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.