to my one semester exposé of what I think the answer is.

The other day she asked how the United States got to be the United States.  Were there always 50 states?  Where did they come from?  Now, tell me, is that a question that you can answer over a scoop of ice cream at 9:00 PM, just before bed time?  After about 15 minutes of not taking a breath, I pause, and she says, "You should write a book."

Now, I ask you, consider this:

                   Calvin is one of my favorite philosophers.

Now, for your information, and solely for your information and absolutely not for my personal gratification, if you want to read my autobiography, fictional, aspirational, spiritual, personal and whatever other adjective you can think of, consider these references, outside of "365 Thoughts" which in total has more than 700 "thoughts" over 10 short years:

"No Crying at my Funeral"   312 published posts

"Krusty Kurmudgeon"           100 published posts

"Salettinian"                          598 published posts

Oh, by the way, this is a warning:  Beware of weak grammar, typographical errors, the occasional foreign language presentation and, if memory serves me correctly, one or two street corner words.

Actually, the one that appears most often, if I am not mistaken is my go-to "stercus taurorum" which is easily translated by imagining yourself  strolling in the cow pasture taking care of where your feet fall.  If that doesn't work, Google it.

By the way, I did start my non-fictional autobiography once upon a time about 30 years ago.  I even sat down and crafted the outline that I would follow.  It was a gorgeous outline, so perfect, so innovatively creative!  I even wrote the foreword and about 10 pages of "story."  All I have left is the memory.  What I have left on the Internet starts in March of 2005.  If you are interested, the links are all yours, good, bad and in-between.

Peace and joy to you all.

MASKS AND OTHER COVERINGS

   I have to tell you a story that you will appreciate because it has a lot of human value.  It came to me ysterday as I was re-instituting the "365 Thoughts" relationship during the time of facial coverings.  I showed you my face, not anywhere nearly as fetching as the one above, but the seed for this story.  

Some years ago the Voice from the Kitchen and I had the precious opportunity to attend a Biblical Study seminar in Jerusalem.  It was scheduled for a full month and included classroom work as well as onsite visit with scholars dedicated to Holy Land studies.  It so happened that the site of our home base was on the border of the state of Israel and Bethlehem in the Palestinian Authority.  During our stay, we crossed th walled-off border fairly often.  The crossing took place in a zig-zag baffle of walls with a series of circular waiting halls. This place was the one that provided the easiest way for the university students from Bethlehem to get to the University of Jerusalem.

On this one particular day, there we were among what ws about a dozen students, men and women.  Men on one walland women on another and we "tourists"somewhere in the middle.  Males chatting with males and women, covered but for their eyes, having their brand of conversation among themselves. I remember that there were five of us, three from USA and to from Australia.

Then it happened.  Two male students came down the ramp and into the circle.  One was a mere 5'10" human.  The other was a Greek God, 6' 2", stars for eyes, a sunrise smile, wavy hair with not a single wayward strand.  I am here to tell you that not a single one of us 5 had any doubt about what the girls were feeling at the moment of this apparition.  The world was camping in their eyes.  Yes, we mere mortals talked about it on the way to our quarters and I for one have never forgotten it.  In fact I see the same phenomenon now that so many of us are wearing masks to cover all but our eyes these days.  

Despite the face covering, we recognize one another; we feel the smiles of those with whom we connect; we know who is bewildered and who is not, especially in the market place. In short, our eyes are the window into our soul.  I heard that from my grandfather when I was a little boy.  I lived it that day in the denumanizing environment of a harsh checkpoint when eyes lit up and we were all humans for a few blessed moments.

REMEMBER ME? WE HAVE TO GET IT BACK TOGETHER

Hello.  It's been ten years since I began this blog.  Over time it came to contain 690+ "Thoughts."  Lest you come to the conclusion that I ran out of material, I am here to reassure you that I still have some tucked away in the dark corners of my attic.  

It was the Wednesday evening before the celebration of Thanksgiving in 2010.  I decided that I could give my sons something to talk about after I had been taken back into the arms of the angels above.  Well, they are going to have to wait a short while more.

This rebirth is not the result of the Dion offspring asking for more.  On the contrary, it comes from two or three of you who told me that my lack of writing is missed.  I guess I really never gave it a thought - someone misses my scribbles!  Not just one, but some.  So, here I am, still in San Diego, still enjoying the sweet sounds of the Voice from the Kitchen and falling asleep with pictures of EFR Dion floating in my fuzzy head.

To those of you who may have come to wonder if I had lost my sense of humor, allow me to show you this:

I have a more serious one for church

So, now, since Google changed the formatting of the Blog Program, you will have to suffer through the change of the position of the margins.  Life is a never ending challenge.  I invite you to accompany me side by side.  The pieces will be short, they will not be too serious and they may even have some interesting information from time to time.

Oh, BTW, my fingers are starting to refuse to obey me and other functions get fuzzy too.  I will do my best to proof read the items in order to minimize the typos.

Welcome back to where we left off.

MINORITY MAJORITY - VIEW FROM GROUND LEVEL

I can't resist the temptation to address the "Black Lives Matter" axiom in view of my humorous life trajectory.

I have to say that I am white, product of two white people.  One was born in Canada and one in New Hampshire.  I was born in Massachusetts.  All the time I lived in the USA, 24 years, I lived in a cultural bubble that was more French Canadian than Anglo American.

For two of those years I lived through the tsunami of Puerto Rican immigration that hit the east coast of the USA.  I  was working in an industrial, high volume printing company.  I found myself striving to learn Spanish based on my French fluency thereby helping the immigrants to navigate life on the "mainland."  

I confess that I did not learn much Spanish, but I did learn to like the the people and to support them against the prejudice of the long-term residents.

Then, I left my hometown work, went away to school and eventually the country.  I graduated from a famous Dominican University connected to the Vatican and went from Rome to Manila where I lived and worked for some ten+ years.  

Along the way, somewhere close to twenty years, I learned two inexorable  truths:  Prejudice is a human condition, no matter what it is aimed at.  I have seen it caused by differences of race, nationality, ethnicity, religion, sex, educational achievement, profession and political affiliation.  In other words, we humans have a tendency to judge other people according to our desire to be better than others no matter the basis of our attraction or detraction.  

The other truth is:  I am prejudiced in favor of warm climate regions of planet earth.  I decided long ago never again to live too far away from the equator.  I made that vow to myself during my four year domicile in Rome (42 degrees north).  I spent many years in the Philippines (17 degrees north).  I have lived accordingly since then.  That's why I live in San Diego. (33 degrees north)

San Diego can be a very uncomfortable location for a person who is comfortable with personal biases.  Along the way I have shown you the mix of the population in the neighborhood where we have lived since 1977.  It is what I sometimes refer to as the "Heinz 57 Varieties" show case of San Diego.  I have joked about the fact that Sunday Masses rarely have a total of 10 Caucasians in the building, including the presiding priest.  That's only the beginning.  

Talk about the leaders of the area churches:  Baptist: Korean;

Presbyterian:  Korean;  Jehovah's Witnesses:  African American;

Catholic (2): 1- Vietnamese; 1- Causasian;  Methodist: Filipino;  Baha'i: Middle Eastern.

Pharmacies: (4)  1- Traditional Chinese herbal; 2-Vietnamese; 1- Rite Aid has a Caucasian manager and the rest of the staff is Vietnamese, Hmong, Latin, African American, Filipino, Laotian, etc.

Dentists:  Vietnamese, Hong Kong

Super market: Chinese / Vietnamese

Tailors: (2)  1 - Chinese and 1 - Vietnamese

Florists:  (2)  2- Latin

7 Eleven store:  Indian

Jeweler: Chinese

Doughnut shop:  Mexican

Restaurants: (2) Thai || (3)  Vietnamese  || (2)  Mexican  

                       McDonalds - Mexican;  Kentucky Fried - Latin;

                       Jack-in-the-Box - Caucasian

Small general store:  (3) 1 - Mexican; 2 - Iraqi (Chaldean)

Cell Phone, etc:  (2)  Latin

Women's clothes: Vietnamese

Massage:  Thai

Liquor: (2) Iraqi (Chaldean)

Barbers + Hair stylists:  (5) 2 Iraqi (Chaldean); 1 Chinese; 2 Vietnamese

Pizza take-out: Latin

Roller rink: (The only one for miles and miles around!) The owner-operator is Caucasian.

US Postal service station:  I occasionally see a Caucasian on duty

Clinics-General health care- Private: (2)  Vietnamese

Public Laundramats: (2)  Latin

Auto repair/Tires: (4) 3 repair = Vietnamese; 1 tires = Latin

 N.B. - Latin is used because there are many varieties of them in the area, not all of them Mexican.

Gasoline stations: (3)  I confess, I really don't know the owner/operators of these businesses.

I hope you've enjoyed the tour.

...BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT...

Life on jury duty

I am on jury duty again.  I don't know why I have been so lucky in my born days to have such an oft repeated jury duty history.  I have been a constant and consistent citizen of America's Finest City since 1975. I hate to break it to you Bostonians, but that means San Diego, California.  
I have served on Federal Court juries twice and on Superior Court juries three times.  The federal court rules held me on call for six months.  The two trials occupied me for a little more than one week each time.  
The Superior Court service needed me for a) 2 weeks; b) 1 week and now, c) it is foreseen to last for about 3 weeks.  This is quite a heavy duty demand placed upon 12 people who have been sworn to construct an "reasonable doubt-free" conviction about the matters that will be placed before them.  I'm telling you that it takes a lot of mental and emotional discipline to walk that razor's edge.  I liked it better when I was the key witness one time 40 years ago.  
It was a civil case, Emcon vs Kyocera and I was the human resources director working for Kyocera.  At the time when Kyocera acquired Emcon I advised the executive management of  Kyocera to liquidate the Emcon workforce and start a new one from scratch.  Kyocera did not agree with me and took the Emcon employees as their own.  After about 6 months, Kyocera  closed Emcon without warning and the employees of Emcon sued.  I am on record as advising Kyocera to not offer employment to the Emcon people from the beginning and I I did it again after about 6 months.  
On the practical side, that made me a rather interesting person of interest.  In  civil case there is a process called "discovery."  It is a simple equivalent to "investigation" in a criminal case. I was therefore called to testify under oath regarding the facts behind the allegations made by the accusing party. In this case I was invited to "talk" to the lawyers who represented the accusers, under oath and in the presence of the attorney for the defendants.  That took 16 hours of my precious time.  My employer at the time agreed to pay me despite my absence.  Not only that but I was able to negotiate an emolument of $150 per day from the attorney of the accusing side.  As it turned out he was a second rate lawyer.  

The accusing lawyer was rather surprised when I told him that I was not "represented."  He knew that he was going to have a good time when I told him that I did not need representation.  You know the type, C- GPA.  

Anyway, my three weeks of duty are finished.  It took us only 1.5 days of deliberation to put the guy in the tank.  So now I am free to go on my way for the next two years.  I wonder if I will get the opportunity to declare someone not guilty one of these days.

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