I DON'T AGREE WITH EVERYTHING YOU SAY, BUT...

With a name like I have, and knowing why my father gave it to me, I admire people, especially friends like this one, who tell me that they have points of disagreement with me.  Can you imagine St. Paul being a "yes-man" to Peter?  Neither can I.  Dissent is the fertile ground in which progress thrives.  If that sounds strange, think of what you put at the feet of your most beautiful flowers.  Makes you wear gloves, right? Smells great, right?  If it's good for the flowers, who are we to complain about a little of it in our lives?

Let me also admit that I am an admirer of Karl Marx and the source for many of his ideas, G.W.F.Hegel.  Surprised.  After I finish explaining it, you'll calm down.
The easy parts of the mechanics of these two dynamic thinkers are the process of developing truth from the tension that exists between the thesis and the anti-thesis.  It is possible to apply this principle if you believe that "everything has its opposite."  To understand truth one must not only accept its present form but consider its opposite form as well, and admit the unity of those two forms, the unity of opposites. The unity of opposites manifests itself in the synthesis.  The synthesis is the captured fruit from the tension caused by the force of the thesis and the anti-thesis vying for the same space in our intellect.
This is why it is so important to respect different points of view in life.  This why it is so important to respect the positions of others though they may be 180 degrees away from the ones that we hold.  I am not just speaking of intellectual positions here.  Emotional clashes count too.  They can be somewhat more difficult to resolve than purely intellectual tensions, but they can be resolved.  They can contribute treasures and consolations to those who remain open to incorporating them, at least partially into their lives.
Therefore, you all, welcome to my world.  This is only the secular part -- the thesis.  The spiritual part, the antithesis is, "No Crying at my Funeral".  I know a lot of you disagree with that.  Do you know why?
I propose this to you because I want you all to know that there are many of you who believe that I don't tolerate dissent from my personal views.  I hope that you all enjoy visiting this deep, dark corner of my soul.  I hope you realize that starting from this position, not only do I expect that everyone can expect to hear it from me, just as I relish the prospect of hearing it from you, and anyone else who cares to share.

YOUR WAY WITH WORDS -- AMANUENSIS? -- AWAY WITH YOUR WORDS

Quote: "I  hate to ask, but I am wondering if you can supply X's needs as stated in the email below.  Let me know if you can spare some of your precious time to write something short and sweet for "Y."  You have a way with words which I admire highly.  I am sending this request to you because frankly I am up to my neck with all my other obligations.  Or, let me know how I should respond." 

I will spare you the reading of the response I gave to this well-meaning soul.  This was a classic situation in which a high placed person was asked to write a short encomium about a person under his authority.  It was to grace the inside front page of a rather formal four page program outlining the activities of an important soirée to be held in honor of the above indicated person.  It turned out that the high level person in authority begged off by saying that he had too many other important things on his plate.  He suggested that someone write the fluff, put it in front of him to sign and so it would be done.  The petitioner then turned to the soul who composed the quote above.  Above quotee then turned to me.  I made the politically unacceptable mistake of saying, "NO."  It was also a mistake in tactics.  I know another person to whom I could have turned and passed the buck further down the line.  I mean, Hey, this guy I know, has a great way with words too.  Not only that, he is still within six degrees of separation from the honoree.  I'm kicking myself for not keeping the chain going.  I'm wondering if the story could ever have wound up on You Tube and gotten several million hits before anyone dared to say "NO."  

It's just a thought.

OUR ELDER SON -- SOME THOUGHTS

Marc, the Eulogist

Marc.  A story.  A real one.  The Crepe...NO,NOT THE CREEP!  I nearly let that one get away from me.  This is the guy who looked so much like me when he was a baby that we had a picture of me on the mantle.  Everyone who would look at it would exclaim, "Marc is really good looking!"  Would I soak that up or what?  I could never get away with  that now...Oh NO.
It's better that I get back to the real reason why I have decided to give you some thoughts about our two boys.  It is striking to me that when I reflect on the things that these two guys did when they were young I ask myself why I am seeing now what I should have seen then.  It would have had some kind of clue about what my old age with them would be.  The thing the really gets me is that I was already deep into my fourth decade as I was observing them. Talk about being blind.  I like thinking about  them now because it is set into a deeper corner of happiness than it was then.  I like the story about the PBS television series, "The Miracle of Life", yep, that miracle.  I think that they must have watched that show two dozen times as they were growing up.  I mean, they were little guys when they started watching that.  Belle and I would wonder what our old fashioned parents would have done about what we took as as an important part of our children's maturing process.  Marc was the leader.  He is the elder, so he leads, and he does it well.  He even leads me.
Marc is also the Eulogist.  He has eulogized his grandfather and here he is seen eulogizing his grandmother.  He and his younger brother both have another side to them.  Go here and see what I mean.
The story that got me going here is the one about the first cooking project that Marc decided he would do.  He was going to make a crepe dinner for me and his younger brother while Mama was on travel.  He had been captured by the prospect while watching a cooking show...before the Food Network, and yes, it was PBS again.  One miracle after the other.  I don't think he was yet ten.  He had memorized the ingredient list despite the fact that some of the required food was rather sophisticated.  Especially for a nine year old boy.  I stayed cool and supportive without making any remarks about the more unusual ingredients.  So we settled into the family car and glided over to the super market.  Around and around the aisles we went, not just looking for our needs, but actually shopping. I tell you, this little guy was very sensitive to the prices.  I was in awe of his sensitivity to the cost of certain items.  I could not fathom where he had learned how to discern the relative value of things.  It was quite an experience for me.  Finally, he was happy with his materials.  We checked out and headed back home.
I will spare you the horrors of reliving the strain that his effort put on the kitchen.  In the end, the crepes were a resounding success.  Yes, they were.  They are in fact getting better with age.  He did well...  I did too.  I did not grouse about the upheaved kitchen with the million pots, pans, dishes and what-ever-else was strewn all over the place.  I just smiled inside myself, and hoped that whatever lesson had to be learned, had indeed been learned.  He took an encore when Mama came back.  That too was a culinary triumph, but accompanied by a much more melodramatic production surrounding the after effects on the kitchen.  He cooked again after that, but only when it was just "us guys".
He continues to be an excellent cook.  He is a very artistic person around the kitchen.  It is his way of giving of himself to those he loves.  It makes me happy just thinking about it.  You should meet him someday.

OUR YOUNGER SON -- A STORY

Jo-El.  That's his name.  And do not forget the "-"  Her name was Florfina, but she was Lola to the two boys for whom she was the resident, always at home Mom to Marc and Jo-El.  She loved them both equally, but Jo-El was just a little more equal.  For a long time it was nearly impossible to catch him on his feet.  Lola never put him down.  We used to joke with her by saying that she was depriving him of his ability to walk.  She didn't mind.  As long as she had her Jo-El on her hip she was at peace with herself and the world.  This picture is a classic and holds a special place of reverence in our hearts and in our home.  It was snapped by the pastor of our church in San Diego.  He loved Florfina too and he was very fond of the food that she would prepare for him on all the special occasions of the Catholic calendar.  On the day when this was taken, she was walking around the church grounds where the summer bible camp was being held.  Jo-El, of course, did not have to walk.  What a life!
There came a time when Jo-El could carry Lola and Lola could only remember the long-gone days when she could carry him.  It is only right that they should share the same page, they lived together in one another's arms for so long that it is impossible to talk about him without talking about her too.
There was a time when she let him down long enough for him to produce a show that unfortunately has been lost to posterity, but was a rather large accomplishment for a little boy.  We only saw the first drafts of the first part because the end of the story is also the end of the production.  It goes like this.  Brace yourselves, it is rather gripping.
As a family, we had just acquired our first tape recording camera.  it was a rather expensive "JVC".  Of course it was a marvel to behold.  It wasn't long before Jo-El fell in love with it and deep down he knew how he was going to use it.  Mama and I set down the rules early, the first being that the boys could use the equipment but never outside the house.  It seemed like the right thing to do.  One day when school was not in session, Jo-El spend a large amount of time producing a very interesting show.  It was a stop-motion production that Jo-El was constructing by using his stuffed animals as the main "actors."  We saw the first few minutes of the production on the mini screen of the camera and I am not shy to say that for a nine year old boy to construct such a thing is very impressive.  As an adult you wonder how someone so young can get to this point of technology and of artistically logical expression. Extraordinary!  Then it happened.  The story line took them outside of the confines of the house.  With the camera to his eye and only his memory guiding his feet, he was setting up the background for the climax.  Little did he know that the climax was going to be ...KERSPLASSSSHHHH...AAIYYYEEEEEE...  THE END.  In the drink.  End of show, end of camera.  Beginning of lifelong memories. Everything swallowed up in the family swimming pool never to be recovered.
Yesterday, I was thinking about this story and I was thinking about Jo-El as he is today.  He is an under-employed graduate of the Academy of Art University in San Francisco.  I have seen a lot of his productions.  I have seen a lot of his story boards.  Some of them were stolen from his auto.  Some we still have.   The sharpest thought I had though was the one related to my own present situation.  In the form of a question it looks like this, "How do you make yourself comfortable when you have a pounding head full of ideas, both simple and artistic, mixed with intellectual statements and emotional expressions and can't make them come into reality?"  
It is frustrating for me.  It must be crushing for someone as young and full of art as our Jo-El.

HAVE YOU WOKKED YOUR DOG LATELY?

I had this strange urge, a truly new thought just about 20 minutes ago.  I dared myself to go to Google and satisfy my curiosity.  So I went, wrote "wok a dog tonight" and the very first picture in the array was this one.  So see, I'm not the only one who has these thoughts.  Someone else evidently had it before me.

In reality a wok-ed dog never looks like this.  This is North American "cute".  It is easy to display because the first impulse is to smile and feel nice and fuzzy inside.  

I got this far and decided that I was treading on a socially taboo subject, so I went to look it up and found some fairly surprising statements, not all of them totally accurate, I must say, but interesting, all.  Since this is meant to be a humorous "thought", I won't get too deep into this.  I will just say that in the last 20 minutes I have discovered that in over about 70% of the civilized world, the consumption of dogs by humans is frowned upon and in about 45% it is out and out illegal.  

In my estimation, therefore, this is proof that democracy will never work.  It is also proof of the truth of the quote at the foot of my email.  

"Truth draws strength from itself, not from the amount of consent it arouses". (Pope Benedict XVI)

Imagine, 70% of the world not appreciating the truth that the planet's hunger problem would be diminished if the attitude was turned end for end.  

What can you expect from a guy who tells you not to cry at his funeral?

Let me finish with the true story of Roald Amundsen.  (Roald Amundsen's South Pole expedition (1910–1912) It is a historical fact backed by the words of the explorer himself that he and his team were successful largely because they and their sled dogs consumed the weaker members of the dog team.

Had they not done this they ran the risk of not making it back away from the Pole.  

If you want to have an interesting intellectual experience, compare the Amundsen (Norwegian) story with that of British explorer Robert Falcon Scott, both racing to "discover" the South Pole.  


The Norwegians got there first and got out.  The Brits got there only to find the Norwegian flag.  They turned around and all of them perished trying to get back to their base camp.  It is somewhat reminiscent of the colonists and the Redcoats on the Concord and Lexington battle front with which we all so familiar.  The Norwegians rough and ready, the British prisoners of their plan.  As we all know, serendipity has its benefits.

Finally:  It is generally thought that dogs have been "friends" to humans for nigh on to 20,000 years.  It seems as though they have earned their high place in the minds and hearts of the people of planet earth.

THE EVER PRESENT CAN OF WORMS

Protein! Cholesterol! Mucus!  Oh Boy! @%&^#
Believe it or not, when we were young and growing up we decided that we could make a little money on the side by selling earthworms (night crawlers, really).  I can't remember what the price was, but maybe my brother who reads this stuff religiously can remember better than I since he is in a less acute stage of senility.
We would go out in the night time when the grass lawns were wet, flashlight in  hand and, on our hands and knees, we would snatch the worms and pull them out of their holes and drop them into a tin can.  As a matter of act, we did not have to open the can of worms, we really never wanted to close it.  Maybe because we are thinking about our worm cans, not cans of worms.  There is a difference, you know.  I am sure there is.  I have a friend who comments on the material found on this blog who often cautions me about opening a can of worms by saying things that might get people upset.  She wonders if I would be adept enough to put the lid back on without causing too much discomfort.  Ah, poor lady.  A can of worms is nothing but moral spaghetti.  I eat it up.  
It is always interesting to have situations in which the straight lines disappear and the wriggly ones seem to be taking over.  I like to think that an agglomeration of moving parts is more fun to deal with than the more straightforward tug-o'-war, strength versus strength contest.  I, in fact, find myself making some of these wriggly mixtures happen because some moral, legal and doctrinal discussions do us more good if they are cans of ideas rather than high speed, straight line games of "chicken."
So, consider this.             Wriggle and writhe; twist and turn.
                                           Hover and flutter; slip and slide.
                                           Stretch and squeeze; shrink and swell.
                                           Smoothe and slick, yet snot it's not.
                                           For a worm, life in a can is a good bet;
                                           Unlike a sardine, he won't get "et".

WHAT'S IN A NAME? ISABEL -- PAUL -- MARC -- JO-EL

CLICK HERE FOR A CUTE NAME ITEM

This is number 1 in a series of, as yet, undetermined length.  Since I have given it the definition, "series", you know that there will be a least one more after this one.  So, now that the shenanigans are out of the way, let's get serious, shall we?
Have you noticed that there is only one truly western name up there?  I mean, talk about one-ness!  Is it swell to be unique, or is it overwhelming?  Well, the guy after whom I am named was the only western guy in that bunch too, but he did all right.  I know for a fact that it was my father who won the discussion about what to name me. He knew what he wanted and he got it. As I have grown and progressed in age and in intellectual and emotional information, I have come to appreciate the value that my name has created for me.  I am so acutely aware of it, that when I meet people who have no idea what their name means I actually get a strange feeling inside of myself. I also generally get a feeling of gratitude for the parents who, when they gave me a name, filled me with a treasure that could help me become a good ME for myself and a good HE for those who have to deal with me.
Isabel is also very happy and comfortable with her name.  As the eldest child in her family, her name has served her well.  Going through life as "God's vow" or "God's promise", depending on how strong a word you want to put on it, is certainly a demanding personal challenge.  Isabel lives it every day, to God's greater glory.
The names we gave our sons caused us some internal soul searching.  Our first one, Eugene Enrique Marinay Dion was nameless for the first three plus days of his out-of-the-womb existence.  We hope he enjoyed the royal sound of the original moniker while in the womb.  He became Marc (with a "c", said she) and he has mentioned that the challenge it presents is certainly quite engaging.  We really don't know if he ever thinks about what his life would have been being Eugene Enrique Marinay.
Our second, Hannah, was quite an adventure in the womb.  Oh, we took care of her with all the love we could bring to bear even as Mom reported to work every day while carrying Marc in a large bread basket.  It was easy for Mom to name the new child Jo-El (don't forget the "-") when he took his first few breaths.  He was destined to be a friend of God.  He carries the name of God coming and going.  He cannot shake God out of his life.  Every now and then he gets a reaffirmation of the deep meaning of his name when a Jewish person hears it or sees it and comments on it.  It is a good thing that computers have improved.  Early on, computers would not accept the hyphen as a valid character in the name field.  Talking about characters, imagine him as "Hannah."  
The boys are two very different persons.  The one thing that they have in common is that they both were mis-named in the womb.  They never let us forget it.  In fact, it is an inside joke that crops up now and then when we call Jo-El "Hannah."  He just shrugs.
I am a huge advocate for naming children with a built-in challenge.

CATHOLIC FAMILIES WITH GAY / LESBIAN MEMBERS

IS STRAIGHT MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ARCHED?

I promised you my comments.  Here they are.
After the first night of meeting with Spanish speaking community members of the church in Moreno Valley, the priest met with the English speaking faithful.  There were twice as many people there than had attended the previous evening.  There were a lot of parents there and there were a lot of children there whose parents are not yet ready to be there.
I was unable to attend the entire proceedings because of management responsibilities regarding the entire event.  I did make it to small parts of the meeting and was able to make up my own mind about the situation.  I therefore will get a little more detailed with you about my personal take on what the Catholic Church is doing in this area.
1st off, I personally think that if the Catholic church placed more energy into pointing people in the direction of the first commandment, there would be less time lost on the sixth.  It seems that this is all we think about, after abortion, of course (5th commandment)
2nd, I personally think that it is a good idea to place the emphasis on the "human face" of this problem.  This is what was happening during the meetings, and it is effective.  I was disgusted at the way some of the people were treated by their very own parents when they came out.  What I heard was descriptions of the sin of human cruelty committed by parents against their very own children.  Because of this sin of human cruelty by parents and others, many people suffer a lot because of their "life style."  (I hate that expression.)
3rd, I learned that Catholic Homosexuals for the great majority do not turn their backs on God and that most Catholic homosexuals are uncomfortable turning their backs on the Catholic Church.  The most acute problem that they have is finding a "God-place" where they can relate to God in a non-threatening community.  Most seek shelter from the discrimination that is aimed at them in the secular world.  Sadly, in many instances they cannot find shelter from that in church communities either.
4th, I know from personal experience that homosexual co-habitation is a more challenging reality than hetero-sexual co-habitation because of the social stigma attached to homosexuality.  In Catholic moral terms, both are considered to be habitual grave sins.  Priests dedicated to ministering to re-married, divorced Catholics and to homosexuals operate in the same grey area called euphemistically, "an impossible situation."   In both cases, the priests have to preach and teach the truth in a loving and encouraging way by speaking the truth to disturbed consciences that are alone before God.
So, there you have it.  I learned a lot.  I have one final thought.  Through it all I have come away dissatisfied with the words that we use in common discourse to describe heterosexuals, me, among them.  We call ourselves and others, straight.  As compared to what?  Crooked?  Deviated, as in "deviated septum?"  That word was used in the meetings, even by confirmed homosexuals who were proudly wearing rainbow lapel pins.  I find it screwy that we find all kinds of ways find inoffensive words for so many things.  We have even gone to asking people what gender they are, as if they are a grammatical category rather than a human person.  Here we still call heterosexuals "straight" and we snivel and snarl and rail against the Catholic Church when she says that homosexuality is a disorder?  Is that what we mean when we call ourselves straight, without actually verbalizing what we would really say about the "un-straight"?


While you're thinking about that, I was approached the following morning by a person who had attended the previous night's session.  He asked me who was responsible for inviting "that" priest to speak to the faithful of our parish.  I looked him straight in the eye and said, "me."
He bravely asked why.  I simply said that I and the leadership of the parish had decided that it was time to challenge the people in the pews by confronting them with the harsh spiritual and secular realities that some of the members of our parish have to live with.
To his credit, he saw my point.  Agree or disagree, he thanked me and we are still friends.

PAGAN CATHOLICS,PART DEUX

ANNUIT COEPTUS, NOVUS ORDUM AETATUM

 Oops  left you without a definition of PAGAN CATHOLICS.  They are the ones who practice prayer and meditation according to Easter Spiritualities, Greek Mythologies, Western Superstitions and a host of other "cool" spiritual practices.  These include, but are not limited to Yoga, in all of its multitude of branches, Enneagram, Labyrinth, Sacred Geometry, Astrology, Kabbalah, Hinduism and the multifarious members (Gods) of its Pantheon, Polytheism, Ouija, WICCA and other connections to the Age of Aquarius.
The believers and practitioners of this form of Catholicism include, but are not limited to validly ordained bishops of the Catholic Hierarchy and the key members of their staffs, Cardinals who vote for the Pope, Priests, including, perhaps, the pastor of your parish, validly ordained deacons and their wives, Parish coordinators and other lay leaders, including catechists. That is the definition of PAGAN CATHOLIC.
Before pointing the finger, make sure that the mirror in your bathroom is not foggy and check out the sweetheart who is looking back at you from within while reciting the mandate of the first commandment.

PAGAN CATHOLICS

The Adult Faith Formation Week has ended and it was a booming success.  We had traffic surpassing 1,100 individuals.  No doubt the 65 degree weather after sundown helped.  It was a great time and I now feel relaxed because it is over for another year.  All I have to do now is to write the narrative report.  I already have the ideas I need to start planning for next year.  One of them will be a series of talks about PAGAN CATHOLICS.  I don't want to bore you with this because I know that many of you don't relate to this.  But right now it is the only thought that I have and I can't shake it.  So what I am going to do is to cut this short because I do want you to know that I do have a thought, but it is not one that is fitting for this forum.  I will go put it somewhere else and provide a link for those of you who might be interested, in a day or two.
Therefore, good night, and I'll be brighter and chipperer tomorrow.

ONCE A CATHOLIC, ALWAYS A CATHOLIC

Listen to this.  You gotta luv it.  A man accosted me yesterday at the lobby of the mini-symposium and started his conversation with, "I'm sick and tired of these people who say, 'I used to be Catholic, but now...'  I always tell them, 'you're like the auto mechanic, med school drop-out who brags 'I was a doctor, once, but I got pissed off at the registrar and left'.  You never have been a Catholic and never will be until you come back and live the life for at least ten years.  Then you'll be Catholic not by culture but by conviction."
This is the strongest language I have heard over the three days of operation.  I wonder if there is more of the same in store.  Actually, the three stories I have heard so far are more of the "Once Catholic, always a Catholic" variety, and they come in varying degrees of conviction.  One man said, "You need me.  Put me to work."  This was Monday, so I did, and he keeps coming back.  So, I guess he's back.  If he asks me where to go to confession, I think I'll just say, "You already did."  I'll have to wait and see how it turns out.
Anyway, I have to take a short break.  I'll be back.
Talking about strong language makes me remember the testimony of a young lady during the second meeting of the gay and lesbian instruction led by the diocesan minister in charge of such things.  I was late getting to the party, but I had plenty of other things to do.  I walked in and sat in the back.  The microphone was making the rounds and parents and younger people were taking turns throwing their two-cents into the ring of opinions.  I was listening with about 1/2 of my brain when the microphone got to the young lady in question.  I couldn't help but hear since she was in the chair ahead of mine.  The most stunning part of  her self-disclosure was when she said, "The day when I decided to stop fighting my sexuality and to throw myself into the loving arms of God was the day that I felt I was being kissed for the first time, all day long."  After a while the meeting started to break up and I got the chance to see her face to face.  I hope she didn't pick up on the flood of emotion that washed over me when I realized that she is one of the people in the parish that I get along with very well.  She grew several notches in my estimation tonight.
The two nights of teachings on this subject exposed over 100 people to the culture of this ministry.  Many in attendance are leaders of the parish.  Some are of the right-wing conviction.  Those leaders now have a different view of the world.  We have been changed by the experience and we have been handed new responsibilities by God Himself.  We have discovered what it's going to take for us to go through life life proclaiming "Once a Catholic, ALWAYS A CATHOLIC."

63 DAYS AND 67 ITEMS AND COUNTING...

Keep your eye on that calendar.  It is important because the challenge of this blog is still in the fire.  It has to be kept before our eyes so as to not draw the ire of the gods.  After all, what would Odin think of a guy who could not ride a Valkyrie for 63 days?  What would Mars think of a wimp who could not ride an oated up silver steed with a flaming lance by his hip for 63 days?  What would Jupiter think of a guy who would not cross the equator for fear of a change of seasons?  What would Shiva think of a guy who couldn't walk in his fire?  What would Irene think of a guy who couldn't say "Goodnight?"  What would Lucille think of a guy who wouldn't complain about the "fine time that she picked to leave him?"  What would "Skinny Minny" think of a guy who would want her fat?   What would Jeanie think of a guy who would only dream of blondes?  What would Jeanine think of a guy who would dream of her only in crocus time?  What would Marie think of a guy who couldn't remember to say, "Hoy?"  And finally, what would Carmen think of a guy who would not be afraid of her love?  (That's a hard one.  Carmen is the gal who sings the warning, "...si je t'aime, prends garde a toi."  If I love you, watch out!)
So many challenges, so few women...Ahhh, let me take that back.  HHmmmm, I've just decided to take Carmen's advice.  I'm gonna watch out.
Now, I'm going to leave you.  If you want, you can continue this game and we'll see where it leads us.  (I'll bet you thought I was going to end that sentence with a preposition.  Come on, admit it.  You did too.  But I didn't, so there.)
May God bless you all.  I have to go back to my project.  Please pray for me.  
PS, I think it is now safe to start thanking god for his gift of rain-free, 60 degree, clear January evenings for the entire week.  Please do not forget.  Thank you to God.

I WOULD HAVE TAKEN A PICTURE, BUT IT WOULD NOT HAVE MATTERED

WHERE'S THE GAY GUY? 

I was going to take a picture for this "Thought" but then I realized that it would look something like the one you have here on the left.  So I decided that it wasn't worth it.  The only recognizable person would have been the priest leading the meeting.  All the rest were just ordinary people.  Well, almost "ordinary".  Most of them are still ordinary, but then again that is perhaps not perfectly true any more either.  You see this would have been a picture of about 30 people sitting in front of a Catholic priest teaching them about the position that the Catholic Church wants us to have with regards our homosexual brethren.  The point of the picture would have been the same as it with the one that you presently have before you...from behind we are all the same.  In the eyes of God we are all lovable. Each one of us cost Jesus His life, down to the last drop of His blood.  The challenge that we have then is to love one another as He loved us.  And, surprise, that includes homosexuals.  

I could not attend the entire session because I have other responsibilities concerning the mini-symposium about which I have been writing lately.  I did sit there a bit and I did make myself present at the end.  This was easy because all the other sessions had closed down and this one was still going.  It had been going for about 2 hours and the people were still there, listening, making comments, and behold, so intently engaged, and so polite and gentle to one another and to the priest/leader of the exchanges.  As the session wound down I went to the front of the group and since there were many there who did not really know me, I introduced myself.   I said that I was sincerely happy to have been able to make this meeting happen and that I hoped that God would make their spiritual life at our church a fruitful one.  As I was speaking I noticed that many of them were people whom I know and who know me.  They were so happy to see me.  Five or six of them came to me before leaving to hug me and thank me for having the courage to make something like this happen.  I was surprised at the depth of their sincerity and their evident  gratitude.  They were all wearing their emotions on their sleeves.  

The crowning came when I was alone with the priest who then told me that he did not believe his eyes when he walked into the room and beheld about 30 people in attendance.  He had come in the expectation of seeing some  5 or 6.  He could not contain his euphoria all the way back to his auto.  As he crouched to get into his vehicle, all he could find to say was, "I have to hope that the English speaking group scheduled for tomorrow night will be as numerous and as spiritually awake as this Hispanic group is."

Dear readers, please pray for us.  Many of us, I repeat, many of us, are in uncharted waters here.  All we have is the certainty that God wants us here.  Ask Him to give us the strength to help Him with these Ninivites without His having to carry us there in the belly of a whale.

AN OPEN COMMENT ABOUT MY BEHAVIOR IN CHURCH

A friend of mine sent a comment in to the "365 Thoughts..." but never uses the comment box, she just fires emails my way.  I love it.  This one caught my attention because it is both humorous and deep.  She is commenting on life in  general around these parts because of the week long event of religious education talks for adults.  She is a little strict on the people who do not come around.  Actually, she is right.  There are many of the "elite" parishioners who never come to these presentations even though the professionals giving them are from outside and are very capable of outdoing the local leadership.  Oh, well...  Anyhow, enjoy the humor.  I have a nice one for you all for tomorrow.

I saw you sleep during the homily yesterday.  I wondered for a time if you were bored with Father Fred's homily or just plain tired.  I chose the latter.  (Thank you) 

The Adult Faith Formation Week contains such good topics and

well chosen people and yet they (our parishioners) just trickle in.  Its not you and its not the speakers or lack of announcement.  There is almost a blockage in the air, reminds of Daniel's prayer to God with no response for 2 weeks.  After 2 weeks the angel carrying the prayers to heaven came panting and telling Daniel, that he tried to bring the response from God, but the the earth was blocked by the bad angel from one side of the horizon to another that he had to get St. Michael to help him penetrate.  I'll find out what chapter is this and verse.  (Daniel, chapter 10)  I also a remember a Saint whose name I don't remember his name who came into the new town to preach at the church and no one came.  (St. Anthony of Padua)  He complained to God about it and God told him to go the pier and preach to all the sea creatures.  He did and the whole ocean came alife with fishes and all sea creatures 

ST. ANTHONY PREACHING TO THE FISHES

listening.  

So if by any chance you thought for one minute that it was your failure, it's not.  Something else you have no control of.  One good thing that I noticed, Josh, my husband, started to get serious about his God.  So if nothing else and just one little Josh, hey, heaven had responded.  Thank you for your tremendous effort you and Belle.  

There it is.  Plain and simple in the original language from my Dear, Dear friend,  Justa from Palau Island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.  

She is true salt of the earth and God will never allow her to go flat!

I GOT AN IDEA TODAY. OH, NO, IT WAS A THOUGHT, REALLY

The thought was that if my life continued to go down the road that had opened for it on Sunday evening, as the bishop was "kicking off" the weekly Adult Faith formation Event that Belle and I have organized, I would perhaps come to smile a bit sometime around Friday evening at 10:00 PM or so.  So far we have had a stream of people that is rather impressive coming through the various open doors on campus.  We had about 400 last night and about 300 tonight.  If this continues we will have our first 1,000 gross traffic year in the 6 years that we have put this in front of people.  Imagine, 700 in two nights, one of which coincided with the State of the Union Address.  Not only that, but this was the night when we had invited the church people who are dedicated to the treatment of post abortion stress syndrome in our diocese.  Not a very gala topic.  But you know what?  Between the two national groups, Anglo and Hispanic, we had 60 people involved.  What's going to happen when the ministers from Prison chaplaincy come, followed by the Ministry to Families with Gay and/or lesbian members.  Actually, I'm allowing myself to be ready for the magic number to be realized.  If that happens, It will be like when I first realized that 1,000,000 pairs of eyeballs had fallen on my Internet musings.  I will shake my head in disbelief for a week.
Today, I was trying to enumerate the number and names of people who have been instrumental in getting this thing put together and rolling.  Not that many, actually.  But powerful ones.  The steam roller lady from 40 miles south who is so efficient that I just had to be responsive to her acceptance of the invitation and to her constant, torridly accurate follow-up updates about what she was planning to do.  The Bulldozer Deacon, head of Arab Catholics in Southern California who found not one but two Muslims willing to come to our church to instruct our congregation about Islam.  The deacon works in a parish 65 miles away and the one Muslim who finally came traveled 85 miles one way for a two hour talk.  For a couple of years now I have been seeking a good speaker to tell the Mexican population about a powerful part of their religious history called the Cristero Movement.  I found one, pro bono (free) who came from 65 miles away for the occasion.
I'm not done.  There's the nun who is coming from 60 miles and the deacon from 45 and the other nun from 45.  Do you wonder why I shake my head?
I dare you to ask me about the January weather that God is sending us for this occasion.  Hey, if he had not run out of Manna 6,000 years ago, He would share some with us.  But He's a little short, what with the bad economy and all.  So instead, all He's doing is seeing to it that  the temp is hovering around 60 or so, with balmy skies and no clouds...and this is at night, not noon.  
So all of you who have been praying for success, don't let your arms droop down yet.  It's still just mid week, but the Heavenly Hosts are doing their part.  
That is it for now.  You should hear some of the testimony that has come to me as I walk around the campus, meeting and greeting people who are lost because they are unfamiliar with the church territory.  I have told a couple of them to give a name to their guardian angel so that they can ask him to bring them back again next week for the 'Welcome Home" meeting for returning Catholics.
Now,   I better get to bed before MY guardian angel falls asleep from over work.

NOW, I GOT A THOUGHT OR TWO, SO BRACE YOURSELF...

...Add some glue to your false teeth, put an extra strip of velcro on the more revealing edges of whatever it is that you wear while at your computer and put a seat belt on your chair.  This one is not original for today.  I've had it before.   It slammed me this morning because I am always on edge for this one.  ALWAYS.
I got back to the church this morning after the evening full of 90 minute sessions that made up the first night of the mini symposium that Belle and I have organized for the adults of the parish. We got there early to prepare the coffee that precedes the morning talks and to conduct some "exit polling" of those who had attended yesterday's events.  Things were going rather well when the first person just answered the question with a smile and a positive response.  The second person, when asked about his opinion about the presentation on Islam, said that he was happy that his preconceived ideas had almost all been confirmed before leaping head first into a stream of broken-record repetitions of abortion statistics and the culture of death...  I quickly turned to another person heading for the main door of the church and accosted her to ask if she has enjoyed the presentation on the Mexican Martyrs, "Los Cristeros".  She said "Yes."  After which she burst into a diatribe about the fact that we weren't presenting anything on the greatest evil ever to visit planet earth, abortion.  (She's wrong, it is slated for tonight)  Now, the first one took about 25 seconds before getting to the target.  The second one was less than 5.  I have written about this phenomenon before, so I will not dedicate too much time to it here, today.  I will say this: I am pro-choice and do not make an effort to tell me that I am mistaken.  And most especially, give me more than 20 seconds of advance notice that you are a person who has but one single item of religious conversation available on the tip of the tongue.  I want you to know that I am anti-abortion.  I don't hide behind euphemisms like "pro-life."  I am not pro-life.  God created us free, with  the challenge of keeping ourselves pure in His sight by exercising choice according to His Will.  I kill animals before eating them.  (He's OK with that)  I uproot weeds; I cut down trees; I use insecticide; I am OK with policemen who carry guns, presumably because they may have to kill a human being someday; I am OK with drone warfare, to a degree.  I am against abortion, no matter at what stage of development the abortion takes place.  That means that I have room in my small brain for understanding that not all zygotes or whatever other name humans in development can be known by, are in fact "human."  And don't you Catholics come down and say that everything in the womb is human from the point of conception.  Not even the Church goes that far.  You give me that and I'll give you the right to declare yourself pro-life even though you still dearly cling to your pro capital punishment, second amendment solutions, animal killing, meat eating proclivities.  At least I don't have to live with that lie.  I have some of my own that I like better.
So, now you know.  I have had enough of the abortion activist ear splitting emotionalism to last me well into my fast approaching next lifetime.  One thing about this makes me happy:  now that I have "come out of the closet" there's not a one of you who will have even the slightest temptation to cry at my funeral.


BTW:  I guarantee that I pray for all you "sidewalk warriors" every single day.

NO NEW THOUGHT, NOT A ONE -- IS THAT POSSIBLE?

Is it possible to go for 24 hours without having one, single new thought cross your brain?  I think it is possible.  I cannot for the like of me find a thought that came to me today that is different from any other one that I can remember ever having.  Is it possible that I have come to the age when the infinitude of thought has finited itself?  Interesting question, right?  Can you imagine what would happen if a significant portion of the world's population were to suddenly have a mental block and no significant new idea(s) stirred the gray matter of millions, no, wait, billions of human beings?  Would the earth stop going around on it axis?  Would gravity stop?  Would the economy feel the shock?  Would newspapers be one or two pages short?  What would happen to TIME magazine?  SLATE?  CNN?  How would children in school fare in the empty space of non-original thought?  Would there be enough first-time input to children's brains to make up for the banality of the adult thought production for that day?  This has got be serious stuff.  How can the world run on "empty" this way?  I know for a fact that I usually have at least one interesting thought every single day.  But that has not been true for this day.  The sun came up.  People greeted me and I greeted them back.  My English was pretty good.  I didn't need my French, Italian, Ilokano, Tagalog or Latin.  I do have to admit that my Spanish was better today than it is on average.  I even addressed two different groups tonight to make formal introductions of special professionals to major audiences without notes and walked away happy with my grammar and creative syntax.  Is that supposed to be sufficient to satisfy me?  I don't think so.
So, that's it for today.  Except for some above average emotionally super charging satisfying results during the first full day of our Parish Adult Faith Formation Week Symposium, it was a rather non stimulating intellectually sleepy day.   So, here I go for the horizontal cure in the hopes that my Darling Goddess Morpheus can do something for me over night so that I can have some challenging cranial vibes take me through the 25th day of January.

401 KEG PLAN -- I'M IN A WEIRD MOOD TONITE -- actually, it's not "tonite" any more

I got this in my email from a drinking buddy of mine from out of the past.  Enjoy yourselves.

Just imagine...

Save 'em all up until you're sure you have the $214.00 profit!

If you had purchased $1,000 of shares in Delta Airlines one year ago, you will have $49.00 today!
If you had purchased $1,000 of shares in AIG one year ago, you will have $33.00 today.
If you had purchased $1,000 of shares in Lehman Brothers one year ago, you will have $0.00 today.
But, if you had purchased $1,000 worth of beer one year ago, drank all the beer, then turned in the aluminum cans for recycling refund, you will have received a $214.00.
Based on the above, the best current investment plan is to drink heavily & recycle.  It is called the 401-Keg.

A recent study found that the average American walks about 900 miles a year. Another study found that Americans drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year. That means that, on average, Americans get about 41 miles to the gallon!


Makes you proud to be an American!!!

Really?  I have to chime in on this one.


1st off, I think that 900 miles per year is too conservative.  That's only 2.4 miles per day.
22 gallons of alcohol is slightly less than 2 ounces per day. Also rather conservative, dontcha think.


Based on a study that I read when I was about 12 years old, the average American walked about 10 miles per day.  I would generously cut that in half, due to reverse inflation.  You know, more driving, less walking. Nevertheless,  I would also conservatively increase the alcohol intake to a full 5 ounces per day.  The average American would then consume 46 gallons of alcohol and walk a total of 1825 miles per year for a miles per gallon productivity level of only 39.6 miles per gallon.  Not too bad, but certainly not great.


The calculation which rendered the $214.00 profit is more difficult to follow since certain stipulations important to the process are not given.  There are several questions which would  have to be answered before a perfectly correct answer could be generated.  Such questions would be:  What is the average alcohol content of beer across the country?  What is the average price of a six-pack across the country on a day to day basis?  It seems that the stipulated presumption is based on beer contained in aluminum cans, a very volatile market that is difficult to baseline accross the country.  The other question that I have is, are we sure that all the beer sold in aluminum cans is packaged in cans that are manufactured by the same provider?  Are they all of the same gauge aluminum, of the same density?  I have further difficulties about the $214.00 profit.  If the recycler came to the point of consumption to buy the aluminum, would the profit still be the same?  If the consumer had to drive to the recycling outlet, what would be the negative impact on the profit?  
You see,friends, serious economics require a lot of deep, gyrating thoughts around gratuitous statements that are floated into cyberspace without sufficient preponderant evidence.


As for me, I am grateful to  have had these two exercises in comic futility because this is the closest I have come to a can of beer or alcohol of any kind, drinking or otherwise, in over one year.  I thank you all for the opportunity to try out my sniveling, underhanded "Beltway" sophistry on you all, dead sober as I am at the moment.
I'll get more serious tomorrow.  
All of this struff made me think of a question that I asked in school one day: "Does the shadow of an airplane go as fast as the plane does?"  
Go ahead, get even with me for that one.

WHERE'S MY PAREGORIC

Alcohol and Opium, YYuummm

Ah,sweet elixir of opium!  Where have you gone?  Why can I no longer go to Cowan's Drug store, corner of Bridge and South Main and get two ounces' worth of your sweet comfort?  I still remember the great taste and the smooth disappearance of the physical pain when you and I got together in those early years.  How sad that we have drifted apart.  It seems like the pharmaceutical industrial complex has overtaken the world and completely crushed our sweet relationship.  How many nights have Morpheus and I striven to commune in peaceful slumber only to be wracked by the fiery, volcanic fire of gout pain in so many joints of my being.  More pain in more joints than I could ever have imagined.  Why, just the other day I was dreaming of you again, reaching out, but in vain.  I had one slim and faint glimmer of hope when it was suggested by a doctor that I indulge in a dab or two of your very distant offshoot, codeine.  What a sad counterfeit!  But I figured that I would give it a try in the off chance that the taste of it could re-awaken vivid memories of our long forgone relationship.  Believe me, Elixir of my heart, that I jumped through all the 21st century hoops to bring this weak resemblance of you into my life.  I can't remember all the times I licked my lips in nostalgic and sensual motions of longing for the stimulus of the sensory memory of your presence.  I presented myself to the apothecary with rapidly beating heart, sweaty palms, quivering lips and dry mouth, barely able to mutter my desires for the prize.  She, yes, it was a she.  How odd, a "she" apothecary.  At the moment it mattered not.  I had my eye and my heart on the prize, not the girl, no, not the girl.  And all of this emotion for a mere shadow of what I remembered you to be.  All of this for a manufactured concoction of God's gift to humanity!  I still can't understand why I was so terribly crushed when I was informed that the prescription would not be ready to be claimed for at least an hour.  An hour?!?  %^$@#T!  I could get you, the creation of God in five minutes from Mr. Cowan.  Why do I have to wait one hour for an impostor?  Of course, I had to wait, and wait.  If an hour ever seemed like a year, this was it.  I keep wondering how I ever made it through the interminable Christmas eves waiting for my parents to come home from attending the Midnight Mass.  So, I left the site, went out of doors and took a stroll around the block.  Good thing it was a balmy Southern California January day.
When my stroll was finished, I boldly pierced the armor of the thick glass doors to get into the ante room to see if my name had come up on the announcement board.  Oh, Lord, there it was.  Finally my deepest desires were going to be requited.  Finally I would be able to enjoy the paroxysms of a heart beating out of control at the touch of the the prize so long absent from its being.  I quickly fell into line behind some five or six other humans.  I was so excited that I did not even think of playing the mental game of trying to guess why these mere mortals were waiting in line in a pharmacy.  You know the game, "Hmmm, I wonder if she has cancer?" etc...  No, not today, I am too pre-occupied with fulfilling my sensual needs as they have too long been neglected.  Now the line is so short that I am next.  
"NEXT!" 
I have to restrain myself from running to the service station.  I get there, smile at the clerk, present my I.D. and wait for her to return (not the same "her"), barely able to control my bodily functions (keeping my balance, among others, you know?)  She comes back, opens the bag to have me verify and ascertain the correctness of the product.

What I see ruins my life.  Is this what life is in the 21st century?  >>>>>>>>>

THE ATTACK OF THE TECHNOLOGY GREMLINS

GOOGLE GOT ME BACK

I tried my best to link back the original quote that opened the last post.  I did try, honest.  I could not figure our a way to get it done.  It worked perfectly well for me, and now that I have been advised by the Voice from my Kitchen I know what went wrong.  I made several changes in the linking loop and it never once came to me that I was testing something that is captive to my Google account, so it always worked.  So I solved the problem the same way I solved the problem of the "pet" rooster I once had.  After trying for more than one week to teach him to jump through a hoop with no success, I presented him to my mother in time for a chicken dinner.  I made him jump through the opening of the stew pot and a great time was had by us all. (True story)  All this to simply say that I have removed the faulty, recalcitrant link sdo as to not continue ruiniing the poetic nature of the last post, "The Miracle of Snow."
Google has not yet responded to my request for a description of "BLIBOT", so I guess I will have to go the Wikipedia route, except I don't have the time.
Take it easy, enjoy the snow and I will keep you all in my dreams and my prayers while basking in the balmy SoCal sun storm.
I hereby declare this 1/2 of a thought.

THE MIRACLE OF SNOW

I don't watch much TV.  But I been seeing a lot of this on the Internet these days.
More snow!  "Like manna from heaven let each snowflake remind us of the marvelous and precious creation that we are, as individually unique as a snowflake, but dearly beloved by The Creator.  Alleluia!!!" (Reef Lector)

To that wonderful reflection let me add the Southern California answer by wishing, "Let the SONshine in!"


I just finished talking about memories. I have to confess that I have glorious, God-praising memories about winter miracles.  Of all the times that I get up in the morning, look out and thank God for a marvelous, cloud-free, bright sunshiny day, I have over-arching memories of snow-laden trees, sensually sinuous snow-drift waves of pure white reflecting the presence of God back at me.  I have the insistent, brain-space invading memories of soft rounded hills, bordered by banks of pine trees silhouetted in front of the breath-taking Northern Lights with their miraculously pastel hues of blues and reds.  I have the crackling, splitting intrusion of 20 below zero memories of meadows covered by four foot thick blankets of snow reflecting the light of a glorious full moon and turning Sister Night into a valiant sibling competitor of Brother Day.  The very same memories of the times when we could lay down four coats of water on the ever hardening ice-hockey rink on the edge of the self-same gloriously blanketed meadows.
So, yes, Reef, you've played the trump card.  There are no memories better than those of miraculous winters because even we denizens of Sunny, Southern California know, by memory, that it is in the Glory of Winter that the SON shines best.

That's one more thing that I have gotten off my chest.  But I still carry the burden that all emigrants carry, the insistent memories and love of the homeland together with the obdurate decision to never return. ;)

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN...?

How many of you know you were and what you were doing when something big happened?  How big a thing does it take for you to remember it forever?  How many of these big (important, personal, historic, close, far...) things do you actually remember as though they were yesterday?  In fact, how many fairly insignificant things do you remember and can't forget and can't figure why?

The reason why I'm on this track today is that it is the 50th anniversary of the best inaugural speech that i have ever heard.  Yes, I remember John F. Kennedy's inaugural address just as well as I remember his assassination.  

Therefore, to be fair here is a list of things I remember as well now as if they had happened yesterday, as the saying goes.

1.  The death and funeral of Aunt Cécile Dion.

2.  The end of World War II

3.   I mentioned Kennedy above.  In the same vein     I also remember Chappaquiddick

4.   I remember the Marcos coup

5.   I remember the Ecumenical Council History

6.   I remember snow in Rome

7.   I remember 9/11/2001

There are some things that I still remember clearly, but I let these stand for the moment.  It's an interesting exercise.  You start of by identifying only four or five, and then the wave grows and becomes a marvelous flow of brain electricity.

Finally, I remember the election of Barack Obama.  

I would tell you that I remember the time of invalidity that I had one short year ago, but for the record, there is so much of that event that is dark in my mind, I am amazed more at the power of modern drugs to take us away from some of the most challenging moments of our lives that I am stupefied by my inability to remember the events of about 10 days of my adult life.

I of course remember  the day of my father's death and some of the events that were put into motion by that happening.  One of the things that I dwell upon if I analyse things that I remember is the fact that they break about evenly between disasters and consolations.  

So, let me leave you with these thoughts.  I sent you an email off the side this morning.  I hope that you enjoyed.  It's not that my thoughts were amputated, just that I didn't have a way at hand (so to speak) to get them graphically communicated.

PS  No one has submitted the definition of BLIBOT.  I do have the record of one give and take about it.  It's fun.  Some other time.