HEY LOOK, MY FINGERS WORK AGAIN

NOT QUITE THIS FLEXIBLE

Hey, the time has come when I can get something done.  There are things in nature that can make us take some detours the we would prefer to avoid.  These are greater than technologically dictated detours.  Let me give you a personal example.
I have done a lot of professional driving.  All of it in passenger vans.  About 40 percent of it on what is sometimes euphemistically called a "freeway."  Ha.  Believe me, even there you have to have a philosophy.  The philosophy is that you can only use what the road gives you.  You can never overcome the avaricious nature of the road.  When you are on that ribbon of technology realized, you are at its mercy.  You always proceed according to its definition of itself.  You can either go fast or slow.  You can be alone, or nearly so, or you can be cramped.  But one way or the other, you do what the road permits you to do. Remember now I am talking about the freeway, so called.  There are free moments, but there also plenty of ligating (tying-up) ones.  The most interesting part of my experience is the city street driving that I did.  Boy, do I have some stories!  For a little more than one year, I drove an average of 200 plus miles per day, six days per week on city streets.  For those of you know California can readily smile and say, "Yeah, that can't be that bad.  He should have done that in Massachusetts."  I admit that doing it in Mass. would have been something either to brag about or to decry.  I do not know which I would have done.  One thing I do know, with my philosophy of "thanking the road for what you get from it, whether it is what you want or even, in some cases, what you need, is the way to inner peace."  I would  have been all right.
Over the last week, that is what I have been doing with regards to my left lower arm.  That limb found a way to get my attention.  It did it by denying me normal "traffic".  Now it's had some attention.  Now it is my turn again.   I could get really philosophical about pain and suffering again, but I'm going to spare you.  I'm here now and I have typed all of this and you have an insight into the kind of attitude I learned myself into by driving professionally.  So see, we learn from anything, if we want.   Can you believe that I wrote "I learned myself into"?  Somehow it sounds good.  A little like Shakespeare taking some poetic license.  Not bad for the Bard of South Hadley on Connecticut, eh?

I DID IT! I DID IT! I STUMPED GOOGLE!

BLIBOT!  

That's it.  I never even planned it.  I was just thinking about blibots a lot today and I decided to see if I could find a picture of one on Google.  Imagine my surprise and sense of "conquistador" pride at finding out that I had stumped the mega brain of the universe.  I have to tell you that I even decided to play fair and get out of the images mode and get into the "information over the blue line" mode.  Nothing.  Even with the "safe search" off, Google does not know what a blibot is.  I'm flying high.  I never in my wildest dreams thought that I could stump Google.  I mean, Google knows everything, I mean, everything!  Except what a blibot is.  So, all you chumps out there who think that you are so smart alecky, three-piece suit, summa cum laude Crimson Tide beats the Eli every time smarter than Google types, go ahead, tell me what a blibot is.  If you get it right, we'll submit it to Wikipedia so that we will get the scoop and Google will have to come to US for the answer.  if you don't get it right, then I'll tell you and keep all the glory to myself.
HHmmmmm, I wonder if my brother will know this.  I think he will.  He's one of these New York Times Sunday Crossword puzzle nerds.  Maybe I should disqualify him.  Besides he's family.  We'll stand by and see.  If he gets it and you don't, I'll be fair and tell you the truth.
By the way, I'm going to Google right now because I just thought of a French-Canadian word that I bet Google won't know.  Gimme a minute while I do this.  You can tell, I'm hot to trot on this quest.  I'm back, and I am flying high...
Wow, twice in the same day.  In both cases, there are bloggers who have taken the word and made it their pseudonym, but Google does not know what either of them means.
I WIN!   I BEAT GOOGLE.  NOW I'M WAITING FOR YOU ALL TO RESPOND.
The one thought that really makes me happy about this is the revenge that I get for finding that nude male movie star web-site guy so close to my "Paul Dion" on GOOGLE.
IF YOU WANT TO TAKE A WHACK AT THE FRENCH WORD, LET ME KNOW AND I'LL LET YOU TRY.

DEPRAVITY ON THE PAUL DION MAP

NOPE, NO PICTURE TODAY.  
I remember the silly sayings of George Gobel, innumerable moons ago. "Funny thing happened to me today.  I was walking downtown when I turned into a drug store."
That didn't happen to me, but in fact a funny thing did happen to me today.  If you want to call what it was, "funny."
I don't know why, but after writing all that stuff about one million eyeballs, I decided for the first time to "Google" myself.  I have to admit that I was rather impressed.  There I was on the third line with my picture.  A little mug shot back in the days when I was a little more beefy.  I did in fact make it on more than one line.  My blog, "No Crying at My Funeral" was there too.  Not too bad for a small town boy, says I.  I was doing quite well so I got sassy and decided that I would turn the page and see what I could find.  After all, after more than one million eyeballs, I figured that there would be something else.  That's when it happened.  Right there on the second page, near the top there's a Paul Dion who maintains a web sight of nude male movie stars.  Really.  No lie.  Of the 116 Paul Dion people in this country (according to Google, right there on the first page), not 15 names on down the list, there he is, the guy with the nice name and the daring enterprise.  I have to tell you, I wasn't very happy, but I did find a way to make lemonade.
I remembered the genealogy of Jesus and my mind took me right to Rahab.  Click there and read all about it.  You can check out the genealogy right here in the very first chapter of Matthew.  So, we're not any better than Jesus, now are we?  So now that "Google" has put me in my place, you are all surely so happy that you've just decided that you don't have to cry at my funeral.

THE VAGUE SPECIFIC

Never say, "I dunno."  First off it's bad English.  Secondly, it shows that you have no imagination.  Remember, you need imagination to get by.  So flaunt your imagination.  Make it sound good, but don't really say anything.  Don't tell me that don't now how to do this.  Saying that will just prove that when your Mom and Dad were talking around the house in front of you, you were not really listening.  In case you are one of those who let this part of their childhood slip by, I am presenting you with a few suggestions of what it looks like to flimflam the other person with your vague specific conversation.  The other reason why this lesson is important is that if the one with whom you are having the conversation is adept at vague specifics, you will be able to decipher it and bamboozle the person who thought it would be cool to stuff you into a dark cloud of ignorance. So here is your chance to learn something.

When you talk about this, say nothing.
When you talk to so and so, say such and such.
When you talk to whoyamaycallum about so and so about such and such, say nothing.
When you talk to whoyamaycallum about whatchamaycallit, say nothing.
When you talk to them about nothing now and then it must be a while ago.
When asked how to do this and that, say thus and so.
When asked how often you do this and that, here and there, say now and again, with whatchamaycallum.
When asked where you learned this and that, say here and there.
When asked where you are going, say over yonder.
When asked how often you go over yonder, say it all depends on this and that and the other.
When asked how you're doing, say come ci, come ça.  If you don't know French, say, so-so.
When you are really backed into a corner and need the straight flush of vague specifics, 'n say "Y', know."

If you want to teach the other readers about some things that you know that they don't, contribute to our education.  So that's it for now.  I'm sliding over yonder to get my daily embrace from dear Morpheus.  Great gal, that Morpheus.  Y' know.

8 DAYS OF MENTAL AND MORAL CAPTIVITY -- PRAY 4 ME

ME 4 NEXT 15 DAYS

Outta my way,

Taz is on da way.

I ain't weak,

Far from meek,

Don't bust my cheek,

So's I won't freak.

Only got one more week

for da preparation

of Adult Faith Formation 

special presentation

of Catholic communication.

Come one, Come all,

We've cleaned the hall,

swept all the classes

to accommodate the masses.

So Taz is in a final tizzy,

His hair is gettin' frizzy

tryin' ta get 'er done

so's he can say, "Yay, God, ya won!"

So stay outta my way, 

both night and day,

'Cept of course to help go forward

and share in the reward

of the eventual fun 

and satisfaction

of a job well done

 without distraction.

So Taz is now in the fray

and so for him you must pray

that from patience he'll not stray

therefore not having any hell to pay.

And to you, Dear Lord, I ask

send a backup angel for the task

of guarding me through it all

so both these angels will assure

that I not climb up the wall

and that all my efforts will be pure.

AMEN 

1,000,000 PAIRS OF EYEBALLS

This is not going to be very deep.  This is something that children wonder about but that grown adults generally don't spend much time pondering.  It is something that I think bout because I have spent a lot of time in the public eye.  That is not to say that we don't all have to spend time in the public eye, but some of us get a little bit more exposure than others.
Did you ever think what it would be like if you said something, or wrote something that would be considered by 1,000,000 individuals in a short period of time?  Did you ever think what it would be like to be like the guy with the voice who just got himself discovered and had been seen by over 20,000,000 people on TV and on You Tube by now?  Where can that guy go without being recognized?  He has to be wondering the same thing.  
I know what it means to have people come up to me and say that they will never forget me because of something that I said in a class or something that I did at work or at church.  But I don't know what I would do if I knew that there were 20,000,000 or more with some feeling about me, good or bad.  It is something that I think about.  Even now, with only about 700 different times that this blog has been opened by readers in slightly more than 6 weeks, I ask myself if that makes me a better person or a worse one.  I ask myself if I should be more careful about the things I do, the clothes I wear, the language I use, both here and outside in conversation.  I ask myself,  "Why  do this?"   I ask myself why I listened to the inspiration that I got during the night of November 24 to 25, 2010.  I have a dozen brainstorms a day and never give in to any of them...well, hardly any.  I guess I'll never know for sure except that I have been dreaming for years to provide my sons with some kind of autobiography.  Would you believe that I still am not sure if this is it or not?
The other day was somewhat of a shocker to me.  I found out that the online magazine that I write for now has a popularity of 1,000,000 visitors and presumably, readers, per month. That made me stand up and take notice.  Like, WOW!, that is a lot of eyeballs skimming over the efforts that I put into creating this stuff with my stiff and swollen arthritic fingers.  The nice thing about that is that the magazine is a Catholic publication called www.ParishWorld.net   I am the Theology editor and I contribute to the meditations and the teaching arms of the magazine.  I mean, 1,000,000 pairs of eyes every month!  How many preachers can claim that?  I tell you all, it is a sobering thought.  That probably had something to do with my answering the call to my midnight inspiration, although I don't remember it ever crossing my mind until maybe two or three weeks ago.  So anyway, these are some of the thoughts that I had today as I traveled from morning to night.  So, not just me, but all of us have to be careful of the way we live our lives because we never know who it is that we are impressing with our virtue and who it is to whom we are doing just the opposite.  Think about it.  It's a big responsibility

WHY DO WE PUT PEOPLE IN JAIL? MOST OF THEM, I MEAN

What, only 90 days for drunken driving through a school zone!?!  There's no more justice in this country.
Can you imagine that the guy who beat up a young girl only got 60 days?
Hah, I have a better one.  Guy shoplifted in a liquor store and got life!  LIFE!
The baseball player who assaulted a hotel maid got 2 years of probation.  Money talks, right?
I just made these up.  But the one about the liquor store guy is true.  But you know how the conversation goes.  You know how you feel when you hear some of this stuff.  Sometimes it almost makes you want to say, "HHmmmm, if that's all there is to it, it might just be worth taking a swipe at my boss."
Easy does it, please.
The only prison that I have even been inside is Alcatraz.  It's really quite interesting.  I have never been inside a real, operating type of hoosegow.  My wife though, she went to prison for about three months one year.  Federal prison to boot.  I mean, if you're going to go somewhere, you might as well go first class, right?  As a matter of fact, she loved it.  She had stories to tell every time I had visitation rights.  It wasn't bad, we would see each other for a few hours in the evenings.  Sometimes we even lit the candles on the table.  Truth to tell, she was a chaplain intern.  She had requested the toughest assignment.  She wanted to be with the drug dealers and the people who were being kept on the top floors of the calaboose.  Her request was granted.
Her favorite story was the 6'10", 300 pound monster who was her personal "guardian angel" on the 8th floor.  He accompanied her everywhere she went.  He was her protection.  He would parade around with her by his side, making a big deal out of the friendship that they had.  I have to admit that this hulk walking next to her at 4'9" and 115 el bees, had to be quite a sight.  Actually, there was some justice to this arrangement.  She deserved to be protected by this guy.  He also deserved to have some consolation in his life.  I am convinced of that.

It used to be that I was a lot harder on "the bad guys" than I am now.  I was a death penalty, lock 'em up and throw the key away kind of person. Then I had some experiences in different countries.  I got to know some strange people under some unusual circumstances and slowly but surely I had to reassess some of my convictions.  There was even a period in my life when I spent some time pondering about the real reason for the existence of prisons.  Do we have them to punish people or do we maintain them to convert people?  I get the feeling that in the USA the majority of the population would believe in the punishment angle more than the rehabilitation or restorative model.  I personally have to say that I am about 60-40 punishment - rehab.  I believe in the existence of invincible or intractable tendencies to either violence, or thievery or physical abuse of fellow humans and maybe a few more incorrigible human "foibles."  I have even had some experience with trying to help newly released people by working with professional social workers and bringing the newly freed person in to work for a company where I worked.  I have to say that these experiences ( twice I tried; two different companies in different cities) were not stellar successes.
So, I stay on the fence.  I remain a vulture.  Oh, I tried to go out there and "kill something" but was unsuccessful.  So now all I do is to sit here, ponder and write to you about my glorious thoughts and my miserable failures at social action.

FOLLOWING JESUS' BEHAVIOR IS BIBLICAL TOO, YA KNOW!

I can't help it, when I get a thought that completes a thought that I have  had for years, religious or not, you're going to get it.  I had a comment from another blog come across my desk this morning that really got to me.  I have to confess that there are some things that do get my dander in a vortex.  Assertions that are thrown against the Catholic Church, really get my goat.

However, in the spirit of this blog, I am not going to go off the deep end.  No. I am instead going to calmly turn this into a lesson about my take on sacraments in general, instead of zeroing-in on the question of infant baptism.

In ParishWorld.net we had put up a question to the community about why it is imperative for parents to have their children baptized as infants.  ParishWorld.net  is where you can find the entire discussion.  Here is what got to me:

God does not have any grandchildren. We cannot get to heaven by what someone does for us. The Bible says that we need to repent of our sins and put our faith in Jesus Christ and Him alone for remission of sins. Baptism is an outword expression of an inword commitment. Jesus said nothing about sacraments. That is Catholic doctrine, and is not Biblical. Babies and anyone under the age of accountability will be with a Loving Heavenly father . 2Timothy 3:15-17, says And that from childhood you known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. 16. All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness. 17. That the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work.

The bold is the main part.  The light italics are the favorite quote that non-Catholics (Protestants) throw at Catholics, in season and out; in reason or out.  So I will ignore that part and present you with my opinion on Baptism in the Catholic Church.  I mention its relation to Circumcision which was to be administered eight days after the birth of the child.  I will also make the point that it is not just the words that are Biblical, but the behavior of Jesus that is Biblical as well.  If it is Biblical, then it must hold a lesson for us.

“God does not have any grandchildren.” Good one.

You say that we cannot get to heaven by what someone does for us. We Catholics believe that we get to heaven because of what Jesus Christ did and does for us. Isn’t He someone?

Sacraments are holy, sacred ritualistic acts that Jesus practiced before our very eyes and urged us to memorialize in our discipleship to Him. He thereby sacramentalized cleansing and belonging through Baptism, thereby spiritualizing Circumcision. He did the same for eating at the Last Supper and told us that Eucharist is the source of the spiritual strength that we need to gain eternal life. John’s chapter six is important reading in this matter. Jesus gave us the authority to forgive the sins of the contrite when we admit them publicly to the delegated authority of the Church (Confession). He sacramentalized the Healing of the sick and the infirm by showing us how to do it with mud from spittle and laying on of hands (Catholics use fragrant oil). All of these rituals, and more, are outward signs of internal commitment and a dispensation of Divine Grace. They are all elements of the New and Everlasting Covenant between Jesus and His people. Catholics believe this because all of these actions are open behaviors that Jesus Himself practiced for our edification and continued practice.  Sacraments are not Catholic Doctrine alone. Sacraments are sacred vestiges of the public life of Jesus as memorialized and practiced by His People. This Humanly Divine life that He lived and left us for our benefit is Biblical, and deserves to be understood and accepted as directive of our earthly behavior.
I pray that you will learn to unshackle yourself from the Bible verses (Out of context in the comment that you submitted.) and learn to read the inspired stories so that the Divine Teaching that they contain will come to mean something to you.

I hope tomorrow will be lighter and more humorous.

SOME THINGS REQUIRE TRUE SACRIFICE -- A PARABLE BY ME

PURE RED RUBY GLASS WITH GOLDEN PEAR RELIEF

Hand Painted design of a golden pear & a purple plum combined with autumn leaves, and accented with 22k gold on pure ruby red glass.  

9.5 INCHES HIGH            $150.00  (Not for sale)

The design above is an introduction to a fairly deep conviction that I have developed over the years based on the ingredients that it takes to make bright red glass. 

There is a mythological story about how a Venetian glass maker had been trying for years to make red glass.  He, like other Venetian glass makers could not solve the problem.  They were making extremely prized glass designs in every color, but the secret of making red glass escaped them.  One day, as the story goes, the glass maker could not locate his prized gold watch.  As precious as it was for being gold, it was even more of a treasure since it had been passed on to him from his grandfather.  In his agitation, he looked in every nook and cranny and found it lying where he did not have the habit of placing it, near the cauldron of the liquid glass.  He had to bend to pick it up from the low table surrounding the cauldron.  As he was straightening up, his apprentice walked by in back of him and their bodies brushed together.  This startled the older man and in his disturbed state, he dropped his gold watch into the cauldron.  When he recovered from the shock, he noticed that the molten glass had turned bright red.  Imagine the pot-pourri of emotions that he must have felt.  Imagine what you would have experienced in a similar situation. 

This story is not scientifically correct.  Not even historically accurate.  Although gold is a necessary ingredient to make the highest quality red glass, pure gold will not do the trick.  It takes gold chloride to make it happen.  But for what it is worth, Gold is Gold.

I heard this story from my grandfather and I never forgot it.  I came to know the scientific part later in life.  But the moral part, I learned from the great man who told me the story to begin with.  It takes a large investment to get a large return.  It takes gold to generate more gold.  If you keep your gold in your pocket, it will only serve you by giving you the bragging rights to having a gold nugget to carry around. You have to risk it to gain from it.

As we know from the gospel, the ways of the world dictate that "to those who have much, much will be given and to those who have little, little will be given."  The ways of Heaven however, beckon us to give much in order to receive much.  The ways of the world operate on the gold standard; the ways of Heaven have only one standard also, the personal effort put forth in the vineyard of God.  To those who give much, much will be given.  To know how much, check the crucifix.

I HAVE A FOUL MOUTH -- ONE OF MY READERS HAD A VVVEERRRRY CREATIVE WAY OF ADMONISHING ME

SEE ANY CUSS WORDS UP THERE YOU HAVEN'T  HEARD YET?

This, I gotta tell ya.  This is the beauty of the Internet. When you read this, you will smile, I just know you will.

Brace yourself.
I have to confess that I have to make an effort to keep my mouth clean.  It is easy for me to use what is known as "strong speech" for effect.  I also have to confess that there was a time in my life that I used "strong speech" without the need for effect.  Sometimes, that time is now.  So it didn't surprise me that over the last week when I did use some "strong speech" for effect in titles for posts on this blog it didn't take long before the subject came up in an admonition from the audience.  Given my propensity to use certain words, I thought that the words I used in the title were bland enough for public consumption.  Well, they weren't and I was admonished about it in a very creative and gentle way.  I can't stop shaking my head about the tactic.  It is pure genius.
I received an email from a friend whom I respect and admire.  She started by telling me how much she enjoys reading the "365 thoughts".  She went on to ask me to think of a relative of hers in my prayers so that this person can overcome the bad habit of using foul language.  The interesting part of the communication is that it describes the relative as being very careful about the quality of her words when she is at work at the church where she is employed.  It is when she is away from her work environment that she becomes fluent in "pot speech".
This is an interesting syndrome.  Strange how it sounds just like me!  There are just certain words in certain languages that can't be beaten for their effect.  Even if the effect is to make me comfortable when I use them.  In fact, I have even had the creative genius of translating B*S# into Latin for my Catholic Traditionalist friends.  In my warped mind, this is a fun pass time.  Find a way to happily continue cussing while not offending the faint of ear and heart in the process.  Of course, when I put some out of the ordinary words in a title for all to see, I suppose I should expect to feel some reactive radiation.
So, Congratulations JW, you have brought a smile to my lips and warmth to my heart.  I promise you that I will pray for your sister so that she can curb her disgusting habit.  Would you mind if I suggest to her that she learn how to do it in a foreign tongue?  Or do you wish for her to clean it out altogether?   Now, on the off chance that my humorously convoluted conspiracy theory is indeed correct, I promise that I will never use a foul word, no matter how benign on this blog again...Not even in Latin, or any other lingo.
I shouldn't have promised that.  It will be harder than quitting alcohol ever was.  :-)

SCANDAL OF THE WEAK, EVERY WEEK, DAMN NEAR!

The shooting spree that took place this week in Arizona has awakened in me a deep conviction that I have had since my teen years when I was in a Roman Catholic seminary in formation for the priesthood.  It was there that I heard for the first time the proposition that the behavior of the priest must be above reproach to the degree  that even the “weakest” among the members of the faithful would not be induced into immoral or even, unbecoming behavior.    This rule of clerical behavior was given to us based on the admonition of St. Paul to the Corinthians, in his first letter to them, chapter 8.

In more general terms and as a definition of what I mean by “scandal of the weak”  I put before you you the following definition:                                  

SCANDAL OF THE WEAK:

Disedifying morally weak persons by permissible conduct. Circumstances determine the duty in charity to avoid giving scandal to the weak. The existence of such a duty is clear from the teaching of St. Paul, who would not eat meat that had been offered to idols lest he scandalize the weaker brethren. He warned the early Christians not to rationalize their conduct but to follow his example, lest "by sinning in this way against our brothers and injuring their weak consciences, it would be Christ against whom you sinned" (I Corinthians 8:12). This obligation in charity is such that one may licitly refrain from fulfilling even a grave positive precept that is not necessary for salvation in order to prevent serious scandal to the weak. Behind the obligation is the mandate of selfless love that seeks not only to help another in obvious need but also by self-restraint to protect another from spiritual harm.

(All items in this dictionary are from Fr. John Hardon's Modern Catholic Dictionary, © Eternal Life. Used with permission.  Taken from Catholic Culture.org)

For those of you who do not believe in the Bible as a whole; those who don’t believe in the Christian part of the Bible, I offer this generally accepted, verifiable analogy of fact.

In an epidemic, or a pandemic, it is the weak (the very young and the old) who suffer most and who generally die first.  Those who are more likely to withstand the ravages of the illness do all they can to protect those who are most susceptible to be damaged.  In fact, in such cases behavior that is perfectly legal will in many cases not be exhibited in order to maintain peace and tranquility in the afflicted community.  I once lived in a community that was being ravaged by El Tor (a kind of cholera).  Everyone was warned to boil all water, even water that was not destined for drinking or for the kitchen.  Some of the people had access to bottled water from the Coca Cola trucks, but they would boil that water too so that even (especially, I might say) the less initiated into the ways of the world would not be shocked and perhaps induced to not boil all the water that they had to use.

I submit to you then that the same type of behavior should be practiced by us all when we speak in the public arena.  It is clear to me that some will not agree.  I have already heard some say that they are sure that this event in Arizona will be “demagogued” (sic) by some.  The perpetrator of this act is a lunatic who has taken to understanding political speech in his own way.  This understanding that he gave to what he heard and read was away from the metaphorical meaning that was in the mind of the speakers and/or writers.  The people who uttered or wrote these words are therefore not culpable for the actions of the attacker.  

I am sure that we are going to hear this line of reasoning aplenty as the days go by.  

This is the thinking of people who equate their moral life with the exercise of their civil law rights.  The freedom of speech is really a wonderful thing.  But any defined freedom, even this one, is not infinite in its reach.  It is never permitted to use a freedom to do evil or to induce others into doing evil.  The level of violent political speech, both on the literal side and the metaphorical side has escalated in the past twenty-four months.  There can be no denial of that fact.  The examples abound.  It is time that we recognize that we have to tone it down because it is not morally correct.  It is an abuse of the freedom of speech.

I say this because it does indeed induce the “weak” into acting immorally.  The purveyors of such speech cannot hide behind the fact that they have the freedom to say what they want.  In fact, they do not have that freedom when it becomes clear that the mode of speech that they employ  is dangerous for the common welfare.  No one is free to inundate the weak with speech that can influence them and cause them to act in a nefarious way. Those who persist in using speech with violent pictures cannot exculpate themselves from the effects of what they have put out into the community atmosphere under the guise of freedom of speech.  

It is not morally correct to hide behind the notion that the vast majority of the population understands what is being said, in metaphor and in literal meaning.   It is not always permissible to use the words that are deemed to be the most powerful for the moment.  Morality is not a democratic concept.  If what is done or said is dangerous for one person, even if not for the many, it must be withheld from those who would be adversely impacted by it for the welfare of the community.  

I have said my piece.  I am convinced that I am right, even though there will be those who will disagree.  It matters not.  I will bring this conviction of mine all the way to the grave.  When you get the news that I have gone,  don’t cry, because you know that I will have reached the pearly gates with a sincere and peaceful heart

KILL THE BASTARD, HE DESERVES IT!

AND SO WE DO!  20 YEARS LATER!!

I admit that I used to be very much for capital punishment.  I had no use for murderers and I thought  that they should be put to death as soon as they were convicted.  It was an easy choice in the black and white days of my youth.  As I grew in age and gained a little more wisdom, I started to see shades of grey where once there was only sharp contrast.  So, my first movement toward rethinking my position on the death penalty came from the realization that despite the fact that we were executing many people every year, murders did not stop.  In fact, murders have not stopped.  I began to wonder if there was any common sense to the demand that killers be killed.
Going forward through the years, I also started to take notice that the surviving members of families of the murdered ones were clamoring for the death penalty.  It didn't take long for me to pick up on the fact that these families were using the State as their weapon for revenge.
Another fact of life that brought some change in my stance was that the state(s) were taking longer and longer to execute murderers because  they were trying to find solace for the sentence through an abundance of caution, thus causing appeal after appeal and review after review of the case.  Before long the condemned perpetrator had aged 20 to 30 years and was still writing books on death row.
I got an eye opener when I spent time at the University of St. Thomas in Rome and found out that no European country had a capital punishment practice (1961).  All my new found friends, French, Italian, Spanish, English, Irish, Indian, Ceylonese were all brought up in countries where there was no capital punishment.  For most of them it was simple:  Lock 'em up and throw the key away.  Oh, by the way, do you know that Israel does not use the death penalty?
The straw that broke the camel's back, for me anyway, was my learning about The Innocence Project.
So many condemned people have been found to be wrongly convicted and sentenced to death thanks tro the investigative work of this group, that it makes it impossible for me to condone it any longer.  I put that together with the other elements that had made me reconsider my position, and now I know that I am straight-out against the death penalty.
I began to feel liberated and freer of heart and conscience when I finally came to this moral conviction.  The question in the upper right hand corner of this page started to make more sense to me.  I am happy that I have come to this point in my conscience.
I leave you with the two links that you see highlighted here.  If you have the time and the inclination, you can browse around and see what others have to say about this question.

The question that lies beneath all this is: "Do we have prisons to punish vice or to restore virtue?"  
That's also one of my thoughts.

DON'T EVEN THINK OF CREMATING ME -- SEE WHY BELOW --

SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT ...

This is a picture of a persistent thought that I have had since I was at least 18 or 19...something like that.  Something happened lately that unlocked it all and so I have to tell you about it.  It has been a part of my life for a long time.  The only person who really has met this part of me face to face multiple times is my spouse.  Brace yourselves, 'cause here it comes.

I have yearned and yearned to have a hearse to drive around in.  It would be so cool.  The trigger to this deep desire for such a vehicle started when I was working at the Holyoke Magazine Press.  There was an employee there who had one and the stories he told were a fascinating mix of the ribald, the lugubrious, the fantastic, the marginal and the downright incredible.  Every lunch time with this individual was almost like an "out-of-body" experience.  One would imagine that this was what got me interesting in the world of people who drove hearses for their private transportation.  But that was not it.  Anybody can make up stories to fit the occasion.  But not everybody can get down to the essence of the situation of hearse ownership.  This individual hit it on the head for me one time when during one lunch break he was asked where he lived.  The answer was simple, "On the street, in my car.  That's why I have a hearse.  I can live in it, but I could never drive a house."  So that was it.  Freedom.  No mortgage. 

I took that and embellished it in my mind.  If I had a house to live in and a hearse too, I would have the nearly perfect camping situation.  I could throw a canoe on the roof and just go.  It was (is still) a dream that does not go away.

This morning when I got to the office address, there was a hearse of the same vintage as the one on the picture.  Same model too.  It was parked in front of the gasoline station store next to our office building.  Along side it there stood two young people sipping some fresh hot coffee.  I knew right away what was going on.  I sauntered over to them and simply said, "Nice car!"  The lovely young wife (she's his wife) said "You knew.  You like it, right?"  

"Yeah, I sure do.  Looks so great.  You had it long?"

"About a year now" says the man of the family.  "It sure is comfortable.  We're just pulling in from San Francisco.  Great ride."

"Well, I envy you."

"You ought to get yourself one.  The prices are right."

"That's been tried and failed.  The Voice from the Kitchen doesn't go for it.  I'll just keep dreaming.  Enjoy yourselves.  Merry Christmas."

I walked away and went to the office because I had a lot to do.  As I was preparing my work space the thought came to me that I had better tell someone to be sure that they don't cremate me.  I have just decided that I am going to enjoy the ride of my life when the time comes.  The Voice from the Kitchen won't have anything to say about it.  I'm going to put it in my will.  So, don't cremate me because when you see me driving away to the Pearly Gates in one of these cabriolets, you'll know that I am happy as a clam.  So for sure, then, you'll not be tempted in the slightest to cry at my funeral.                               

SSSwwwinnggg lowww, SSWWeetttt Chariotttt --- She's here now and I am a goin' HOME!

WE ARE ALL IMMIGRANTS

THE CANADIAN FLAG

This is January 7, 9:00 PM.  I sent out two thoughts yesterday and today I was told by the Voice from the Kitchen that it was time to rest.  So I tried.  I have to admit, we did have some fun together.  We spend so much time doing things for others and for this or that reason that we miss one another even though we share the same living space.
Anyway, here I am and you will read what it is that vibrated inside my gourd today.  
I was listening to the Public Radio Station out of San Diego, California and they were talking to a fellow from the ACLU about the 14th amendment of the US Constitution.  This is the amendment that is said to be the base for the custom of granting citizenship to babies born in the United States, whether or not the mother is legally here.  It was an interesting interrogatory and even though it is not something about which I have extremely strong sentiments, I do have an opinion, and I think about it a lot.
My father was born in Zenon Park, Sakatchewan, Canada.  My mother, here in the USA.  My father's parents were both born here, but went to Canada to take advantage of the homestead act in the third quarter of the 19th century.  My father came back to the States when he was about 9 or 10.  Under the laws of the day he had until he was 18 years old to make a decision as to whether or not he wanted to be a Canadian or an American.  Many things happened in the family, not the least of which was the death of the father, leaving 8 children.  The first born was my father.  He was 15 when his father died.  He never complied with the law that said that he had to make a declaration of citizenship at 18.  This was never a huge problem for him, but it was a nagging little rattle in the back of his mind every time he thought of his dear relatives in Canada. He was always afraid to go to visit them in case he would be arrested and deported, or something.  He did get to go back before he died.  The only thing he heard at the border was, "Welcome to Canada."  On the way back all he heard was, "Welcome to the United States."  He died in peace without that nagging little thing there.


My maternal grandparents were both born in Canada.  The immigrated to the United States and settled in Suncook, New Hampshire.  They learned to speak, read and write English and passed the test for naturalization and to receive voting privileges. 


I was a personnel director for nearly 30 full years in Southern California.  I never knowingly hired a person who was here illegally.  I fired every single person that I found in the company who was here illegally.  Let me tell you that there were many...MANY.  In 1986 a law was passed called the Simpson/Mazzoli act.  It prohibited (and still does) the hiring of people who are in the country illegally.  The penalty for being caught is $10,000 per day that the person remains on the payroll. One again, no company that I ever worked for in this amount of time has ever been in danger of being caught.  Of course, I have since come to know that no company was ever in danger of being caught because our government that brags that we are a country of laws, never enforced the Simpson/Mazzoli act.  


It is my considered opinion that if anyone gets deported, it should be our do-nothing, bribery driven government.


As for the 14th amendment, I don't really care what anyone does or doesn't do about it because immigration in this country is a word that no one understands, for or against.  As offspring of an immigrant, I am proud that I am a multi-cultural, multi-lingual, stubborn, jackass minded individual who will get along with illegal aliens from any planet in the galaxy.  It's the idiot politicians whom I can't stand.

HOW MANY CELIBATES DO YOU KNOW WHO ARE NEITHER PRIESTS NOR NUNS?

I'll bet my lunch money that it is more than you readily admit, until you really think about it.  It is possible that you haven't given this much thought. 
Here's your chance to join me in giving it some.
I have been living in the presence of celibacy for my entire life.  I didn't know it's name of course when I first observed it.  I just stood by and admired the nearly one dozen people within my immediate circle of familial influence.  You know, Aunts, Uncles, first and second degree Cousins and finally, in one case, very intimate friends.  One of these people was my very own God-Father.  He and his adopted sister (first degree cousin) never married.  Not because they did not have the opportunities or the human desires and attractions but because they gave themselves over to caring for their aging parents.


We had a family of many people who were caring for  family members.  There were three pairs of sisters who remained unmarried all their lives in order to dedicate themselves to the care of parents and siblings who were unable to sustain themselves without help.


You may be asking yourselves why I am expressing this thought today.  It is because I know a person who has made a decision to dedicate herself to her family and to the Church.  It is a miraculous decision and the story behind it is compelling.  It is the story of a person whose biography, if written on paper would make a "page-turner" of a book, even in this day and age of electronic reading...like this.
There is a lot to be said for volunteer celibacy.  It is definitely a sign to the world that there are bigger rewards than those that the majority seek.  It is a sign that the more that is given, the more is received.  That is not to mean that matrimony is less than celibacy.  It is to say that for the very few for whom celibacy, in any of its usual environments, priesthood, nun-hood and dedicated family care giver, school teacher,  is a holy call that has great rewards for the devoted one in this life and in the Eternal Kingdom.  When I consider these people, I admire them, I pray for them and I urge God to stay by them and strengthen them for the battles that they will have to win along the way.  Join me, OK?


Those of you who know me will surely ask:  Really, now?  And how about you?  You' better be ready for the long answer!

A SMALL NEAT THING ABOUT BEING CATHOLIC

St. Mina is an early saint from
Egypt with a Greek name

The calendar of saints.  Read on, Denis and George, Anna and Christopher, Antonio and Daniel, Francis and John and get this, would you believe, Mina?  Mina was my mother's nickname, short for Mélina.  Of course, until I grew up and got exposed to international realities, both temporal and spiritual,  I didn't know Saint Mina.  When I found out that Mina is a man, now, that brought a smile to my face.  I also have found out from my Coptic Orthodox friends that Melina is also a man's name in Greek.  By the way, it means, "Black one."
This is not really a new idea for me.  I have had it since I was in the very first stages of listening to my grandfather and grand mother.  They were very careful to name their children after saints. 
All of this is just to make the point that we Catholics who believe in the Communion of Saints know what it is to look at the calendar with the saint's name written for every day and have the light go on and say, "oh wow, St. Egedius day!  I better give ol' Eddie a call."  See how it works?  We're all related.  It's a boost for us to pray for the person whom we remember because of the calendar reference.  Even my aunt Pearl would always remind us that "Pearl" is the English word for "Margaret".  We Catholics are lucky because we have a deep pool of names.  We have a deep reverence for the Hebrew Patriarchs and Prophets as well as for the Saints of the Orthodox Churches.  We have no problem with Enoch, Samuel, Zachariah, Chrysostom, Felicity or any number of saints names.  It's really neat, and it's all free.  So I just thought I would give you another reason to be happy for the little things in life.  Also reminding you to stay alert for January 25.

YES, I'VE HAD MY LIFE THREATENED. HAVE YOU?

No one ever said this to me.

How many times?  It is an interesting experience.  It has happened to me at least four times that I can count off the top of my head.  By that I mean that these were the real thing...not the way your kid sister talks to you.
I don't really know if there is a way that a person should feel during and after the threat being issued.  I do know that after the first time I had this wickedly humorous, in an idiotic way, desire to see if there is a good book of instructions about how to deal with the present, the past and the future of such an episode.  I never found one, not even in the Google era.
I suppose I should tell you that the first two times that this happened to me I was a person of the cloth.  To this day I don't now if that had anything to do with my feelings and my behavior.  I do know that I told the first guy to get lost and look for his balls along the way.  I'm not so sure whether I should have done that or not, but hey, that was 60+ years ago. His kid brought a Colt .45 to school -- loaded, of course.  The principal came to see me to ask me to disarm the scum.  I did.  The father came to reclaim the gun.  When the father threatened to use  the gun on me, I felt pretty safe because I had the ammo upstairs in my dresser drawer.  He never came back, neither did the son.

There was the time that the mayor of the municipality confronted me with his Magnum.  The view down the barrel of such an imposing piece of weaponry is rather dark and bleak.  It was in the streets of San Mateo, a frontier town in the northern part of the Philippines.  I played the "you don't want the blood of a martyr irrigating your lovely gravel streets, do you, Mayor?" card. I won.
I was threatened by a drug skank in an apartment complex that I was guarding.  He was a slimy character, skinny, scraggly, unkempt beard and vile, I mean vile, breath.  He said that he was glad that we were alone because then I could never prove that he promised to kill me.  I told him that I had already given his plate number to the roving patrol supervisor and that alone or not, his ass was already  grass.  He told me that it was not the last that I would see of him and I told him that he didn't have the spine to kill me in cold blood at point blank range.  As he parted, I told him to remember that life in the slammer as Bubba's luv trick is maybe not the reward he would like to expect for killing me.  He never broke the parking rules of the complex again.
The other threats were men's room messages written on the walls of the urinal section at work.  No big deal.
You've got the image by now that for some odd reason, I was never, I mean never, shaken by this kind of behavior.  Don't ask me why.  I don't know.  I have thought about it a lot, to no avail.  The one thing I came up with about the incident in the parking lot was that if the animal was going to kill me, he wouldn't tell me his intentions.  Why else would I be aggressive during these moments?  Since then I think of these moments as reminders of the prayer of St. Peter in the fifth chapter of his first letter where he talks about the "roaring lion seeking someone to devour."  It shows that Peter didn't know the first thing about lions.  When they are seeking, they are silently slinking, not roaring.  So the lesson is, neither the roaring lion nor the barking dog is going to eat anything.  So if your going to kill me, just shut up and do the deed without announcing it.

By the way -- Go ahead and tell your literalistic, fundamentalist bible thumping friends what I just said about Peter.  Have fun.

ARE ALL JOBS EQUAL? ARE THEY ALL WORTH THE SAME? HHmmm

It has been years that I have had this thought.  I guess it is about time that I put it out there for everyone to see some of the darker side of my aging grey matter.  I promised myself that I would try not to be grouchy in these pages, so maybe this should go to my other blog, "Crusty Kurmujjin".  You can click on the title right there on the right hand side of the page.  There's some pretty good stuff there, even though it is rather curt and spicy in parts.  But I have been harboring this thought for many, many years and it popped into my head a week or so ago.  So, before it decides to abandon me, I had better pay it some attention.  It's strange that ever since I had the inspiration to do this, I keep having my bell rung.  I have to admit that I hope that some of the thoughts that I have indeed dropped, will come back.
The one "ping" that I keep getting is about the minimum wage.  The argument on the one side is that it is an unnecessary law because the market will determine what it should be.  On the other side, we hear that it is impossible for a family to "survive" on $8.25 per hour.  My thought is that if all the laborer can do is to stack oranges in pyramid shapes, $8.25 per hour is already too much.  It is also already plenty for our friend the security guard in the upper right hand corner.  I have a lot of experience as a security guard.  I was never paid more than minimum wage.  Hell, I even stayed awake for every moment that I was on the job.  I even had my life threatened twice.  But that happened to me as human resources director too.  Even at $125,000 per year, that threat does keep you looking in your rear view mirror.  So, at that point, as at every other point of income, cautious is cautious,  dead is dead.
So frankly, I think that every job should have a value, and that not all jobs should be expected to be valuable enough to support a family.
I don't want to get overly personal here, but on this point I know whereof I speak.  I've had some of both.  Big is better, but small is better than nothing.  I just don't think that every single job in the world is of equal value, neither to the employer, nor to society andnot even to the person doing the work.  Right this moment I am doing billing clerk  work for a small company.  I get paid about 1.25% of the amount  that I bill.  I have no problem with that.  Just how valuable is a billing clerk supposed to to be?  Damned if I know! I'll tell you what it is worth at this moment...it pays the rent.  It also helps to keep me at the proper testosterone levels.  At my age, I'll take it.  Money ain't everything.

AMANUENSIS? EXHIBITIONIST? VOYEUR? READ ON...

AMANUENSIS

I like that word.  It tells you a lot about me.  It describes me quite well, but not too many people know the word any more.  It is one of those old fashioned realities that  have gone bye-bye and only show up in blogs by pseudo intellectuals.
It is a Latin word that has been adopted by many languages to mean what it says, a worker-at-hand.  In French and English it generally means one who is adept with language and hired to write from dictation or hard copy so that the originator of such dictation or copy can continue producing at a higher level and better quality things.  It is also generally applied to a person who assists an author, a scientist, a composer who is incapable of writing things down because of some physical incapacity.  As for me, I am my own amanuensis.  Mainly because I can't afford to hire one.
Along the road of life I have often asked myself what it would take to write a book.  At one point I knew that I wanted to write a book, but I didn't have the foggiest notion of how to even begin.  At another moment I was able to ask an internationally well known theologian and author how he had written so many books.  He said that it was simple.  He said that he could never write just one book at a time.  He had such a head-full of ideas that instead of keeping himself focused, he just let'er rip and filed them in writing rather than silencing  those that did not fit. He was, he said, always simultaneously writing at least four books. All this time I was asking myself if people who write a lot are really exhibitionists.  So full of themselves that they had to keep themselves out there in front of everyone.
At one point, I asked myself why it is that I read books like "Vanity Fair", "Pride and Prejudice", "le Misanthrope", "Tartuffe", "King Richard III" and many more.  I often asked myself if I am really a voyeur, prying into the lives of the authors.  I am convinced that when it comes to Umberto Eco, I am definitely a voyeur.  I am also a voyeur when it comes to Moliere.
What does that say about me, the writer and the reader?  I love blogs.  I love the Internet.  Everyone who writes on the Internet has no clothes on.  I have to admit, amid all that nudity of heart, soul and mind, you still can't give yourself the comfort of trying to deceive the players by putting a bag over your head.  That's the way it is on the Internet.  We're all Voyeuristic Exhibitionists, or vice versa.  
Therefore all of you who read and don't write, know that we who write also read and we know why you keep coming back.  The raw personal unveiling that takes place here is too much to ignore.  It is down right
interesting and enjoyable at the same time.  
I am glad I have lived this long.  This one thought of mine has found a place to rest.  There are many more denizens of my cerebral cortex (vortex??) who are still restlessly bloodhounding their way around in search of the prize of firm conviction which brings comforting satisfaction.  
Join me.

WHAT A DAY! WILL IT BE LIKE THIS ALL YEAR?

I have a had full of ideas banging around in no given order.  Instead of a whirlpool, it is like an agitator.  Too much stuff all at once, topped off by frustration and the doubt that tomorrow is going to be productive.  I have to get to bed, maybe that will make my happier.
I did have a nice time though.  Lorraine came back into my life after over a decade of absence.  Rio came back into my life after more than two decades of absence.  A friend of mine told me that I was the one positive influence in her life. George, good old George made my day by telling me that his father's favorite group to hate was Catholics.  Now that made my day.  Somehow I was in the proper mood and disposition to enjoy being hated, even if the hater had been long gone from this world for ages.  I liked it because it was focused.  Somehow, right now, I want focus.
If that made my day, my dear friend, my very dear friend who calls me "Sensei" even though I don't know a "chop" from a "slap" or whatever else you call those silly Karate moves.  So Sensei it is.  He sends me to an article that some social psychologists wrote about people of 70 years of age and above are happier than younger people.  It's long article, real long.  If I was a happy 70+ year old codger before reading the article, I decided not to be once I got half-way through the scientific excogitations of some miserable 45 year old professor.  Now I got you wondering what could be so nefarious about the article.  Well, go here and see for yourself.
By the way, did you ever see a picture of the airplane that Kamikaze pilots flew?  I just did, about an hour ago.  My friend from Japan sent it to me.  I mean, I've been told to go fly a kite now and then, but don't you think that this is a bit much?  Think about it.  I wonder if he knows that I have a blog entitled "No Crying at my Funeral?"   Or you can try this www.Pauldionstl.net    So see, it has been a strange day.  I also had an interesting experience about something that I have had thoughts about for many years.  When I have time, maybe tomorrow, I'll tell you what they are.  In the meantime, welcome back to the post-holiday world of work...HeHeHe!  See, I'm a happy septuagenarian, just like the scientist said!

THE LEGEND OF THE MILK GROTTO

Run, Mama Mary, Run!

Now that the Magi have gone and Herod is pissed off, Joseph and Mary decide, like all good children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob always do, to take off and flee to Egypt.  Of course, Egypt.  Where else?  The Bible is full of Egypt.  But, shortly after they started, something mighty interesting happened...You ready for this?  You'd better be.
According to legend, after Herod realized that the Magi had come and gone, he gave the famous edict to kill all male babies under the age of two years.  Jesus, being less than two years, as well as his cousin John by the way, had to be either hidden or taken to a friendly country for protection.  As usual, when God's people are in need of protection or better living conditions or food, they run south to Egypt.  So that is what Joseph and Mary decided to do.
Not long after they had set out on their journey, Baby Jesus got hungry.  So, familiar as they were with the Bethlehem lay of the land, they sought out a grotto where Mary could comfortably, and safely, attend to the needs of the Baby.  It is said that during the process of the feeding, a drop of the Virgin's milk fell to the floor of the cave, turning the entire rock surface white and giving rise to the chalky stone that remains the outstanding feature of the grotto until this very day.

The Milk Grotto is an irregular Grotto hollowed out of soft milk-white rock.  Just as for so many other natural features of the land in Israel, the Crusaders built a church over the famous "holy" grotto.  Over time it has become  famous for its healing powers.  Women for ages have scraped the walls for the dust that they produce and stirred it into their drink.   This mixture has a great reputation for its miraculous power to cure barren women and give them the gift of producing offspring.  It is also said to be a powerful aid for lactating mothers.  

Belle and I spent long, prayerful moments on three or four occasions before the charming mosaic that depicts Mother Mary attending to Jesus.  There we prayed for women whom we know would have been blessed by the curative powers of the rock dust from this holy place.  Belle brought some of the dust home and did give some to friends and acquaintances.  We have yet not heard any reports of good or evil coming from the use of this potion.  One of the more interested ladies has since left the area and we are no longer in touch with her.
So is the legend of Milk Grotto.


There is also the legend of St. Zechariah, father of John the Baptist.  It is said that because Zechariah was the priest in service at the time, he and Elizabeth could not run to Egypt.  So, Elizabeth and John went into hiding.  The family lived about 5 kilometers away from the Temple.  This was about 45 minutes of walking time.  One day, Zechariah was confronted by the Romans demanding to know where Elizabeth and the child were hiding.  When Zechariah refused to divulge his secret, he was slain on the spot.  
As you know, John and Elizabeth were not found.  John grew up and was subsequently beheaded by Herod.  You can read all about it in a story that you can read by clicking here.


disclaimer:  These are legendary stories, not Bible scripture.  There are more of these, but I don't want to confuse anyone.  Nonetheless:  enjoy.

THE NEW YEAR ON THE Q.T.

Is it 2011 already?  Seriously?  What am I doing awake at this hour?  What time is it?  Almost 1:00 AM?  Holy moly, this one really sneaked up on me.


Frankly I am accustomed to much more rambunctious entries of the first day of January in my life.  For many years the explosion of the opening a new bottle of Bourbon would be the signal for making what would be short lived resolutions.


I've had midnight explosions, guns fired into the air, sirens, church bells, furniture thrown out of 7th or 8th floor apartments, midnight pick-up soccer games in the town square, couples changing out of their old clothes and slipping into new duds to start the year off right and a game of chicken outside my bedroom window between two riders of Vespas (Italian motor scooters).  This year, see above.  Nothing.  Nada. Niente. Rien. Awan.  Wala. Like a shadow slithering silently across the moonlit snow afraid to be in the way of the Aurora Borealis.


No big deal resolution to be proud of.  I am entertaining the idea of promising God to tell the world of my big secret if I get to be 75 years old.  


Until then, may God bless you all.  Tomorrow we all have to get back to work.  Frankly, that's a good problem to  have these days.