NO ONE READS IT ANYWAY -- #1 SON ABOUT "365 THOUGHTS"

No one reads it anyway.  That's what I heard about the blog that you, being someone is reading.  You And 1,670 others in the short time that this has been public.  In the short time that I have been on this earth I have come to the conclusion that whatever is written will someday be read.  I grew up in a place where there were newspapers competing for eyeballs every day.  There were English Language newspapers, Polish Language newspapers, Chinese Language newspapers and French Language newspapers.  Some one had to be reading them.  I remember that every weekend we would have two New York City newspapers in our house.  They featured great colored comics sections and a Sunday Magazine.  I remember very vividly one Sunday when the magazine cover had some scantily clad cheer leaders and our baby brother who was all of about 7 or 8 made the "woo-woo" sound.  Even my overly modest mother laughed at that.  Print survived because people read.  The Internet is popular because it presents so many choices to be read.  Ideas abound.  (Maybe not here, but they're out there somewhere.)
As human beings we have a drive to get a glimpse inside one another's heads.  We want to know what the other person is thinking.  We are driven to validate our own opinions.  We do that most easily when a person lays it out in black and white rather than to keep it covered inside his/her coconut. Reading is like being at a car race, rather than at a horse race.  What's the difference?  I never met anyone who would go to a horse race to see a crash.  You?  When we read we are always looking for the "Gotcha" moment [crrasshh] when we can firmly disagree with the author's position.  That's what I love about reading on the Internet.  If I read something that lights my fire, man, it's like, comment, comment, comment.  I always put my name too.  None of this anonymous, light a firecracker and run away stuff.  I want you to know that someone is enjoying the clash of opinion, whether or not you intended to cause a clash.  So don't tell me that "no one reads it anyway."  I know that someone is reading it because my computer tells me so...and...the comment box does too.  And remember to put your real name because "anonymity is the enemy of progress in truth."

HIERARCHY OF VALUES -- HOW STUPID CAN YOU GET?

This is one that I have a lot of trouble with.  Some people refer to this disorder as the "Personal Pet Peeve Syndrome."  Well, I have a blind spot when it comes to pets too, so you'll just have to read this on MY terms.
All my life I have been trying to see other points of view as placed on the table by my peers.  Oh, oh, I'm only three sentences into this thing and I have already admitted that I have PEERS.  Now, seriously I want to assure you that I have no problem being the second most intelligent person on the planet.  Believe me, I am open to the possibility that I may some day meet the first most intelligent one.  In fact, at my age it might just make me feel better because it would remove a lot of the pressure.
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Enough of that, already.  I grew up in a house that was thickly populated by opinionated people.  Let me give you some examples.  You'll get a kick out of some of this stuff.  Some of you have heard it before.  Possibly, many times.
1. He who loses his language loses his faith.
2. He who knows two languages is worth two people.
3. To live with people you gotta be people.
4. My brothers got a lot of education, but they don't know anything.
5. I hated school but I did all right.
6. Now this guy is going to be left handed.
7. When is my sister going to buy a dress that has the front going up to her neck?
8. The pope speaks 8 languages.  [He really did.  Pius XII.  I thought he had to]
9. You have to have convictions and stick to them, no matter what.
10. You have to do better in school.  = [Get better grades, so you'll be first in class]
All of these opinions are important.  They are all contributing truths to the making of a serious and valuable member of society. You can tell that they must be important because I remember them.  Each of them has a piece of the soul of the people who followed God's grace in getting me to where I am.  These thoughts serve as the basis for how I live my life.  The interesting part is that though they are still with me, others have squeezed them off the top ten chart.  If you reflect on your list of values, you will perhaps find the same truth.  In fact I don't even have to tell you that not all of these are equally important.  I don't have to tell you that it might look to you like some of them are outright false.
Let me give you a short comment for what happened to some of them along the way.
1. This is true, to an extent.  As far as language and faith are tied to culture, it is true.  No too important now
2. This is also partially true, but I have never benefited economically from being a polyglot. Socially, yes.
3. This too political for my taste.  I respect others, but I don't do things just to be socially accepted
4. Education is VERY important.  EFR Dion didn't think so.  He was a brilliant self-made man.  He would lend his car to his brothers and they always returned it with an empty tank. To him that was ignorance of the highest form.
5. She did turn out all right.  She married the right guy.  I have a dear person in my life who hated school.  She is brilliantly self-made too.  And she married the right, self-made guy.  So who needs school?  Bill Gates?
6. A mistake.  My brother and I wanted to have a lefty so we set out to make the baby of the family the one.  Don't do this.
7. Modesty was a big rule.  It is important, no matter what the denizens of Hollywood wear.  I still believe in it.  I have another blog where I wrote something about this topic.  Maybe I will float it out for you.
8. Languages are important.  Not for economic gain, but for social, spiritual, emotional and intellectual comfort.  The pope does not have to speak 8 languages.  John XXIII knew only 2, Italian and French.
9.  This sounds great on the surface, but even convictions have to be modulated.  Modulated means molded to fit the changing circumstances, but not abandoned out of a loss of internal focus and self-determination.
10. I never believed this.  It was and is still, a cause of friction between me and the dearest beings I know.  Tough!  The focus of school is not to be valedictorian, but to open the mind and make it rich.  Period.

See, we keep our values with us.  They constantly help us to be who we are.  No matter how long we live and no matter where we have lived across the decades.  Some of us have been steeped in other cultures and learned to modulate [that word again] our values and rearrange their position of importance in our lives, but they nevertheless remain anchors to keep us even.  It seems appropriate for me to close this ramble by the famous saying:  "The more we change, the more we stay the same."  Some Pagan philosopher said that many centuries ago.  I think he is right.

WHY I WEAR PANTS -- Warning: Children must be accompanied by a parent to read this.

IS HE WEARING TROUSERS?

You have to be intrigued by the question.  I don't know about you but it is one that I have long asked myself.  No kidding.  Even from childhood.  All I knew was that I hated shorts and knickers.  I raised all sorts of dust about having to wear knickers to school. I wanted long pants, period.  So, I got some.  Somewhere in third or fourth grade, I think. I was so happy!  But after a while, it got old and then I would wonder why anyone would have to wear clothes at all. Well, I was told that it is in the bible.  We wear clothes because like Adam and Eve we are ashamed to be naked after she ate the apple.   You know what?  I bought that.  for a while.  Not because I was sure that I would be brazen without clothes, but because there were other questions that came up just about every week or so.  For instance, what would the people in New Hampshire do in the Winter without clothes?  I also had some basic hygiene questions, like, why should I wipe my hands on my sleeves, when my pants were much closer.  It's daylight clear to me,  sleeves are for wiping your mouth, your eyes, your nose and stuff like that.  So pants have to be for wiping your hands.  This is especially true when you are sitting down.  In fact the cool part about it is that when you're at table, you can slip your hands down between your thighs an wipe them in places that are not going to get much attention anyway.  Right?  The convenience of doing it at table is that you always have a chance of getting away with it. You just know that I'm right.
Which brings me to the question of whether or not women should wear trousers.  Absolutely not!   Think about it.  Women have absolutely no need for pants.  They abhor wiping their hands on clothes.  You know that.  Aren't they the ones who always remember to take napkins at the fast food outlet.  You guys know it because the women in your life were always shouting at you to "stop that!"  You women know that because you're always disgusted when you see a guy sneak his hands down to his pants to wipe the fingers that held his crispy fried chicken, or his potato chips or sugary pastry .  Shheeeesshh, ladies, what's your problem?  Pants don't ever get dirty anyway.  Getting dirty is for shirts, hankies, ties, sweaters, socks and underwear, but pants?  Of course not.  So, ladies, get back to dresses and skirts and make more wiping material available to the men of the world.  


You know what?  The other day a friend told me that she loves "365 Thoughts..." because it is so smooth and so scholarly.  No kidding, she said that.  Now, you don't think that I'm going to let her get away with that, do you?  She's the reason why I had to place the warning at the top.  She has three boys.  Four, including Hubby.  Not that Hubby would ever wipe his hands on his pants.  Not him.  Except when he's alone in his truck and he forgot his paper towels at home.  After this she's going to force me to buy him "truckware" paper towels.  Sorry, Ed.
To satisfy my dear friend, the truck driver's Voice from the Kitchen, tomorrow I will be more intellectually rewarding.  Really.  I want her to forget I said all these silly things.

What other people think of you is none of your business.

Really?  Come on, tell the truth.  What do you really think?  I'll bet you're thinking, "This is a trap.  No matter what I answer, he'll turn it around and get his way anyway."  Heee, how'd ja guess?  I've got a couple of these.  Like, "I am pro-choice.  You?" Then there's my favorite, "No Crying at my Funeral."  I like these because they all have a flip side.  Depending on your mood, you're either with 'em or agin' 'em.
During the day today I got a lot of stuff on the Internet.  In the pile was this thought: 
 What other people think of you is none of your business.  It just so happens that I grew up believing that and living it too.  It used to really twist my parents in knots.  I could never figure out why because of all the diplomatic people I ever met, I have to say that they weren't in charge at the Hartford Street dwelling.  Strange how we remember the clashes between what we say and hear and what we do.  Hear is a cute story that I am not afraid to tell because it is about me as a parent.  
You know how you tell children to never talk to strangers?  You told that to your children, didn't you?  We tell it to them for quite a while and as they grow older, they actually catch us doing things that we forbid them to do.  C'mon admit it.  I happened to you too.  So pay attention now, because this is a sweet piece of life.
Because we lived about 90 miles away from Disneyland, we would got there at least twice a year with the boys.  One sunny, Southern California day we were spending time standing in line with the hordes of tourists at the Magic Kingdom.  Well, adults actually do strike up conversations while standing in the company of other humans waiting for the thrill of experiencing a 90 second ride in the Mad Hatter tea cups.  Well, this one time, our eldest child was beginning to be quite wise about life and he asked me a couple of times, "Do you now that lady? [Man?]"  I was always truthful and said "no."  Never did I see where he was coming from.  I would answer him and he would just shrug.  Later on in the day I was accosted by the Voice from the Kitchen with a piece of advice that sounded something like this: "Your first born wants to know why you are breaking the rule of talking to strangers."  
I was deeply impressed that a person so young could figure stuff like that out.  So Mom and I decided that we should take a break for a "casse-croute" at an outside table so that we could talk it over with the boys.  


It was a good lesson for us all.  Now we are all careful about choosing who it is we approach in public.  We never know when our now adult sons will scold us for breaking the easy familiarity rule.  I mean, they take care of their second childhood parents.  Very protective, they are!  So, I could care less what you think of me, but you had better be impressed with our offspring.

WEMEN NEVER, EVER LEARN -- [IS THAT WE MEN?]

I got this for my birthday.  Very discreet.  No date.  No happy Birthday Song buried in a 21st century voice chip.  Just the fact that it came from three women makes it special.  The other thing that makes it special is that of the three paper birthday cards that I have received this year, all three were humorous ones.  I guess that the older you get the funnier you look makes you a target of the younger, tickle the bottom of your feet crowd.  So, I went to check it out, you know, how funny I look?  Yeah, I actually broke my resolution to never look in the mirror again.  Yeah, I did make a resolution like that.  My body is just so much of a wrinkled mess that I can't stand the sight of it.  So, I stay away from anything that has a chance to reflect my image back at me.  Well, the third card did it.  I went to the mirror to see what, if anything might have improved over the last few months.  EEEeekkk!  Nope, nothing.  Thank you ladies for the wonderful reminder.

Not only that.  These are ladies with whom we have been studying the Bible for at least 3 years.  So they know that I can understand Bible jokes.  This one is really cute.  It shows that after The Fall, men didn't get any smarter.  But then again, neither did women.  But I forgive them.  After all, they hadn't got used to the laws of nature yet.  You now what I mean, "Be careful of what you ask for."  Then there's the other one that says, "When in doubt, shut up."  Or, "wait until the funeral then you'll have to say only nice things."  You get the drift, right?

All laughing and joking aside, the ladies did paper the naughtiness over with a Jackson and a Hamilton.  Which, when you think of it shows that Mammon does have a little sway over us all.  So I am exceedingly grateful to my friends for showing me such free flowing generosity.  I can't figure out what I did to deserve it, but then again, I guess that's what makes gifts so special.  You get them without deserving them.  Thank you, God, and thank you, ladies. 

HUMANS PROVING THE TRUTH OF GENESIS 1:28

God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

There are many things that I could say about these thoughts.  If there ever was a challenge thrown at us by the Creator, this is as good an example as there is.  We look around us in our 21st century world an we can understand the dangers of greedy exploitation of natural resources.  It is easy for us now, with our sophisticated machinery to bring the earth to its knees by taking more away from it than it can give.  We are challenged to subdue it, not kill it.  Not any more than we would exchange our attitude when it comes to dogs and cats.  We have them rather well subdued, but it is not in our intention to kill them off and wipe them off the planet.  This is something that I think about a lot.  

In a corner of my mind there is the story of the Maoris of New Zealand.  When captain Cook got there, [early 1770's] there were few trees left on the island.  It was because the natives were not careful to re-propagate them as they used them.  Cook taught them to do this.  I tell you this story to point out that careless exploitation of Mother earth is nothing new.  

I have received a three minute video from the BBC.  It is my opinion that this is a video with a great lesson for all of us 21st century citizens who think that without technology humans don't get much done.  I invite you to watch the video and after your experience, spend some time reflecting on its meaning.  You just may catch yourself thinking about the power with which God has invested natural human beings. Click on it and have yourself a spiritual moment, compliments BBC ONE.

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=2HiUMlOz4UQ&vq=large

MY FACE, MY BOOK

Check that face, will ya!  Yikes!  It's been a year since I been working at it.  It's almost like a normal human face now.  Exactly 12 months ago it was like a normal, 90 year old, undernourished ape.  This shot is from July, but the aspect has not changed much since then.  Actually, I don't have too many pictures of myself.  I am usually the one with the camera, so I keep a low profile.  
My thoughts these days often go back to the time last year when we had a rather large ration of pain and suffering around the ol' corral.  It is easy for my mind to get back there because I awakened this morning with burning reminders in several joints that this is the first anniversary of when God took over and let me know who is really in charge.  Let me tell you who had a great day today.  Oh, you already know?  Now how could you possibly come to that conclusion?  It was kind of a fun day.  Sore elbow, sore wrists and sore knee and now at 8:30 pm, I just got done washing the blood out of my ears.  365 days later, no mercy.  All day I wanted Denis [my saintly brother] back.  But, of course, he is buried in snow this year [Massachusetts] and I am buried in a blizzard of recriminations from the Voice from the kitchen.  I have no idea why the burning devil came to me over night, but he did.  Maybe he knows how to get even with me.  Last year this place was so full of God's love that Beelzebub didn't stand a chance.  The physical pain was so evident, that everyone, and I mean everyone, all four of them were angels flying around on fluffy clouds, keeping me comfortable and happy.  This year, today, there was no such luck.  There was physical discomfort and auditory flagellation.  That's what I get for accepting God's gift of continuing life last year.
Wait, wait, there is a silver lining to this.  Of course it comes from Massachusetts again.  The sender, Auntie Em and Uncle Jack sent a card that they found cute.  When I got it I laughed and cried all at the same time.  You see, today is the exact anniversary of the first time in one month that I stood up, unaided, in front of the porcelain fixture to take care of minor business.  It didn't look exactly like this but I will never forget it, ever.
I have lost the memories of about two weeks, maybe more, of my life from last February and March, but this milestone is too powerful to forget.  So, Auntie Em and Uncle Jack, I owe you big time for making my day with a toilet joke that means a lot more than you could ever have imagined.
# - # -# - # - # - # - # - # - # - # - # - # - # - # - # - # 
In case you are counting, in exactly 4.5 hours from now this work will have completed 100 days of 
liberté, égalité, fraternité.  Every single syllable is enjoyable.  We presently have 49 "subscribers".    We have had 1,602 visits since November 25, 2010.  When I started to write for www.ParishWorld.net four years ago, I would listen to the publisher tell me about what happens when you write for the public on a regular basis.  I did not buy into his "pipe dream" talk.  Now, as I write this, I am the one with the stories, all of them true and not a single one based on a deal that I cut with Mammon.
Therefore, I ask you all to continue praying for me and thank God for the grace that He gives me every single day.  Plus, you have to promise me that not a single one of you will Cry at My Funeral.

REAL DISCIPLES -- SEE PREVIOUS POST

^"5Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts.

   '⁶Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar:  ⁷And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.   ⁸Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.

   '⁹And he said, Go, and tell this people, Hear ye indeed, but understand not; and see ye indeed, but perceive not.   ¹⁰Make the heart of this people fat, and make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed.

   '¹¹Then said I, Lord, how long? And he answered, Until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without man, and the land be utterly desolate..." (Isaiah, 6)


I promised you some examples of real, live, everyday people who are economically comfortable and are living lives outside their country, away from their kindred and outside of their fathers' house.  Just like Abraham.


The 40+ year old parish secretary
The 80 year old factotum (general gopher)
The 72 year old Internet epistolier


The 40 year old secretary
A widow with three children.  Very pretty lady.  Was given a clerical job at the church when she was really at her wits, and dollars ends some 9 or 10 years ago.  Has gone for continuing and polishing education.  Has taken some serious Canon Law courses at the diocesan headquarters.  Has had a chance to get more lucrative work but has opted to serve God.  She discovered that she can help people by participating in the county's "alternative sentencing" program.  She screens people who are referred by the court to work off light sentences by doing social service work.  Those who fit the profile, she accepts by writing to the court and offers them general labor work in and around the church for the duration of their sentence.  I wish I could get her to talk in public about her "ministry."  The stories that she has would make a stone cry.  She tells me that she is not ready for marriage.  She likes being married to God and His community.


The 80 year old factotum
Truly away from his country, far away.  Retired military.  Loving wife also a "send me" disciple.  Always present.  Always moving.  Always self-effacing while being gently assertive.  Respected by all, including the inhabitants of the rectory.  Has done it all, and is still doing it all.  He is the living proof that God has a sense of humor.  He is a person who has been able to perform no matter who the pastor has been.  He serves God, not the pastor.  There are pastors who could take lessons from him.  He is the John the Baptist of the place.  Fortunately for us, he hasn't met his Herod yet.  Nor his Salome.


The 72 year old epistolier
This is a guy whom I know fairly well.  50 years married to the same woman.  I think about half that time he had his mother-in-law living in the same house.  He loved it, and not just because he had a handy-dandy baby-sitter at hand.  He and wife have five children, one with special needs.  The rule in their family is "don't hope for miracles, expect them."  Not only do they expect them, I have known them to make them happen for some of us who haven't learned God's ways as deeply as they have.  He left the seminary, physically, but never left the mission.  He never took back his "Send me!"  He has had more spiritually meaningful "gigs" (he's an actor!) than I can enumerate.  More than I have.  Over the last few years he has maintained a daily column of reflection and meditation for a fairly extensive online mailing list.  He's always writing, and he's always writing under the unblinking eye of the Word.
Last year, he was the God-sent sacrament of Divine Presence in our house, helping me to recuperate from a challenging illness.  He didn't take the pain away, he moved it from general agony to split sides and sore nostalgic muscles.  He hastened my ability to stand, yes stand again, like a real man, while using the ceramic depository for kidney waste.  After celebrating that great moment, he went back home, but not without leaving the Spirit of The One Who sent him in the house.


See, there are some of those around.  I could keep you here for a long time, but you get my drift.  It is not the money, it is knowing that love is for God and His people, not George Washington, Andrew Jackson, Benjamin Franklin and Alexander Hamilton ( I think I forgot one).  Remember what Jesus said to the emissaries of John the Baptist, "...the blind see, the lame walk and the deaf hear."  That's where it is to be found, Discipleship and You can't take it ($) with you.

YOU CANNOT SERVE TWO MASTERS -- $$$$, AND ???

A couple of thoughts about the effect of wealth on people.  Nothing serious, just some opining of two people who heard the same talk in church the other day.
We both noticed that with all the talk about wealth not being important in life, God sure knew how to pick the wealthy to help Him get established.  The Bible makes no bones about making the point that Abraham was a well heeled dude.  You can look it up.  This guy wasn't worried where his next air conditioned camel payment was coming from.  Abraham is not the only one of God's helpers who had a shekel or two to his name.  It is striking how often we are shown in the Bible that rich people are the instruments of God's work.  
Even Jesus picked people who were comfortable enough in life to be able to spare the time to help Him achieve His objective.  True, the apostles left everything, but I'm convinced that their wives and other relatives took care of the patrimony while they were walking all over Galilee with the Master.  After all, these people were fishermen.  They were far from hurting.  As Peter said, "We have left everything."  Right on.  You left it, but it continued in the hands of the extended family.  I'd bet on it.
So,what's the secret?  I'll tell you.  Two things:  Relationships first, plus, You can't take it with you.
Consider first what it took for the true followers of God to be considered righteous in His sight.  They had to leave their country (birthplace, most times), their kindred and their father's house.  They had to replace this with a sincere and loving intimate relationship with God.  Abraham is the first true example of this.  Through the ages there are many examples of exactly the same kind of heroic behavior in the name of God and for the sake of His Will.  The Judges did it; the Kings; the Prophets; the Apostles and the Post-Resurrection disciples of Jesus.  Some of them did it despite a rather high degree of economic comfort.  Jesus, it is true, left a lot behind.  Joseph was a craftsman.  He could support a family.  There do not seem to be any truly rich people in the Gospel Entourage, but there does not seem to be any real poverty either.  What there is, is a complete detachment from economic comfort and a total dedication to making life spiritually more comfortable for the members of the community.  When the emissaries of John ask Jesus, "Are you the One who is to come or should we await another?"  We hear Jesus say, "Go tell him who sent you that the deaf hear, the blind see and the lame walk."  
Yep, they were comfortable economically, but they were nervous about the well-being of their peers. Not so much for their own.  They left their comfort behind knowing full well that it was gone for the rest of their life.   So now we know what is expected of us.  Use the little cushion of comfort that God gives us to make our brothers and sisters in the communion of saints at least as comfortable as we are.  It starts with the recognition that we have to leave those three bold things behind to live in God's Country, with God as our Father, in God Our Father's house.
Tomorrow, some real life examples.

I LOVE YOU, A BUSHEL AND A PECK

Really?  A bushel and a peck?  So what? How many of you remember whether a peck is more than a bushel or vice-versa?  How many of you remember that when we were in school back many years ago we had to memorize all of this stuff because it is very important?  I had to look it up because I read the information on the gas pump as I was waiting for my tank to fill.  It said that the pump is calibrated to deliver gasoline in the standard gallon of 231 cubic inches.  Really, NOW!?  No stercus?  I'm so happy to know that.  At that moment I wanted to shoved it down sister Imelda of the Child Jesus' throat.  I would bet my place in purgatory that even SHE didn't know that.   But then my mind wandered and I realized that I could not remember how many pecks are in a bushel.  Can you?
I found all the old information online and I was stupefied to see how much of it I had left behind in the dark, musty corners of my mind.  Then, I left Google and I really started to test myself.  So I came up with some stuff that I actually remembered.
For instance:  Furlong = 220 yards or 1/8 of a mile.
I know that because I am somewhat of a horse racing lover.  I love horse racing because horses don't have a union and they don't have agents.  When they break a leg, as the saying goes, they also get the ground broken for them.  I also remembered a fathom, used for measuring depth = 6 feet.  I also remembered that a land mile is shorter than a nautical mile, but because I could care less,  I know that a land mile is 5,280 feet and a nautical mile is all wet.  I do know that a barrel of beer is 31 gallons or 124 quarts.  Just enough for about four Dions and 2 Thibaults.  A barrel of crude oil is 42 gallons and I know that a drum of pig slop is 55 gallons and sloshing all over the streets as the truck goes down the road.  I know that there are four pints to the quart, four quarts to the gallon and that a gallon of water weighs something like 8.3 pounds.  I know that a ream of paper is 500 sheets.  Finally I remembered that what used to be a 12 foot long 2" x 4" piece of lumber is now 1.5" x 3.5" by about 11.75'.  That's because Abraham Lincoln is no longer president so there is no one around to enforce the "Honesty is the best policy" rule.
This has been a round-about way to get to the question that I and many others have asked themselves over the years, "Why do I have to learn this?"  I remember that we spent at least a week or more being taught how to calculate "board feet."  Why?  When is the last time you had to calculate board feet?  You know, I had an analogous experience before the gas pump episode, so I guess that's why I'm back to 1944.  The analogous experience was a question on the front page of the Los Angeles Times, or some such rag, that read like this, "Why should we learn cursive?"  [You know, handwriting?  The Palmer method?  Remember?]  Think of that a second or two.  True enough.  If you're not an artist, and you're not a professional archivist who has to know how to read the stuff, who really cares?  Just because in 1950 it was considered to be less than respectful to send a letter to someone in type face, you might want to think that even type face letters are pretty rare these days.  Go one farther.  I know that I am going to get electronic birthday cards soon.  All I can say is, Bring 'em on, I won't be offended.  And just to be old fashioned about it, my checking account number is 73xx00yyyy.  That may be funny now, but by Christmas I'll have my PayPal operating.
The times they are a changin'.  We still have pecks and bushels, quarts and gallons, acres and arpents, fathoms and leagues as well as barrels and kegs.  We also have the wisdom to know where to look for their detailed properties if we need to have them for some esoteric exercise in Eastern Spirituality.

I DO LOVE YA, BABY, I DO

PAIN IS SLOWER THAN LIGHT --> REALLY!

SPEED OF PAIN

The graph to the right is a picture of the speed of pain.  Now you're asking yourselves, "What is Puttss throwing this out here for?"  Easy.  Did you forget that the title of this blog is "365 Thoughts Emanating from Paul Dion, STL?"  This is stuff I think about, and have been thinking about for a longer time than some of you have been alive.  The most interesting course I ever took in school was one entitled Physiological Psychology.  I learned more life enhancing information in that class than in just about any other one outside of one or two of the Theological classes I suffered through.  This one was revealing things to me that I would perhaps never have learned on my own.  It was delivered by a teacher who cared about us and who cared a lot about the subject matter.  It was all about the functions of the human body, from head to toe and from inside out.  The point of the class was that the observable material activities of our bodies impact the more spiritual parts of our being in ways that we are discovering every day.  Needless to say, this was a very demanding subject and one that nurses and doctors must be required to study early on in their preparation for the calling that they have chosen.  I have to say that knowing these things has made a different person of me, not that anyone can readily see, of course.  These are the deeper moments of this little outing.  The one passing thought that caused these deeper considerations, sometimes called excogitations by people who like the $25.00 words.  (Even the computer thinks I'm snooty, it's telling me that there is no such word.)  Shut up, Machine!
So back to the speed of pain.  I went to the dentist and I remembered the teacher saying that sensations travel in our nerves at a measurable rate of speed. He told us what it is but I forgot it. It was something like between 1 to 220 millimeters per millisecond, or something like that.  Actually it was not the pain thing that brought the thought to mind, it was the delay that was taking place during an interview over satellite and on television, between a person in North America and one in the Middle East.  Now I thought  that I remembered that electrons travel at almost the speed of light, and yet we experience a delay when we cause that to travel ungodly distances from earth to a satellite and back to earth 18,000 land miles away.  What a trip to complete in about 2 or 3 seconds.
I looked it up, and I was right.  Now the interesting thing about it is that sensations that are caused by a bunch of stimuli in our bodies travel at a snail's pace in comparison.  
I got my first lesson about that when one time I touched a hot water pipe in the cellar of our home and I remember that for a small fraction of a second, it felt like it was cold.  It quickly turned to hot and I got burned, but in fact my brain had fooled me in the first nanosecond of the experience.  My neurons weren't firing fast enough through the synapses.


So see, my brain has no rhyme nor reason.  It reaches out and makes really off-the-wall relationships.  You're not going to believe this (maybe you will, after this), but tomorrow will be weird too.  But it won't be about pain.  Pain is not silly.  Tomorrow is borderline silly.  It's about stuff that we were taught in school and made to memorize because it was said to be of great importance.  65 years later, I'll give you my opinion of that, tomorrow.

SIMPLER TIMES?

 

Simpler times?  This is one of the top pictures that came up when I did a Google search for something appropriate for this post.  Why do this?  I had to repair a leak in the commode so I went to buy the part I needed at Home Depot.  As I was checking out, the cashier and I got into a little friendly exchange of quips.  I slipped her a twenty and she smiled and said, "Living simply today, aren't we?"  I said something like, "Yeah like old times" and she came back with, "Simpler times."  As I began to leave I simply said, "they weren't that simple."  All she had time to rejoin was, "Simpler than now."
OK, enough with the senseless exchange.  I'll leave it up to you.
Wood or coal furnaces/stoves vs gas or electric
Washing machines with mechanical wringers vs automatic washers
Clothes lines vs dryers
Seasonal adjustments to diet vs worldwide distribution of food stuffs
Spark plugs with 10,000 miles of life vs whatever we have today
Stove top cooking vs microwave
Newspapers vs Internet
Party telephone lines vs cellular phones or Skype
Library vs Google
Must iron clothing vs wrinkle proof material
Need to learn cursive handwriting vs machine driven communication
Fountain pens vs ball point/gel pens
Manually shifted autos vs automatic transmissions
Banks open from 10 to 3, 4 and 1/2 days per week vs round the clock, 7/24 access

Finally, Catholics went to church and didn't understand a word of Latin.   Now we go and it is in the language of the location.  Simpler times?  What am I missing here?  I lived in those "simpler" times.  Give me my cell phone and my laptop, any day.  Oh, and I almost forgot, I really like not having to change light bulbs, tires and spark plugs so often.

EPISTEMOLOGY -- HE, HE, NO IT'S NOT ABOUT THAT!

I bet you never heard that word before.  Oh, you did.  Good for you.  I just know that you wonder what I am doing with that up there.  Well, I'm going to tell you.  For years now, many, many years, I have often pondered on the question of how I know that I know.  I often wonder how I know that others see me?  How do I know why people recognize me when they see me?  Why is it that I sometimes doubt that I can recognize someone if I see that someone whom I already know?  How do I know that cars are being guided by humans who can see, just like I can?  How old was I when it dawned on me that everyone can see, just like I do?  Why is it that some people can fool you into thinking that you are seeing something when in fact it is something else that they want to show you?  When did I become aware that when I touch someone, that someone feels just as I do?  I remember asking myself very often, even to this day, how some people have a word for one thing, and others have a different word for the same thing.   For instance, some call it rain; some call it pluie; others call it pioggia; some lluvia; some tudo; some ulan.  In some countries where there are a lot of variations on the same theme, there are just so many words in the theme, so the same spelling can mean different things in different parts of the country.  Sometimes the differences are separated by a line in the sand.  How does that happen?  The science that helps us to arrive at  the answers to these questions is called epistemology.  Actually, I guess it is part of psychology.  I used to know some of the answers, or at least the answers that we were told when I was in school.  They have perhaps been clarified by now, but I sure don't know what they are.  I just enjoy asking the questions.  The one about I see, you see, we all see, how and when do we get to know that?  The whole question of recognition is an interesting one to me.  How do we know that we are all human?  When do we get that knowledge?  Sounds easy, doesn't it...but go ahead, give it a whack and try to satisfy yourself with your own answer.  Good luck.
When do we know that a blind person is human?  What about humans who really look different that I do? Are they able to see and hear like I do?  How can they understand their speech when I can't?  Do they have grammar too?  [I told you the other day that some of them don't even have the verb "to be".]  Why do I get so many of these questions when I am in another country?  Oh look, these people dress just like I do.  Aiieee, that makes me think about the ladies in the Arab countries.  If you've never been there, here's one for you.  You've seen pictures of them all covered up except for their eyes.  You should be in public with them.  Watch their eyes.  WoW!! It's dark on the outside but those eyes tell you that there's a 1,000 watt bulb on the inside.  When those eyes tell you that the fire is lit, you KNOW it.  I wish you all could have that experience.  And they don't have to worry about blushing either.  It's all covered up.  So believe me, their eyes let it all hang out.  Now that's not epistemology.  Nope.  That's a much shorter word.  Pick the one you want.  I trust you will not have to ponder too long.
So, friends, all this just to tell you that I love the easy questions with the hard answers.  I spend a lot of time on this stuff when I'm driving.  Driving is a philosophical exercise. Except when I get interrupted by thoughts of 20 year old Arab ladies; well, their eyes, anyway!
This thought didn't go where I thought it would.  One thing is sure. It is all pure me.

GRADES OR KNOWLEDGE -- YOUR CALL

WISDOM

Those of you who know me can see this one coming.  It happened in first grade.  After getting through the "baby grade", I moved on to the first grade.  I was good with languages, French and English; I couldn't be beaten in Religion; my cursive (yup! less than 7 years old and I could write cursive, just like everyone else) was coming along and believe it or not, I enjoyed music.  Now that is a mystery to me because I can't carry a tune in a bucket.  It didn't matter much at that age, I guess.  Besides I got the hang of the staff, clef, sharp and flat quite quickly, so I thought that stuff was cool.  I still do, but that's the limit of my knowledge of music.  I was never a prodigy, but I guess you could say that I got by fairly well in school from an early age.  That never really changed during my entire life.  You might say that I am blessed.  I even learn stuff out of school.  Go figure.
Like I said, "It happened in first grade."  I got my first report card sometime in late October or early November.  That's when I got my first real lesson about parental expectations.  I got a bunch of grief for not having a string of straight 100's.  It started out with "Your father never got anything less than 100."  Followed by, "I know that you can do better than this."  My father, EFR Dion of deeply respected memory, came home, poured himself the habitual two fingers of brandy, sat down to the tune of, "Paul got his first report card.  He can do better."  So naturally I got the follow-up, "You can do better, but you're going to have to work harder."  Now hear this, Y'all, 65+ years ago we did not have such a thing as an A+, and yes we did have F, and it got given if you earned it.
The next morning after EFR Dion had signed the card, he sent me on my way with a blessing.  "You have 100 in religion and in conduct.  You better not ever come home with less than that in either one of those."  Period, end of story.
Hearing that made me very happy.  It meant that the decision that I had made on my pillow over night was the right one.  I will go to school to learn, not to please anyone, not even myself with grades.  Yes, that's what I did, and am still doing to this very day.  I never crammed a single minute in my life.  I never told my parents or anyone else.  I flat out didn't care what they thought about my grades.  Oh, it was fun coming home every single month with a report card that would start the wringing of hands and the wagging of fingers and the threats of dire things that would happen if I didn't work harder to get the grades that they knew I should be getting.  The chorus waned a little bit somewhere during the sixth grade when EFR Dion decided that he would half-heartedly support his spouse but he essentially gave up on trying to get me to strive for grade excellence.  One thing that taught him to come down from his high horse was that I never did come home with less than 100 in religion and conduct.
But wait, it's not over.  I am still in hot water.  Not that I really care, but the Voice from the Kitchen has been on my tail for a little over 25 years now for telling my children, "Knowing is more important than grades.  Just be sure that you learn all you can.  Grades are not that important."  Now the other half of this marriage will explode when she reads this.  Know why?  She'll remember that it has been at least a week since the last time she laid into me about that.  She is convinced that I ruined the lives of our two boys with my lackadaisical attitude about grades.  Actually, I guess I shouldn't complain.  There was a period there of about 35 or so years that I didn't have to listen to that.  
One final story before I go.  I had been teaching Theology for the Diocese of San Diego for some 14 years when, for the first time, I got called on the carpet by the brass.  So I went to the "meeting" to see what they had to say.  Turns out that a student to whom I had given an A- complained because I had broken her string of straight A+'s.  Prudence urges me to spare you the gory details of what followed.


So now you know why I chose the thematic picture at the head of this piece.  Wisdom first.  Wisdom infused by Divine Grace above all.  Grades are crass human metrics.  Those who would subordinate the acquisition of wisdom to the dominance of the metrics should aspire to politics more than to honest human and spiritual pursuits.  Period.

BABEL, QUITE A TOWER [PART DALAWA]

A true, proven method for an adult to learn another language, even if presented to you with tongue in cheek.
Tricks on how to become fluent in a language that you just have to learn.

1. Be convinced that it will be a great challenge
2. Do not give yourself less than one year [Trust me, you can't do it faster than a baby. I know.]
3. Make a friend from the country where your new language is spoken
4. Stop hangin' with mono-lingual Anglo-Saxons
5. Turn your computer language preference on to the one you want to learn
6. Laugh a lot
7. Buy the newspaper or a weekly magazine in the "other" language.
8. Watch "native" TV  [Computer streaming news from the country of your choice is a good idea]
9. Dream
10. Clown around  [Be childish, actually, and you'll absorb more while being silly]
11. Drink [I've known how fluent people can get when they are "oiled up."]
12. Go to "native" restaurants and ask to sit with cool people who don't know English
13. Get mad [I have a personal story about how effective emotional intensity can be as a help to get your point across in a new language.]
14. Be a dictator  [Be hard on yourself and on your teacher.]
If you want to learn an easy language, befriend a Brit, listen to the BBC and read "The Tablet."

*&%$@&^%%! IT WASN'T WORKING AN HOUR AGO

"Hey, Dix, I just had a strange thing happen on the system.  I'm being asked a question that I have never seen before."
"OK.  what did you try?"
"Well, A, B, C, and **"
"Still nothing?"
"Still nothing, my man."
"I have to see it.  We'll run it when you come by and see what we can do."
"You got it.  In the meantime, I'm moving on."
So, I moved on.  I did my work.  All the time I kept my fingers crossed.  Everything went well and I had a record billing session.  I was happy and didn't uncross my fingers because I was hoping that I could replicate the problem in front of the right person.  The guy who said, "I gotta see it."  Now that has to be weird.  Imagine wanting to be able to replicate a problem.  Actually, it's not really that strange.  Any time we have a mechanical piece of equipment that develops a "strange noise", we show it to an expert, and when we do, the noise isn't there.  Come on,admit it, you've had this experience before in your life.  So, I was actually hoping that this particular situation would repeat itself at  the crucial time so that I would not be embarrassed.  
Then, the second thing I wanted was that the problem could not be traced back to me, you know, me.  So, I wanted it to be wrong (remember a couple days ago?) but I did not want to be wrong.  Of course!  Did you ever feel that way?  You sure did, and you know it.
"Hi.  You want to show me your problem?"
"Yeah."
"Fire up your computer, get back to where you were and show me."  (Lord, mind your own business.  I need this thing to go wrong.)
"OK"
So I plug the machine in.  Press "start", let it boot up.  I direct it to the Internet location that I need.  I line everything up the way I had it.  You know the drill...click, click.  I.D., Password, Enter, Page up, highlight, right click, copy, paste, etc...  All the time I'm glad that the owner is behind his fuzzy wall while I'm doing all this.  I am sweating and grim.  Finally, just before I get to the last two clicks, he gets up, swings around the wall and ambles up to just behind my chair as I give it the last fatal click...  In a nanosecond I went from Limbo to Purgatory.  There it was, clear and unblinking.  The devastating error message.  That was good, but not perfect.  Don't forget, before I got to be a billing clerk, I used to be the guy looking over the billing clerk's shoulder trying to solve his/her problem.   So I braced myself for the 3rd degree.
"Where'd ya get the numbers?"
"From a previous billing."
"Why not from the data base?"
"It hasn't been updated yet."
"Try going here."
So I go "here."
"Why'd ja take that number?"
"Cuz it's the first one on top."
"'K, lemme check."
He goes over to the main computer that has the data base and other founts of information.
"Hmmm.   Wanna tell me the 'T...' number?"
I tell him.
"Hmmm.  Did you check the file?"
"I did."
"Hmmm."
[Stop it, will ya!]
"OK, I got it.  We'll have to update the data base and get the right number in front of you."
I can start to see the shine on my "get out of jail" key, so I suck it in and ask, "Can we check the detail of this other information before doing anything else?"
"Why?"
"I suspect a serious discrepancy there and it could be inconvenient in the future."
"OK."
"Hmmm."
[Not again.]
"You're right.  I got it.  "A..." has data-entry habits that make things different.  We'll fix it and we'll be free and clear."
BOOOOOOMMM!!! I break through the sound barrier and go zipping by St. Peter straight to 7th heaven.
What a gift!  There were no leprechauns involved and everything went the way it should when something is wrong.  I have to say that I am sure  that  there will be other times when the other scenario will develop, but for this time, all went well.  I am now happy, at least for a little while. Ya know why?  It's cuz it was the boss's glitch, not mine.  Schadenfreude!

BABEL, QUITE A TOWER [PART ONE]

LA TOUR DE BABEL

1 The whole world spoke the same language, using the same words.

2 While men were migrating in the east, they came upon a valley in the land of Shinar and settled there.
3 They said to one another, "Come, let us mold bricks and harden them with fire." They used bricks for stone,     and bitumen for mortar.
4 Then they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the sky, and so make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered all over the earth."
5 The LORD came down to see the city and the tower that the men had built.
6 Then the LORD said: "If now, while they are one people, all speaking the same language, they have started to do this, nothing will later stop them from doing whatever they presume to do.
7 Let us then go down and there confuse their language, so that one will not understand what another says."
8 Thus the LORD scattered them from there all over the earth, and they stopped building the city.
Before I get started, let me ask you if it looks to you like God was a little confused in His old age.  Look at what verse 5 says and then what verse 7 says.  The Bible is full of this kind of stuff.  Someday I'm going to write a humorous book about God's Alzheimer's condition.

One of my favorites is when the All Knowing, All seeing, All powerful God goes down into the Garden and asks, "Where are you"? (Gen. 3;9)
Or my other favorite, when God "...remembered Noah and all the animals in the ark..."(Gen. 8;1)  Sheesh!  Who put Him in charge?
Hey, get back to the Tower if Babel.  

Oh, yeah, I forgot.  I was too busy remembering that God forgets too..."

Anyway, the question is, how many of you have had to learn a language that you knew nothing about going in?  Raise your hands, boys and girls.  Hhmmm, just what I thought.  Lots o' fun, ain't it?  I suppose it can be tough trying to learn a language without being in the country where the lingo is spoken, written and thought in all the time.  I tried that, five times.  Once with German and once with Japanese.  In the German class I lasted for three sessions.  For the Japanese class I lasted for two.  Great record!  See Latin, Hebrew and Greek below.

As far as I am concerned, language classes are the worst waste of time invented by humans, ever.  Except for the teachers.  You know, the ones who take your money knowing full well that you'll never dominate the tongue until you go to Japan.
Then there are the seven years of book-learnin' Latin and the six years of the same for Greek and the four years of Hebrew.   I learned more Latin in the first six months of listening to Latin in a classroom and answering when I was called on than I did in the entire seven years of book-learnin '.  I'm still fairly good in Latin.  Even wrote a blog post or two in Latin to ridicule the bozos who shout and scream because they want Latin Masses.  I wonder why they never submitted comments?

I did get something out of Greek.  I still know the alphabet and I know several words.  I still have to resort to sign language for the call of nature, though.  Oh, yeah!  
Hebrew was fun, really fun.  Nothing serious there.  I mean, come' on!  A language with NO VOWELS?!?**  So I kidded myself through four years and I can't remember 5 of the 24 characters in the Hebrew alphabet.
Now, in Italian, I did better.  First, "Coca-Cola" was easy to learn.  The tough part there is that "Coca-Cola" is of the feminine gender in Italian.  Second, the writing is the same as ours, and, there are only 22 letters, vowels included.  BUT, they have an extra consonant, "gl" and it took me slightly more than two years to master it.  Don't believe the clowns who tell you that Italian is "easy".

Of course it is easy if all you want to say is "Passa mi la pasta, per favore."  To get beyond that and to be able to speak in public and to write grammatical Italian is one eye-bulging heavy lift.  Oh, by the way, I still remember the Italian alphabet.
Spanish has been a challenge.  24 letters, including the famous "ll" which is not 10% the challenge of the Italian "gl" but you have to understand that it does not come in the same section as "l" in the dictionary.  The killer in Spanish is the mastering of the verb forms.  I thought French was bad.  Spanish puts French verbs to shame.  Now that I have had to stop drinking alcohol, I have forgotten all the Spanish I ever knew.  When I speak Spanish, I still impress the daylights out of the listeners with the strange sounding words that come out of my mouth every now and again.  They sound Spanish, but they are really Italian words looking for equal time. 
Then there is Ilokano.  Ah, yes.  No verb "to be".  So you wind up talking like Yoda all the time.  "Nice girl." "Nice Girl?"  "NICE girl."  "Nice, Girl."  "Dog big."

"Dogmine." [Note the "mine" is not separated from "dog".]  One of my favorite stories about language has to do with Ilokano.  It's for when I explain how to become fluent.
Tagalog is a passive language for me.  I understand, but I do not speak well.  It does have the verb "to be."  By the way, Ilokano and Tagalog have the same way of writing that we do.  Both languages have about 24 letters [who cares?].  They, like Vietnamese, have the added consonant, "ng" and it has a different pronunciation value in all three of the above mentioned languages.  It took me a long time to master the Ilokano "ng".  I have never mastered anything in Tagalog.  I just mentioned Vietnamese because I wanted to appear smart and metro-sexual.
I'll get to part two later.  There I will philosophize about how to become fluent in a language that you know nothing about.

The sad thing is, God is getting even with us for thinking we are so smart, and we are still not believing that He's in charge. What a mess!  

See Bible quotes above.

PAIN

I have written a lot about pain.  Well, here's more.  It is a never ending, always interesting topic because it is so mysterious, and also, so omnipresent.  Today, I was asked about my father (EFR Dion in this blog).  I found it impossible to define him to the interlocutor without mentioning his daily companion, Pain.  For years the man hardly ever had a pain-free moment.  It is amazing that he even managed to have a sense of others with the constant heat of the devil's fire that he had in his leg and lower back.  Yet, he had his light hearted moments.  It has crossed my mind very often that it was not the physical pain that kept him serious.  I have always been convinced that the fact that he had a rather short life free of true responsibility made him a real serious dude.  I also came to know that if we thought  that he was tough at home, we were lucky that we didn't have to work for him.  All reports have it that he didn't suffer fools lightly.  My closeness to him showed me that in his life there were many more fools than in the lives of less tightly wound managers.  I have to confess that I have a similar perception of the world's population.  I think that I am going to get sent behind St. Peter's shed because of it too.
One of the interesting aspects of this conversation is that it is happening, not by design, mind you, at the very threshold of what would be his 98th birthday.  Here I sit at nearly three quarters to a buck, and he didn't even make it halfway to 98.  But you know, in his condition, it was better.
I also think of the way the world has developed and I wonder if he would have survived under similar circumstances just a mere ten years farther along, say, mid '70's.  Despite my many reminiscences of him, I always come back to the deliverance from the pain and I thank God for letting me understand life in that light.
Also, I have to say that I think that tolerance to pain is a part of our lives.  We have two sons who are tough as nails when it comes to pain.  One of them has the gout very badly, but despite the slower movement that it imposes on him, I have never seen it stop him.  I have seen "The Voice from the Kitchen" endure pain for rather long stretches without "sitting it out", so to speak.
I have had some pain in my short life, but nothing compared to the daily suffering of my father.  The deepest thought I have about him, in the depths of my being, is that he knew that the pain was not his to keep.  It was his to convert into spiritual energy for those about whom he felt responsible, many of whom he loved, but couldn't reach except through the sublimation of his pain.  This thought started to grow in me some years ago, sprouting from compost too complicated to describe in this space.  I am convinced that this sublimation continues to touch us to this day.  Hey, it has to be us, we're all that's left.
The first stirring of the thought began on the way home from Enfield on the day that I left the seminary and he drove me home.  We didn't talk much, but there was a lot of communication going on.
You know, if I let myself go, I could write a book about this.  Gouty fingers and all ... :-)!

BEING WRONG IS NOT A BAD THING -- MISTAKES ARE AN OPTION

This is NOT anathema.  I don't have to repeat the story of Thomas Edison who, after failing to make a working light bulb for what (watt ?) is reported as being hundreds of times always referred to his ineffective attempts as "lessons of how not to do it the next time." (Paraphrase)
The other night I was attracted to a PBS television presentation during which the new owner of the intellectual company TED said, "The fear of being wrong is the greatest enemy of progress."  His example was our common experience of the growing child.  Being wrong for a growing child is not a negative.  It is a positive attempt to conquer a personal deficiency.  The lesson should be that as adults we should also be free to be wrong.  But early in life that freedom is taken away from us.  There comes a time in our social development that we are belittled when we make a mistake.  From that moment on, learning becomes more difficult because there is the added emotional burden of shame.  It gets worse when we go to work.  The goal is "zero defects"; "perfect attendance"; "five minute weekly PowerPoint presentation with only three slides",etc.  There comes a time when we live under a  crushing weight of correctness pressure.  There comes a time when we decide that the pressure that is camped on us we will transfer to everyone with whom we deal too.  I know, I do some of that.  You know what the sad things is?  I know better.  I read a book one time (One after Dick and Jane), and it was about psychology being a science.  The author repeated several times the premise to his thesis that psychology is a true science because the "theories" that make up the foundation of the practice of psychology are all open to be proven wrong.  I never forgot that.  I happen to subscribe to that thought.  Real, solid truth is never afraid of being open to the possibility that it could be shown to be only partially true, therefore wrong.  Think of  it.  Take God, for instance.  Have you heard an attack on His truth lately?  Do you have some questions of your own, maybe? Huh?  Doesn't seem to bother Him much, does it?  See what I mean?  Look at my favorite Italian, Galileo and some of his buddies.  They weren't 100% right, but they were right enough that the rest of us learned a lot trying to poke holes in their assertions.
Therefore, Boys and Girls, for the little time that we have left, it is my pleasure to have thrown something at you that you perhaps have not given much mental time to lately.  So, have fun.  Go out and get something wrong, for a change...on purpose...just to get someone else in an uproar...see how far that gets you!!
Blame me.  I'll defend you.

YOUR LARDER = THE WORLD

IT'S A SMALL WORLD

Remember the other day when we talked about the world being gathered in certain cities with which we are all more or less familiar?  Well, we went to the market and here are the countries that we visited in the last few days and have the souvenirs to prove it.

We have Rice                                 Thailand
We have Rice                                 Philippines
We have Grapes                               Chile
We have Leeks                                Mexico
We have Nectarines                           Chile
We have Coffee                               Colombia
We have Bananas                              Ecuador
We have Wine                                 Australia
We have Olive Oil                            Italy
We have Horseradish (Wasabi)                 Japan
We have Rice Vinegar                         China
We have Mustard                              France
We have Salmon                               Norway
We have Salmon Heads                         Canada
We have Mussels                              New Zealand
We have Tea (Black)                          India
We have Tabasco Sauce (Red)                  Louisiana, U.S.A.
We have Thai Hot Sauce (Red)                 Los Angeles, U.S.A.
We have Tarot Root                           Guatemala
We used to have Olive Oil from Israel, but we just ran out
We do have Apples (Fuji, of course)          Japan
We have Lemons                               Quinn Court, S.D. CA
We have Acorn Squash                         Quinn Court, S.D. CA
We have Crab Apples                          Quinn Court, S.D. CA


Now that is only what we encountered for our needs in the really near past few days.  We still have to get our favorite Viet Nam Soup and fish sauce (Noq Mam)and our mouth watering Afghan bread, not to mention the Olive oil from Israel that I mentioned had run out.
Don't get funny and ask why we bought wild salmon from Norway and farmed salmon fish heads from Canada.  The Norwegian salmon still had heads.  The salmon heads from Canada had no bodies.  So there!  You know the answer, so just laugh about the pictures that pop up in your mind and move on.
In my short lifetime, friends and family, I have gone from "butter beans and potatoes" that were kept in our cellar over the Winter, to living in a world that has no seasons, no weather, no time and in many, many ways, no boundaries.  It is a world in which humans have found a way to corral fish and take the seeds out of watermelon.  It is my sincerest prayer that people could be as universally accepted by each other, one and all, with as much taste and appetite that we bring to the food that we produce by the grace of God.  Help me pray to God about this one.