THALIDOMIDE, RAPE, ABORTION, GOD

http://news.yahoo.com/german-drug-firm-makes-1st-apology-thalidomide-161625770--finance.html

FILE - In a 1965 file photo provided by the U.S. Department of Health, a three-year-old girl, born without arms to a German mother who took the drug thalidomide, uses power-driven artificial arms fitted to her by Dr. Ernst Marquardt of the University of Heidelberg in Germany. Pharmaceutical company Gruenenthal, German manufacturer of anti-morning sickness drug thalidomide, has for the first time apologized to people who were born with congenital birth defects as a result of its use. Chief executive Harald Stock said Friday, Aug. 31, 2012 that the company had failed to reach out "from person to person" to the victims and their mothers over the past 50 years.
                            MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM
I saw this today and I cannot let it go.  Why?  Because I was in Europe when it was at its height.  I was there and I met one mother who had borne a baby with no legs and she had come to Rome to offer her sufferings to God.  She was from Belgium and the baby was her first.  It was a rather hard meeting, standing there in St. Peter's Square with the mother carrying her baby, accompanied by her husband and, if I remember well, his mother.  The other thing that I remember from that day is the quiet acceptance of the family and the resignation to the Will of God.  We spoke for about fifteen minutes and then went on our way.  I have never forgotten them.

My mind being what it is, took me down another path when I saw this picture and the accompanying story on the Internet.  I remembered that this was about the time of the civil take-over taking place in the Congo...The Belgian Congo in mid-Africa.  Some of you can remember that from your geography books in elementary school, way back when.  I had an attack of memory about the viciousness of the insurgency  and the news that was leaking up north into Europe during it all.  We were in school and in the monastic life besides, so daily news was not high on our list of activities.  But this was quite traumatic.  It was all the more so because it brought us face to face with religious persecution as well.  Part of our pain was caused by the news that the rebel soldiers had routinely raped nuns after killing the priests and their closest helpers.  

These are the two thought streams that invaded me as I read the story about the Thalidomide and a third that hit me as a consequence of the first two.  It is known that none of the afflicted families, to anyone's knowledge procured abortions.  There were perhaps some, but Thalidomide or rape, though abortion could have been an option in some quarters, it was not a part of the regular discourse.   It is known that there were some nuns who became pregnant consequent to the attack.  It is a fact that many of the families of those courageous women took them in  and raised the children.  There were even one or two of the religious congregations who took it upon themselves to raise the children.  Some of them left the religious life to be with their child.  All of them are noble examples of what it means to be a living martyr for the glory of God.  

I run these things through my mind and I think of how strong and valiant people can be in the face of adversity.  I think of the Thalidomide babies and their families.  They represent stories of personal lifelong dedication for the benefit of the new life.  There were many Thalidomide babies born without any limbs at all.  They are still with us, and those who have seen them through life to this point must be with them as well.  Old, but still there.  The nuns who were given the children took them and still  have them, of course.  I often wonder if any of them ever went back to the monastic life.  I wonder about the bonds of love that tie the babies born under these two stressful circumstances to their parents.  Today, more than at other times when I have the fleeting memory of the young family in the Square in Rome am I moved to wonder and awe at the life that they must have.  

Finally, I have to shake my head at the thought of the reality at the other end of the spectrum... abortion.  Yes, I have known women who have had abortions.  I dare say that they may have more significant emotional scars than the Thalidomide families and the victims of the Congolese rebels.  These days, we talk about abortion with such a cavalier attitude and such a "health- care" detached tone, as though abortion was nothing more than tonsillitis.  I look at two of my friends who procured abortions and I think of a third whom I have not seen in more than 30 years now.  They lead "normal" lives, but they never fail to tell me that they need prayers.  They are always reaching out, practically pleading for warmth and assurance of forgiveness.  Today I was blessed with some thoughts of comfort presented to me by the Good Lord.  He is reminding me that along the road of life, everything that happened to others happened to me.  Everything that has come to my head and my heart is still there for a purpose.  This is one of those days when the tips of God's wings (Psalm 91) brushed my cheeks and I am grateful for it.  

I hope that He answers my prayer that He should give you a fly-by too.

EVERY 30 YEARS THIS HAPPENS IN SO CAL

LOOK!
IT'S TRUE!
DUCKS REALLY LIKE IT IN THE RAIN!
IT TOOK ME THE BETTER part of a century to actually experience it.  
And, in Southern California to boot!
All you people who live in the real world must think that I have completely oozed out of my gourd..  You're nearly right.  It was nearly 2:20 PM when I heard a strangely deep and rumbling sound that sounded like something I used to hear often in the Summer.  To be sure that I would not miss something unusual, I left my desk and ran outside to check to see if I could be right.  I opened the door and sure enough, there were three or four drops of water about to hit the pavement.  The palm trees were dancing and the Brazilian Pepper Trees were snapping with glee.  The air smelled of lightning and thunder and the pop of hard driven marble sized drops of water began to insinuate itself into my ears.  YES! There was a flash of lightning followed by that familiar low rumble that rolls across the skies.  The rain did not make my world wait long.  It came fast and furious and before long was not really falling, but fairly flying over the surface of the earth.  Yes!  The wind was in charge and the rain just went along for the ride.  I opined that it was now about 2:30 and that by 2:45 we would no longer have this marvelous display of a playful Mother Nature to entertain ourselves.  So, in my light T-shirt and gym shorts I stayed outside under the carport roof.  This was too much fun to tear myself away from after 30 years of deprival. YES! you heard me, 30 years.  It is now about 2:50 and the wind and the rain are still toying with each other.  It must be serious because now the flock of ducks who normally live on the small pond that you see above begin to come back.  This terribly buffoonish thought fills my mind, "It's raining cats and dogs and only the ducks show up."  Now, I ask you, how stupid is that?  I live in a mobile home park.  The roar of the rain hitting all the aluminum is invigorating.  It is Mother Nature making sure that she gets all the attention she needs while the getting is good.  It is now 3:15 and I am having a great time.  I am no longer a grey haired old coot.  I am now a 10 year old child enjoying a thunderstorm.  I take a step out from under the protection of the roof.  Ouch!  That's cold for a southern Mojave Desert kid.  So I duck back under the roof, but there is no way that I am going to re-enter the house.  
By now there are puddles under the carport roof.  Neat-o!  I get my bare feet in there and splash around like there's no tomorrow.  At the end of the carport driveway there is a gutter and, of course, it is full and rushing, but too cold still  because of the driving rain.  So I play in the puddles instead and the wind and the rain and the lightning and thunder are still keeping me company.  
MY CAMERA!  SHEESH! HOW COULD I FORGET?  Into the house I go.  Camera always at the ready on my desk.  See, I'm not that far gone.  I keep wishing now that the rain will not abate because I want the power of the storm to be visible in the picture.  I point it at the ducks.  They are celebrating.  There is not a one of them in the pond.  They are splishn' an' splashn' on the park road in the rain.  They're like I am.  No way they are going to be conservative in the great opportunity to be out in the rain.  Then I think of it.  Wow, how neat not be ten years old any more.  Here I am outside in a thunderstorm where I always wanted to be, 'cept, "You Know Who" [MJT Dion] would NEVER allow that.  Well, "You Know Who" number one is now with the angels and "You Know Who" number two has just joined me outside almost in the rain.  She has never seen weather like this in Southern California.  So we're both two happy little children.

Believe it or not, it is now 3:30 and the rain is beginning to abate.  It's now just a sprinkle.  The Voice from the Kitchen (The cute little girl) has gone back in to prepare to go to a meeting.  Me?  Now that it's not raining much I'm going to play in the water-filled gutter, of course.  You didn't think that I would let all that good water go to waste, now, did you?  Of course not.  Now, I set up the camera, put it on 10 seconds, and here I am, crazy little kid disobeying the rules of the house on 1 Hartford Street.  Barefoot!  
The whole thing came to an end at around 3:40 or so.  That's over an hour! I was out there the whole time too.  Work or no work, I didn't care.  The sun came out and ruined everything.  But I didn't care any more.  I saw one more good, solid thunderstorm in Southern California one more time.  All the more reason why you now know that you don't have to cry at my funeral.

THE CREATIVE GAME GOES ON

This one is about blogs.  I know that you don't spend much time browsing the Internet looking for cute blog names.  I don't either, but tonight because my brain was rather mushy, I found myself looking at a list of blogs and their front pages.  It brought me back to the games we played as I was growing up.  Cute license plate messages, like L84DD8, and a bunch of other cute nonsense.  Then of course there were the band names.  You know, the racier the better.  The best I ever found was the HummDrumms.  How's that for "ho-hum?"  Last night I got into the epitaph kick and I got one today from a dead hypochondriac who told me, "See, I told you I was sick."  Heee.
Blogs are a little different.  Through the hundreds of cover pages I saw tonight, there were surprisingly few with pet animals as the featured attraction.  There were exactly two that were "racy."  Note the quotes.  That means, "Close but not really."  Quite a few about nature and also quite a few about hallucinatory stuff.
Let me go see if I can find some that would be interesting to you.  Just for kicks.
f8hasit -- picture of a glassy eyed "Chuckie" type child
Dark Matters - Two guys in a dark pub
The Qi Papers -- Two white rabbits ?
Pedal Pushers -- Cycling, of course
Cycle Chic from Copenhagen -- Racy thigh on a bicycle -- Ah, those Danes!
Dark UFO -- Grey octagon on grey
The World from my Window -- Picture of a mushroom! Huh?
The Bitchy Waiter -- Picture of a pretty, 40's style diner waitress

Holyoke Home -- See Picture here:  Anyone you know?
10 Zillion Light Years -- a cartooned dodo bird
LoopyBoopy -- Big, Bug-Eyed, frazzled doll 
Stuff No One Told Me, But I learned Anyway -- Animals piled    
                                      up, sleeping on the body of an elephant
Everything I Like Causes Cancer -- Two Big Wading Boots
The Chubby Vegetarian -- Bowl of Meatless lasagna [I know a chubby vegetarian.]
BB-Blog -- A mechanical line drawing of a power pistol drill
Incidental Comics -- Weird comic book page
Herbie Likes Spaghetti -- Do I gotta tell ya this one?
E, Myself and I -- Front porch of a brick house

So, see, pretty dull stuff, right.  I didn't even tell you about 
Krusty Kurmujjin by Fourinchdevil.  I was holding that one for the climax.  

So anyway, now that you've spent 15 minutes reading this drivel, you don't have to waste time trying to find interesting blog names.  I have just proven to you that they don't exist...Except for the last one, of course.

EPITAPHS FOR THE AGES

2012by ~vuzel

Digital Art / Drawings / Surreal

©2011-2012 ~vuzel

Digital Art / Drawings / Surreal

©2011-2012 ~vuzel

This came to me today.   Lots of stuff comes to me and sometimes (most times) I forget it.  Not this time.  This time I remembered and tonight I sat down and in thirty minutes came up with nine screwy epitaphs.  No, not the kind you can see at the Old North Church in Boston.  These are reminiscent of the game we used to play with band names.  So, I'm throwing these out at you and inviting you to play along with me.  Here, I'll go first to get you in the mood, then you can see what you come up with.  Don't forget to carry a slab of paper and a pencil with you.  These things have a way of flashing by you when you least expect it.  Be a sport and get on board.  If you don't, you're probably the type who would go right ahead and cry at my funeral, despite my urging to the contrary.
Here we go:


1. I KEPT TELLING HIM THAT MY FEET WERE KILLING ME.

2. I SAW YOU CRYIN BY MY COFFIN
NOW I AM THE ONE WHOSE LAWFFIN
CUZ YOU AIN'T DOIN' NO MORE COUGHIN

3. THE ECONOMY MUST BE BAD
NOT A JOB CAN BE HAD
NO DAISIES TO PUSH -- IT IS SAD

4. I WAS THINKING CREMATION
BUT I HAD ALREADY BOUGHT THE COFFIN
'TWOULDA BEEN A SHAME TO BURN IT TOO

5. I HAD TWO SONS
ONE WAS THIN, ONE WAS NOT
THEY WERE BOTH SLICK AS SNOT
OR SO THEY THOUGHT
BUT NOW MY BILLS ARE ALL THEY GOT

6. HE SAID I'LL BURY YOU FOR A SONG
BUT ALL I GOT WAS A RINGING GONG

7. IT COST A FORTUNE FOR THIS STONE
BUT I'LL GET EVEN
THEY DIDN'T GET MY I-PHONE

8. HERE I LIE, QUIET AND STILL
AND MY WIFE STILL HAS THE BILL

9. HERE I LIE FAR FROM BROKEN HEARTED
        THERE IS NO WORK FOR THE DEAR DEPARTED

THE AFFORDABLE CARE ACT

REBATE OF PREMIUM DUE TO 

MISSING LOSS RATIO TARGET

At some points in the past I have used this space to make some important remarks concerning life in the US, especially when it concerned important information about money.
This another one of those times.

One of the points of the Affordable Care Act ("ObamaCare for some of you) is that an insurance company is restricted to spending 85% of the premiums it collects for health care services such as doctors' bills, hospital stays and activities that contribute to the improving of health care quality.  No more than 15% can be spent on administrative costs like salaries, sales and advertising.  If an insurance company does not meet the requirements of the law, it must then reimburse the portion of the premium that it overspent (or even underspent) to the employer or to the employee.  Insurance companies have begun to do just that.  My son has received his notice from the group health insurance of his employer telling him that the rebate for his group will be 0.5% of all the premiums collected by the health care insurance.

When you analyze this, you can see that there could be a fairly large upside to this concept for the employees as well as the employers.  If employees practice good health discpline and therefore spend less at the doctor and the hospital, there is a chance that the rebate could even go higher since less money will have to be paid out to health care providers from the premiums collected.

This is a new concept for health insurance providers.  It is a good one.  For 20 years I managed the group health benefits for some large companies.  Every year I would battle the insurance companies about the outrageous 15 to 18% increases in premiums.  Many times I was able to get something for 11 or 12% but the battle was fierce and many times not very polite.  And, there never was a rebate.

This is not a totally new concept for Workers' Compensation Insurance.  Workers' Compensation Insurance premiums are paid entirely by the employer.  They are a percentage of the wages and salaries that the employer pays to the employees.  If the employees work safely and do not incur any injuries, the premium of the employer goes down.  This is measured on a three year running average.  This serves as a strong incentive for people to work more safely.  Some employers reward employees for their good behavior in this realm.

It is therefore not outside the parameters of reality that a given group of employees could contribute to the controlliing of the premiums paid to their group health care provider by practicing strong health improvement discipline to keep the premiums down, or the rebates up.  Think about it.  Employers and employees can now do something about putting pressure on the insurance providers to keep prices reasonable because they are constrained to control their costs in relation to the premiums received.

This is an oversimplified description of the process.  It is however correct.  To get more information and to see what possibilities may exist for you, go online and educated yourself here:  http://www.healthcare.gov/law/features/costs/value-for-premium/index.html

Employeers and employees, look at this.  It could be just what you have been seeking.

JOE -- WHAT IS YOUR TASTE? HIGH OR LOW ALTITUDE

You wine snobs out there are going to like this.  I got it from National Public Radio.  The words are mine but the topic is pure NPR.

This is about one of my favorite beverages.  Listen to this.

Hmmm, for a low altitude variety this fills the front of the mouth with a bold chlorophyl tingle reminiscent of an early morning dew.  It is vibrant without being violent and doesn't hide behind chocolaty sweetness.  By the time it works its way down the laryngial passage it has suffused the sinuses with the energy of the sun chasing low hanging morning clouds from the horizon.  It provides the esophogal passage with the comforting massage needed to awaken the mental capacities and prepare them for the challenges of the day.

So much for the low altitude stuff.

Hmmm, an olfactory ecstasy.  This high altitude terroir variety is a symphony of redolence vibrating with the tones of rosemary, lavender and suffused with the smoothness of the neighboring fruit.  The grassy relationship has been broken and the gentle passage from the front of the tongue to the epiglotis is like a sweet massage of an angel's fingertips.  With all of this gentleness and silky comfort, it retains the ability to set up internal vibrations in the upper chest cavity, thus preparing the heart for the rigors of the day.  This beverage, I have to admit, with its chocolaty spine just has to be the best damned coffee that I have every tasted.

IS THIS BUCK PRIVATE COFFEE OR FIVE STAR GENERAL COFFEE

I kid you not, this was a real life interview (you do remember that I said that the words are mine) about the finer points of coffee.  I did not make up the part about the altitude.  The truth of the matter is that the wider spread between hot air and cold air at the higher altitudes produces coffee beans that make better tasting coffee than the beans that thrive at the lower elevations where the temperature tends to be more stable between night and day.  The coffee buyer who was explaining this said that this trend toward more discriminating tastes in coffee is not that old.  Maybe only about 25 or 30 years or so.  
He told the story of when he and his friend went to Guatamala to meet some coffee farmers for the first time.  The farmers had never met anyone who was interested in talking to them about the finer points of growing coffee.  They grew it. Harvested it.  Threw in into a truck.  It was weighed.  They got paid.  Went out and got drunk one night and went back to the hills and waited for the next harvest.  End of story.  There was one family of coffee growers who were nice to these buyers.  No one had ever come to talk to them personally about a business relationship. They learned a lot from one another and the family stopped selling their coffee through the co-operative and selling it directly to these entrepreneurs, for bigger money.
Now, since then,  we have developed coffee tasters and snobby language descriptions of how it tastes.  
I like coffee.  I drink it hot and black.  I do care how it tastes, but these days I have to confess that the best coffee comes straight from Mexico, roasted, ground and canned and $7.50 for 34.5 ounces.
It's not too fancy in the taste department.  It just kinda goes down, shivering and scratching all the way down, finds your ass, gives it one swift kick  and you're off and running for the rest of the day.  Ole!

THINGS YOU NEVER FORGET

What are they?  C'mon give it a try.  Fill in the blanks.
1. -
2. -
3. -
4. - My first Schaefer fountain pen
5. - My first bicycle
6. - My first watch ( I still have it)  No, it doesn't work.
7. - My first dog bite
8. - My first job
9. - My first loss of consciousness and the subsequent headache
10. - My first fight.  I lost.
11. - My first pair of trousers. (long pants)
12. - My first belt.  A long time after the trousers.  EFR Dion always said that I had no hips.
13. - My first festive meal with the grown-ups.
14. - My first test paper. Spelling, English, 99%.  EFR Dion says, "If it's not 100% don't show me."
15. - My first "Public speaking" assignment.  7th grade.  "How to play cribbage."
16. - My first bus ride alone.  I was 6 months shy of 6 years old.  Going to school.
17. - My first stay in the hospital.  Surgery.  Tonsillitis.  48 hours of Hell, 9th level down! 5yrs old
18. - My first "outsider" baby sitter
19. - My first visit to the dentist.  14 years old.  He was not a nice person.  Really.
20. - My first REAL fishing rod and reel that was only mine.  I should devote more than just one line to this one.  This was a graduation gift from my uncle Normand [French "d"].  It was a seven foot, split bamboo casting rod made specifically for casting with a fixed spool casting reel.  What he bought was a high end Garcia reel that he had come to know in France when he served in WWII.
I spend hours in a field in front of our house, practicing how to use this equipment.  The first time I used it while pickerel fishing with EFR Dion, he caught two very nice pickerel while I got "skunked."  I can't remember if my dear father ever did let me live that one down.

So there you have it.  Just a little trip down memory lane.  I hope it triggered some happy moments for you.

CELEBRATION OF LIFE

No, it is not Christmas.  Not even close.  It is right in the middle of Summer.  I am right in the middle of the first absolute period of perfect downtime that I can remember ever having in my adult life.  I am enjoying the physical downtime, but the mental wheels have never stopped.  Here I am visiting someone who lives some 500 miles from us and she doesn't remember the WEP Code of her wireless email broadcaster.  So, I am writing this in Word and getting it ready for the oven.  When I get back to my working cave, I will unleash it on all you unsuspecting denizens of Dion’s sandbox.  I have decided that this is going to be one of those semi-religious, totally moral offerings.  I am sharing time with an intimate friend who is a very special person indeed.  She is admirable.  She is a person who is a pillar of righteousness on the model of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to say nothing about Jesus Himself. 

Like the couple in the representation on the upper right quadrant of the page, she had to make a choice once that was similar to the one that Joseph and Mary had to make.  You can read all about them in the Good Book, Matthew 1; 18 – 25.  Can you imagine what it was like to get pregnant out of wedlock in a society where you could get stoned to death?  Can you imagine what would have happened to Joseph had he been found out as the protector of such a woman?  Read the paragraph and imagine what Mary and Joseph had to go through in trying to make up their minds about how to thread that needle and still stay alive.  They did it.  They made the choice for Life.  Not just the Life in the womb, but theirs as well.  Now, that was a Choice.  Our beloved friend did not have to dig that far down into herself to make the choice for life that she did, but given the social environment in which she made the choice, it was not easy. It never is.  Not for anybody.

She made the choice for life at the sacrifice of her own. Under her singular circumstances, she knew that she would have to take herself and the child through life alone.   No, she was not in the imminent danger of being stoned.  As far as we can tell, she was not in danger of dying.  Neither was the new being in her womb.  She chose life when she could have just as easily chosen death.  Yes, it could have been easy.  In some ways, that is.  In some ways it could have been easier than nurturing life.  But in the mind, heart and soul of the righteous person who was confronted with the choice, life was the only acceptable path.  Yes, even to the detriment of her very own reputation.  She did it.  Like Joseph, she let the other party completely off the hook.  Like Joseph, she saved three lives and now all three can celebrate the wonder of life in some kind of comfort. 

The child is no longer a child.  A loving daughter, yes, who is now an accomplished adult.  Not just an adult, but one who has a family of her own and even in these lean times, can claim a modicum of comfort and security that allows for the safe and warm upbringing of her own child.  Her own mother humbly celebrates her choice for life in a modest level of comfort that she can maintain through the loving support of her immediate family and her own professional accomplishments. 

Yes, the choice of life before and after conception is the choice for life and gusto in this world.  The choice in favor of life is not made on the spur of the moment.  The choice in favor of life is made on the way to adulthood.  The choice in favor of life is an eternal vow that develops in the very mind, heart and soul of the maturing human.  The choice in favor of life is a non-negotiable position in favor of the entire human community, not solely in favor of an individual.  The choice in favor of life is the most generous choice that any human can make for the sake of the larger human community.  The world is enriched by EVERY new life that is created.  Yes, I say that without reservations. 

Furthermore, and in conclusion I say without reservations that every choice for death causes the impoverishment of the human community, be it through abortion, adult homicide, war, civil punishment, suicide or whatever other category I have overlooked.  I am celebrating the courage and the love of my dear friend, her wonderful child and the other lives that have been touched and influenced by these deeply righteous, richly human people.  We should all be this powerful in our expression of the gift of human freedom.

PHOOEY!

When is the last time you heard this word?  Probably many years and you never give it much thought.  We go through stages when the "word du jour" seems to be en eternal part of our mental construct.  Then, without falling off the cliff of usage, our favorite words/expressions disappear in the fog of time.  I don't know why I thought of this one the other day.  It just popped up and there it was.  I asked my #2 son if he had ever heard it.  He said that he had, "centuries ago."  He's 32.  So we went on to another topic.  But I wasn't done.
My mind went around and around and there I was trying out the feel of a couple of old words that I haven't head or used in a long, long time.
I thought of "Shucks!" or even "Aw shucks!"
I thought of "Sugar!"
I even revisited "Turkey."  I had a friend who used to embellish that with "Jumpin' Tom Turkey!"
I remembered that we don't use "square" much any more,if ever.  Even "cool!" seems to be losing some of its heat.  Do you remember when something would be a "drag?"
Back in the day there used to be a lot of "baloney" in the world.  I think what happened there is that with the ease of travel and all, people came to know that the real word was "Bologna."
Of curse we won't even mention the slang terms that were used to name the warring factions of World War Two.
On the neutral side, I would just like to say that "yes," there are still "tin cans" in the world.  We don't see too many of them here, but there are some.
That's what went through my mind here lately.  Oh, I just thought of another one, It's time to "Skeedaddle."
If you can remember that, you're as old as dirt.

BATTING A THOUSAND

I was looking for a picture for you that would somehow introduce the topic you expect from the title of this post.  So, I went to Google because I didn't have too much time since it is already the middle of the night.  So I put in the three words that you see at the top there. What I saw in ten pages of Larry and Sergei's masterpiece was about four pictures of marginally related baseball pictures and a very large array of naughty things...So, I figured that I would complete the idiocy by taking the picture that you see.  Two French flags celebrating a XXX billboard with Americana...Sheeesh!
It's a good thing that the nun who taught us decimals is no longer with us.  I hope she doesn't get her wings wrinkled by the sass of this little essay.  I bring it up for one reason, and one reason only.  The other day my younger son used the expression "Batting a thousand" to describe the string of bad luck that someone whom we both know was suffering.  It is a part of US culture that I don't hear much any more.  But when I heard it I thought of Sister Robert Marie.  5th grade at the Immaculate Conception school on Summer street in the "Flats" of Holyoke, Massachusetts, down by the canal.  The "Paper City" it was called.  When the times they got a little more brazen, the bumper stickers that they were flashing around read, "The best city by a dam site."  If anyone thought of that in the 40's, they didn't use it for fear that the mayor would have washed their mouth out with soap.  Make mine Ivory, please.  It's 99/100% pure, you know.
Anyway, the good sister decided that it was time to teach us how to calculate our batting averages.  She made the mistake of thinking that she had enough "street" smarts to deal with us wise-acres.  You can all see this coming.  She asks, "If Johnny hits the ball and gets to first base, what is his batting average?"  We all say, "A thousand."  That was it.  She spent at least a half hour trying to  get us to say, 1.000 [one.point zero, zero, zero.]  Forget that noise. She was having a mental breakdown.  She tried to make us say that some batters bat [no, she didn't say "hit"-- hey she was a sister, remember?"] "Three hundred and twenty-five thousandths."  Whoooie!  That went over really well.  We could all see ourselves talking to the tough, "eat-nails-for-breakfast-catcher" that he was batting only "two hundred and ten thousandths."  Imagining the consequences of doing something like that was altogether too much for any of us to bear.  
Actually I remember that a couple of us guys, and even one girl tried to reason with Sister Robert Marie, but this was 1949 or so...You know, "pay, pray and obey!"  Oh, and  keep quiet too.  
Sister took it for a while, but then she changed the subject to geography or some such safe haven of the sort.  We were good with that, along as we had her out of our hair and we could go on using the phrase "Batting a thousand" to our hearts content.


So see, I thought about all of that and still had to suffer through the bad experience with Mr. Google and the French stuff.  But, all in all, it was fun.  We have so little culture here in the good ol' US of A, that when we trip over a bit of it, we have to put it out there, right?  Right.  Now, go to bed, "Mrs. Calabash, where ever you are!"

TELSTAR -- PLEMEUR-BODOU - 20 MINUTES OF AWE

Plemeur-Bodou, France

I was on the way to delivering my systematic Bible study this evening when I caught the end of the news story relating the events that surrounded the first trans-Atlantic transmission of television images by satellite.  I was really surprised about the news because satellite transmissions of television images have passed into the fabric of our lives.  We don't even know where the images we have before us originate.  
Soon we will be watching the Olympic Games unfold in London.  Just about the only discomfort we will feel is the time lag between London and North America.  There will be no watermark on the television screen reading "Transmitted by Satellite"  just as used to happen in the not too distant past.  
When I heard the tail end of the story, I remembered certain things just as though they were yesterday.  Better, even.  This is all the more amazing since I haven't had this event in the forefront of my grey matter since the week after I witnessed the entire historical event in a Paris sitting room.  We had read all the newspapers and we had seen the time schedule of the transmission in store-fronts and in the school lobby.  We [there were three of us] made up our minds that we would not miss this for anything.  It would be the signature historical event of our lives.  So, there we were, in the sitting room of a religious monastery in the 11th arrondissement of Paris, France.  We were sitting there a good thirty minutes ahead of the announced time.  We knew that the images would only appear for some 20 minutes.  Since the satellite was in motion, and there was but one, it would come into range and fly out of range.  Yes, this going to be quite a show.  If my memory serves me correctly, it happened in the early evening, sometime between 7:00 and 8:00 PM.  We knew that the satellite was named Telstar and that the signal would be received at the Brittany area installation called Plemeur-Bodou.  I remembered these details immediately upon realizing what was being celebrated on the car radio this evening.  
Suddenly, right before our eyes, the television screen became snowy, flickery, and flashed in and out a few times in rapid succession before steadying with a very clear picture of the American Flag waving in the wind accompanied by the Stars Spangled Banner.  When that stopped, the voice-over was a man's voice but I do not remember whether or not it was Walter Cronkite  or Edward R. Murrow.  The Statue of Liberty was followed by other pictures from around North America.  If I am not mistaken, I think that Niagara Falls was one of the featured landmarks.  The pictures remained clear and the quality of the voice-over was quite good until suddenly the reverse of what had initially happened began to manifest itself.  In about thirty seconds the connection was lost and we were isolated in a sitting room some three thousand miles away from our homes.  Yes, it was quite an experience.  Yes, it has stuck with me as one of my cherished historical moments that I can brag about simply because I am so old, I was there.  Truly not a great "accomplishment" but a "cool" memory.  I have many of them, but that's not the point for this article.  Just remember when you watch the Olympic Games, this all started exactly 50 years ago.

DEFINE "GOOD WORK" -- DOES THAT MEAN THAT WORK IS GOOD?

GOOD WORK?  REALLY?  WHY?

Yesterday we talked about "hard work."  Not all of hard work is good work.  I was translating a three page presentation of an executive level person who is presently seeking work.  The reason why he is unemployed at this time is because he resigned from a very lucrative positive for moral reasons.  I was doing this translation after setting down my reflections about "hard work."  So, naturally I related this person's situation to at least one that I suffered during my days as an active Human Resources Director.  I was somewhat more fortunate than he in that when I told my superiors that I would no longer sign anything in the name of the company, they just shrugged and kept me on the payroll anyway.  Just goes to show how ethical they were!
So it is true.  There is hard work, lucrative work and good work.  My definition of "good work" is conditioned by the definition of work that is proposed by the Catholic Church.  It is work that is performed for the benefit of the employer, the employee and the community at large.  In the concept of the Catholic Church, the employer has to care for the welfare of the employee;  the employee has to care for the welfare of the employer;  Together, employer and employee have to promote and sustain the common good of the community at large.  That is good work.  I propose here to give you two examples of what I am talking about.  One from a non-Catholic country and one from a "Catholic" country.
At the end of WW II, the Japanese people had to rebuild their country.  Needless to say there was a lot of opportunity for work. Hard work it was, for the most part.  Everybody helped.  Those who helped were not sent home.  Those companies who were able to set up again and move forward, hired people and did not send them home in downturns.  Everyone was expected to support the community at large, employers included.  It was a time when mutual support was institutionalized.  Japan not only survived, it flourished and continues to do so.  The discipline of interactive assistance is the hallmark of the Japanese people.  Don't take my word for it, just look at the last disaster that struck them less than two years ago.  You don't see them crying "Uncle" do you? 
That is good work.
1961 - I was in Italy as a student.  I was there for four years.  Everywhere I looked there was a street sweeper.  Sometimes two of them to a block.  Construction sites were common  during this season of the reconstruction of Italy after WW II.  They were never active for six or seven days per week.  No way.  It's not that the Italians are lazy.  Nope.  What they were doing is helping one another to nurse the resources so that they would help a slightly inflated labor force to benefit by the work for a little longer until the next contract.  I was never able to see what was happening outside the city, in the far-flung country side, but I am told that even today, the same attitude prevails in the country.  If you get terminated in Italy, you know that you did something REALLY bad.
That is good work.
I believe in that kind of work.  Maybe is it just me.  Maybe it is because of the house I was brought up in.  EFR Dion was one tough dude when it came to mutual support in the work place.  He was deeply resentful of people who were there just for the money.  He used to say that he was there for them and he expected them to be there for him.  He was there for the company and the employees should be there for the company too.  In my mind "good work" is work where the common good reigns.  In an atmosphere of fraternity, even "hard work" is good work.  
I have worked at many places in my life.  There are only two where I could define the work as good.  At neither one did I get paid king's ransom wages.  I left each one of them due to circumstances beyond my control.  [No, I wasn't fired]...I did get fired in my life, but never from "Good Work."


I know that this reflection is a little deep.  I also know that those of you who have been nurtured by the organized labor philosophy that all employers are the enemy of the employees won't believe it.  To that I say, to each his own.  I have always worked for the good of my employer.  I'm 75 and I am still working for the good of my employer.  
My retirement benefit is my God-given health, my brain and my hands.  
Knowing that, you are now definitely not going to be tempted to cry at my funeral.

DEFINE "HARD WORK"

Today I was listening to Public Radio, as is my wont.  All of a sudden the topic of hard work came up.  The host of the program was interviewing people who had achieved something great along the way of life.  The one that grabbed my attention was the biography of a woman who has conquered white slavery and become a tenured full professor at UCLA.  When she finished her story, the host then went on to introduce an expert on the effects of hard work on the human body and in the human mind.  Fortunately, I had arrived at a point just 100 yards away from my destination, so I missed the whole thing, except the inane introduction.  It did, however make me think.  I cannot remember if I ever paused to talk about my philosophy of work, and precisely, hard work.  Let me run a search to see if the "hard work" label occurs in the "365 Thoughts..." universe.  I'll get back to you.
[5 minutes later] Brace yourselves...62 hits in the search for "hard work."  Wow!  I didn't think anyone could say so many things about "hard work" as that.  That equals 11.524% of the time I have written on these pages, I talked even just a little bit about "hard work."  How could I do that?  I know that I am not afraid of hard work.  Jiminy Cricket, I could sleep next to it all day and and wake up happy.  However today I did get a little philosophical about it.
Ready?  Here we go.
Age 12 -- Cleaning the sluicing brook behind the auto body shop
Age 14 -- Working on the tobacco farms (2 Summers)
Age 17 -- Working on a construction site (I know, I was an illegal) Trust me, by any  
                 definition, that was hard work
Age 18 -- Working in a print shop specializing in comic books and in cheap $0.25 
                 pornographic (text only) pocket books (worked there for 5 Summers)
I was in the seminary in the farming country of New Hampshire and we pitched in to perform the maintenance and farming tasks that had to be done.  Yes, some of it was dangerous...lumber jacking, for example; slaughtering cattle and a host of other stuff that goes into the maintenance of a 1,500 acre property and a full service farm.
Talk about hard work?  So far I have only mentioned categories that are generally conceded to be "hard work."  But remember, I am a polyglot with a masters degree.  So, I have a different definition of hard work than you'll find in John L. Lewis's note books. Nevertheless I venture into other classes of "hard work."
Decision making based on an abundance of education and a penury of experience.  Learning a foreign language so that you can help other people make conscience decisions without leading them astray.  Managing a $ 1,000,000 budget of tithe collections to the liking of your parishioners and the strict expectations of your boss.  When you were 30 years old, full of P... and vinegar, did you ever try to talk some serious truth to the 60 year old, crusty codger who didn't give a sweet flying fig how much education you had?  Friend, That is HARD WORK.
Then, I got older.  Then I had to remember the "hard work" that I had done when I was 30.  I have to tell you, those 60 somethings who had to listen to me when I was 30 were doing hard work.  I was a handful...in fact, a whole bushel basket full.  Now, I am even older than that and I work for a company in Europe and I have to meet European deadlines from California, and they are set by those European 30 somethings!  Hey, amigos, I'm here to tell you that it is hard work even though I don't even have to comb my hair to go to work.
Interestingly enough, I haven't mentioned the two years that I drove a medical transport van over mainly city streets.  250 to 300 miles per day.  
How about the airport mini-van to transport passengers and their luggage to and from airports?  16 to 18 hour days six days per week...Sunday I took a break and only worked 8 hours.  


See?  There are many definitions of hard work.  Physical, mental and emotional.  
None of the three can escape the three forces that cause the work to be hard.
Short, but powerful intensity (weight, risk, probable consequences).  Long, continuous demand for engaged involvement.   Disciplined maintenance of smooth, collaborative human relationships to provide high quality outcomes.


All three of these clumps of reality can be deleterious to your health if they are not managed well.  I know, first hand.  Hard work did not kill me, but my gluttony for it nearly did.  Don't let it do it to you...don't do it to yourself.  Because I learned my lesson, you won't have to cry at my funeral.

WARNING -- AVERTISSEMENT -- ADVERTENCIA

THE TRANSLATION IS SUPER LITERAL JUST LAUGH IT OFF! [(:-)-[--<
LA TRADUCTION EST STRICTEMENT LITTERALE -- AMUSEZ-VOUS
LA TRADUCCION E DE MASIADO LITERAL -- USENLA CON
CAUTELA Y HUMOR

POLITICS 2012 -- MY TAKE -- WE'RE GOING TO THE DOGS

                   ROOFUS                                             POTUS

I tell you that it is fun watching this skirmish between these two.  I have never been much of a watcher of politicians because I am of the opinion that they all live on another planet than I do.  I wonder if they could pass the DNA test for humanity.  Deep down inside me, I don't think that they can.  
Like everyone else, I hear them making all sorts of promises about what they are going to accomplish once they are elected.  It always strikes me as strange that as they are making these promises, I am wondering if they realize that are but one person among the other 600 who are also making similar promises.  I also hear them bashing the brains out of one another in public.  I suppose that we adults can listen to this xxx talk and shake it off like wet puppies.  I am wondering how young children feel about it though.  Sometimes I wonder if it would not be safer to allow the left tackle to "bring his daughter to work" some Sunday.  That might be easier.  She would have to do it only once.  The sons and daughters of these two specimens of DNA constructs have to play left tackle for months on end.  


Well, I am not fond of writing politics here on this page, but I decided that I would give it a go for one time.  So, here it is.  I declare that there is a great difference between the two principal candidates running for the privilege of sitting the the Oval Office.  


Right off the top:  One is looking for the job.  The other is striving for the office.

                                  One is usually grinning.      The other is usually smiling.

                                  One is not afraid to throw a dare at the other side.

                                  The other doesn't dare anyone to do anything, not even himself.

                                  One is Christian.  The other is not.  Neither appears to be willing to         

                                  follow the morality defined by the tenets of the religion they say  

                                  they espouse.

                                  One has a tanker full of money.    The other only has a truckload.

                                  They each have more money than either you or me.

                                   One has no qualms about spending tens of millions of other    

                                   people's money.  The other prefers to spend hundreds of millions 

                                   of other people's money.

                                  One is a saber rattler; a real ships, planes, drones and bombs buff.

                                  The other plays basketball, lets others do the joystick shtick and 

                                   takes credit for killing people in other people's back yard.

                                   Neither one knows a gun from a slingshot.  

                                   Neither one has ever had to eat "shit on a shingle" for breakfast.

                                   One plays basket ball, but doesn't allow pictures of him in shorts!

                                   The other has million dollar toys and likes the bling that they ring.

                                   They both have dogs.  One keeps his in the house.  The other 

                                    keeps his on the roof of his car.  One has eaten dog meat and 

                                    perhaps would not turn it down if it were offered.  The other doesn't 

                                    have to "wok" his dog because he's nestled into the car roof rack.

                                    Neither one has to complain that he is living a dog's life.

                                    One has an Hawaiian birth certificate, so they say.  The other has 

                                    IRS documents.  Or so it is alleged.  In both cases, there is no 

                                    better, nor richer grist for the gossip mill.

Yes, it is interesting to watch this year.  There is absolutely no suspense.  Everyone knows that no matter who finally gets to sit the Oval Office, the chair will still serve the noble purpose of supporting the south end of a being whose north end is firmly lodged in the dark confines of the southern recesses of his being.  


Now you are all informed about the urgent need for our vote.  One vote against the will of the hundreds of millions of $1.00 votes by the special interests.  And all for the glory of saying that we kept one guy off unemployment!


    

WOW! GOD DID GOOD WORK HERE

7,328 FEET and now we are beginning to lose altitude.  We bank slightly left and the scenery doesn't change much except that it is in decline rather than incline.  Then, all of a sudden, an enormous hole in the shape of a deep throat-ed valley opened up to our bulging eyes and gaping mouths.  There below and ahead, to the right of the vehicle at about the one o'clock position was the heavenly blue expanse of Lake Tahoe nestled into the caressing recess of an angel's "wing-pit."  Just like this.

UNEXPECTED GIFT FROM ABOVE

CALIFORNIA, THE GOLDEN STATE

CALIFORNIA, THE GOLDEN STATE

Hello there. The other night, 12:30 AM of July 9, 2012 Belle and I departed from our abode in Southern California and pointed our horseless carriage in the direction of the San Francisco Bay Area, 500 miles away to the north.  We were headed for Union City, California where we were scheduled to spend an evening with friends, sleep at their house and proceed to Lake Tahoe, California the next morning.  

This drive is a long and rather uneventful ride since there is not really any breath-taking scenery to make it interesting.  So we drove through the night [it's cooler that way] and arrived in Fremont slightly past mid morning.  

We took some time to feel the nostalgia affect us [we had lived in Fremont for 6 years] before going to the friends who live but five more miles to the north.  All told, it was a good time.  We were there alone and could do nothing to affect the outcome of anything that we could have started in Southern California before leaving.  That is a rare intellectual and emotional state for us to be in.  We seem to always be occupied with constructing something or trying to make something happen.  Now all we had to do was to show up and enjoy the company of our friends.  What a concept!

The evening went well and even contained a very special bit of good news for us.  Turns out that the host was going to be sworn in as an American citizen in Wednesday, July 11.  This was special for us as we had written a letter in support of his good moral character.  That made our sleep all the sweeter.

The next morning we left Fremont, pointed ourselves to the East and started to roll.  We had to go through a section where the land mass changes from coastal plain to hilly ridge before plunging in the Central Valley.   This is a very large and fertile valley that runs for about 300 miles [500 kilometers] north and south and averages about 80 miles [150 kilometers] wide.  I had a friend who was a landowner in this valley and he was fond of saying, "If humans can eat it, we grow it."  

On the way there, we had to go over the separating ridge, as I said.  This is a grass covered, golden yellow/brown mass of rolling hills.  No a sharp point in sight. When the sun hits it, which is about 85% of the year, the grass which has died and withered because of the lack of rain forms an attractive alternative to what
would be green grass in many other parts of the world.  This is a phenomenon that pertains to great expanses of land all throughout California.  This is why it is called the Golden State.

When most of us Easterners get here, we let our minds take us back to Sutter's mill race and the discovery of gold.  Californians let us get away with that for a while, but then they shake their shyness and tell us the truth.

So now you all know.  

The drive across the 75 miles of Central Valley was, of course, uneventful and causes us to turn on the car air-conditioning system.  As our friend Yoda would say, "Warm it was.  This, known you should have."  Anyway, we got through it.  There is another secret that we have to tell you.  It did not get any cooler as we started to climb up to the level of Lake Tahoe.  Nope.  Not at all.  So, up we went. 1,000 feet; 2,000 feet;

3,000; 4,000; 5,000; 6,000...nope, there's still more.  To top it all off, the temperature was not backing off.  Neither were we.  We were not going to be outdone.  So we plowed on, all the way up to 7,328 feet, if my mind is still functioning accurately.  There it was.  The sign said "Summit."

We were at the top of our climb, but not at the top of our enjoyment.  Since I have reached the summit of my word count, I will rejoin you tomorrow with the beginning of "The REST of the Story."

LANGUAGE AGAIN -- OH, OH! SAME NAME, DIFFERENT WORDS

STOP

I spent a few hours in Tijuana, Mexico today.  As usual, I was transported to a different planet and had a lot of thoughts cross my mind.  Stay tuned.
Off to your right, is Tijuana, Mexico Spanish for "STOP."
Bet you never imagined that, right?  Unless, of course, you're a USA teenager on a night out in TJ.

Below, the literal translation is 
       "Continuous Stops"

This is a signature joke in Tijuana.  Certain humorous mini-bus drivers have the permission to affix this to the rear of their conveyance.

Try this in Madrid

If you know some Spanish, especially "Border Zone, Tijuana Spanish, check out the link in the upper right hand position of the picture.  La Madrilena Donna may enjoy this.
www.hazmeelchingadofavor.com.

Some other thoughts:
Would you believe that this is Laurie...Ooops, nope, sorry, I'm told that it is lorry.
Turns out that San Diego English and London English can be different too.
Interesting stuff, Eh!  Where'd that Canadian come from?

Ice Cream Soda - today
College Ice - yesterday

Now, here's one from the distant past, right here in the good ol' USA.

usa - milkshake
Providence, Rhode Island - Cabinet