THIS IS AMERICA,SPEAK ENGLISH TO THEM

There is a secret behind these beautiful plants

It has been a hobby of long standing that we have many orchids on our property in San Diego.  For several years now they have been a wonderful sight to see every year around the time of the Easter holiday.  In fact, there have been years when they have been so beautiful that they were chosen to grace the altar for the Easter liturgies.  Sadly, the past couple of years have not been quite so festive because the plants did not flourish to the accustomed degree of bounteous florescence. Something had to be done.  The Voice from the Kitchen was working out of town and so she trained her sister in the fine art of tending the orchids.  The first full year of the Cymbidium 💓 Presentacion (Chona for short!) is about to enter the home stretch for the blooming of the orchids.  It is evident to the practiced eye that this is going to be a gooood year.
This evening we got to talking about the visible signs of the future success of the Cymbidium ranch.
Chona was proudly exposing her devotion and constant attention to the robust looking plants.  She is so happy that the beauty that is developing is not just the result of technically correct farming.  Oh, no! Not on this ranch.  There is a powerful spirit of love both spiritual and physical where kissing, petting and cooing are integral elements of the process.  Achon actually shared the cooing and whispering and near signing with which she communicates with the orchids under her loving care.  At one point of her light hearted description of her relationship with the lovely plants she switched to speaking English. English?  We burst into laughter without saying a word.  She knew why we were laughing.  She joined us in the uncontrolled laughter.  When we calmed down a little bit, she explained that Carlos, her spouse, told her that she would have better success of she were to make love to the plants in English.  He explained that she should communicate in the language of the land.
So she was demonstrating to us how she acted with the orchids.
Sit tight.  When these plants come into full effulgence, I will show you the fruits of the love affair between Presentacion and the orchids of 6912 Quinn Court, San Diego, CA 92111.

HOW YA DOIN'?

Just the other day
I was in the mood to make some of my friends happy that they are not the only ones who forget things and spend a lot of time searching for something that they had in their hands just 5 minutes before.  I get several responses telling me that the humor that I intended did in fact make them smile.  Sadly I received a couple of comments that came from the sadder side of life.  The sadness of chronic and intense senility, though not spelled out in the message was present in the "spirit."  I felt it.  I still do.  Who knows, I may even be in denial...If so, I pray that I and those around me be always blessed with the humor of the disjointedness of the things I do.

That's the mental part.  Wait until you see the physical part.  That's quite a sight too.  Numb hands that can no longer tie shoe laces, pick up coins from the floor, turn the pages of a book, (thank God for e-books) make a fist and/or even spread out all the way.  Wanna talk knees?  Naw, there's only one good one anyway.  Eyes are OK, thanks to the fact that they are 50% real and 50% plastic. Teeth come in at about 40/35/25 -- real/plastic/gone.

The hair that I have is thin, but I still have enough hair on my head to cover it all so that I have about as much face to wash as I do hair to comb.  My eyebrows have been trying for years to hijack more and more space than I want to give them.  I'm winning that one, thanks to my scissors.

My ears don't hardly work any more.  So, I won't waste your time if you don't by trying to talk to me.

You can tell that I am a ramblin' wreck.  But that's only on the outside.  I don't have enough time to talk about the parts you can't see, touch or hear.  I also don't have a polite enough vocabulary to talk about those other things.

So, overall, if we get to meet within the next few months, the topics of conversation are already pretty well defined.  

C ya!

DO YOU HAVE A PAST?

 Of course you do.  I do too.  We all do.  We all have a past and we also all have a past...(wink, wink).

These days we're being exposed to a lot of facts that provide the definition of what we expect from the present and the future of the people who are being considered for employment in the new government of the United States.  Sadly, I think, there seems to be so much stock placed in the distant past of the candidates and so little hope in their ability to rise to the challenge of what the future calls them to be.
I have highlighted a simple, innocent graphic at the beginning, but my reflections about the present reality in our country call me to deeper considerations.  We are at a level of discernment that is far deeper than the physical development from caterpillar to butterfly.  We are in an environment where the guiding axiom is "The past is prologue."  History is history; actions call forth similar actions and thus habits are formed and life does not change.  No room is made for introspective self reconciliation which calls forth that conversion from mechanical repetition born of habit to considered, prudential behavior born of the comfort that conscientious dedication to the common good brings about.  This comes from intense listening to the voice of the Spirit.

Belle, the saint behind the Voice from the Kitchen an I are preparing to lead 40 people to Bethlehem and other holy places in ten short days from now.  We will be exposed to many different ideas and behaviors during the 11 days of prayerful experiences that such an adventure calls forth.  We will present the possibility of this conversion to those entrusted to us by God in the Land that He chose for His people.  It is our sincere prayer that not just our 40 people will find the ways of God more appealing to them, but that the key movers of the turnover in our United States government will allow themselves to be changed by them as well.  
We pray that all will heed this simple saying, 
"Those who do not reconcile themselves with their past are condemned to repeating it, to their detriment and to that of those whom they think they are serving."

WHODUNNIT? CAT OR HAWK?

I have been wondering whether to put these thoughts on my blog entitled No Crying at My Funeral or just restart my 365 Thoughts with pure white feathers all over the front of the house. 
I got up, showered and looked out the window to check on the weather.  What I saw on the ground was a bunch of white shards of something.  I know that I didn't have a white light globe anywhere, so I wondered what all those white pieces could be.  Once I had covered my wrinkled self to shield the world from the obscenity of my prune-like ugliness, I went out for a  closer look.  What I saw was a fairly rare display of the leavings of what had to be a clash of interest between the recipient of gentle nibbling kisses from the sweet lady who forgot to close the gate on the cage and a raving, hungry cat, or some other craven carnivore.  Actually, some of the parts were still in pretty good shape.  The wings were still practically intact.  So much so that some other crippled bird could use them.  Except maybe, a hummingbird.  The tail was nowhere in sight.  Breast and down feathers were decorating the gleaming dewy area with their still pristine white sheen.  The tail feathers were bent and damaged and strewn around in an repugnant display of the effects of effective violence.  Imagine, all the poor cockatoo was able to muster was a sad, "Kiss my ass" defense.  Is it significant that the head is nowhere to be found?

I know that some of you are awaiting a moral to this story.  There is one, of course.  In fact, there might even be several.  Some may come from the Bible, some may come from another source.  Some may be moving for me and some for you.  If you're young, (most of you are) you may not be moved at all.  If you're old, maybe you're not moved, just reassured that the warning to "be prepared" is not just for the Boy Scouts.  Wherever you fall on the scale of this true story and the moral of it, remember: Lock the cage; Lock your house; Lock your car.

OXYMORON ? or just MORON ?

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Drink your drink and I'll food my food

Mid-life crisis therapy.  Must 65 or older

Illiterate?  Write for help

     Dear Al Gebra:

                We don't know where your X has gone,

                 neither do we know Y.

Philosopher at a cafe:

                 A cup of coffee please, with no cream.

Waitress:

                 We are out of cream.  How about with no milk?

Leslie Stahl to Donald Trump:  "Are you going to get a special prosecutor to go against Hillary?"
Donald replied, "Well, I don't want to hurt them."

There are some things in life that make the space between your ears clang in vicious dissonance.  Like swearing to high heaven that our veterans are precious and should be provided with the best of care.
In the next breath comes the declaration that those who got caught don't deserve respect.
Hmmm, what about those who have survived captivity?  Maybe they should just be left to rot?

Or maybe, they are the best...like ruined cream (Yogurt?) is really good!
Where would we be without soured wine (Vinegar?)

Think about it a little bit.  Don't be a MORON - Have fun, be an OXYMORON!

DONALD TRUMP IS NOT A BUSINESS MAN

                                                                           

Bill Gates and family - Business man
& philanthropist

I know that it has been a long time since I have published what could pass for a thought.  I think I finally have found one that I can describe well enough to have it make sense. I will try to keep it to my usual 500 word target size,

Bill Gates and Paul Allen left college early because they had ideas that they wanted to sell to the world before anyone else.  Their ideas were of the sort that would change the world.  The change would not be simply material but intellectual, moral and economical all at once.  What they had to offer to the world was something that heretofore had been unknown.  In order to manage the introduction of their ideas in the best possible way, they thought it best to leave school and start to share their discovery to the world.

Their first stop was IBM.  IBM worked with them as did NCR, XEROX and maybe others.  Together, they began to change the way the world lives.  These are businessmen.  These are humans who understand that the generation of wealth comes from the management of human collaboration for the mutual good of their enterprises as well as the world at large.  

Donald Trump, landowner

Donald Trump is a landowner.  He rents parts of his property to those who want to use it.  He doesn't create wealth for anyone, singular or enterprise.  He has nothing to offer to the world with the collaborative creation of wealth as the goal.  He is the owner and he rents his property to those who want it or need it.                                                         Donald Trump doesn't negotiate collaborative agreements.  Donald Trump makes deals that create wealth for him and leave the renter with the task of creating Donald's wealth.  In Donald Trump's universe there are but two classes of living humans:  winners and losers.  There is no grey area.  His success comes from what he takes from you and he sees to it that you get nothing but the bare minimum from him in return.  That's the world he lives in.  In that universe the only way to make a good deal with Donald Trump sitting across the table from you is to walk away while you still have your money in your pocket.

Given this situation, it is clearly impossible to expect that the parallel universes of Trump and the rest of humanity will ever intersect.  All the "FactChecks" in one universe will not bring about change in the other.  In fact, we have seen that our universe as represented by the federal court system doesn't intersect with the "zero-sum universe" of Donald Trump. The truths of Trump's universe do not overlap with the universal truths in the parallel universe of the rest of us.

Trust me on this one.  The only tool we have is in the voting booth.  Save all your receipts so that if there is a Trumpist Revolt you will be able to prove that you only voted once, in your universe, anyway.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

I have to say that it makes me shake my head in stupified wonderment when an expatriate turncoat spills venom on the country that he thinks will elect him to guide it.
Especially when he spews his vomit on the primordial place in the Americas where it is possible to see the entire world pass before your eyes, if you open them and drink the reality of it in with a slow, savoring passionate act.

When we were growing up in a small college town in Western Massachusetts, my father, born in Zenon Park, Sakatchewan, Canada made it a point to take us to New York City twice a year.  Once in the Summer to see the Boston Braves play the Brooklyn Dodgers and once in the Winter, before Christmas to visit Rockefeller Center.  Each time we would visit different corners of the great city and each time we would be instructed that "if you want to see the world, you can see it in New York City." I dare say, Ted, that if you want to see the world, maybe you should just leave and go see it on site, close up and personal, but not here.  Most of all, Ted, if you're going to insult us, stop trying to convince us to let you lead us.  Where would you take us?  Surely not to Calgary, you've already disowned that, and the whole darn country too.  Nice going, Ted.  Now you want us to buy your snake oil?  

I have a true story for all of you.  It is a story about New York Values.
I think it is either 1948 or '49.  We were being treated to a visit to New York by our church pastor, Father Arthur Brodeur MS and some of his choice volunteers.  We were going there to see the Boston Red Sox play the "Damn Yankees" at Yankee Stadium.  This was before we were old enough to be able to say "damn" with impunity.  Anyway, we're in New York and my brother and I are a little bit looser than the rest because we've been there.  So, everyone is having a good time.  Eating at the automat was the big thrill of the pre-game tour.  So it gets to be close to the time to go to the stadium, so we get led to the subway station and warned to stay close to one another.  Which we do.  We're on the platform. We hear the train.  There it is.  The word comes from the leader, that's the train.  It stops, my brother and I are first in line.  The door opens and he dives in before me, being smaller and slicker, and the voice from the rear rings out, "No, not this one, the next one!"  I am able to put it in reverse, but the press of those wanting to board was too great for the little boy to buck and the door closed with him inside and everyone else in the group on the platform.
So, all we can do is to wait for the next train.  I was worried, but I told the priest not to worry 
because if the train went to the stadium, my brother could find his way because we were used to baseball stadiums.
Let's go feel some of those New York Values.
New Yorker to little boy: "Where are you going?"
Little boy: "To Yankee Stadium."
New Yorker: "Ok, that's good because I'm going there too.  I'll show you where to go."
Little boy: "Oh, thank you."
New Yorker:  "Where are you from?"
Little boy: "South Hadley Falls, Massachusetts."
New Yorker: "That's pretty far."

The train stops, the man guides the Little Boy to the ticket taker.  He explains the situation.  The ticket taker looks up the group reservations.  Tells the New Yorker and the Little Boy where the group seats are.  The Little Boy with the help of the New Yorker goes to the seats reserved for the church group.  After some twenty minutes, the group arrives, the ticket taker assures us that the Little Boy is fine.  We check in, go to our seats where we find my little brother patiently awaiting.

Take that, Ted!  Now go get lost in Machu Pichu and see how the vaues are there.  
You've already shown the word what you think of Cuba and Canada and now you insult the country that you're trying to schmooze into making you its leader.  You're quite a piece of work, Ted.

SOME REALLY STRANGE QUESTIONS OF MINE

Some questions that I have collected along the road of life.

Is my guardian angel a boy or a girl?
I was late reporting to work on my first day and they fired me.  Can I sue them?
How can I tell if my friend is lying to me?
Why do cats eat mice?
Will there be a time when no more original music tunes will be possible?
I hear the light switch and see the light at the same time.  Why did you tell me that light travels faster than sound?
I stepped on a banana peel this morning and I didn't slip and fall.  Why do people in the funnies always fall when they step on a banana peel?
How can birds stay warm and fly when the air is freezing?
What's the best question I can ask to show that I am smart?
Is there a question that can be asked that is impossible to answer?
Why do some people laugh at my jokes and some do not?
If money isn't everything, what is?
Cousin Tony told me that left-handed people are smarter than right-handers.  Is that true?
I asked my father, "Why should I care what other people think of me?"
          His answer: "To live with people, you have to be people."
Are snakes evil?
How can you be sure that you've won an argument?
Is going to sleep like dying?
If curiosity killed the cat, why do you encourage me to learn by being curious?
What takes more time: Flying from Los Angeles to New York at 500 MPH at 10,000 feet or flying from Los Angeles to New York at 500 MPH at 35,000 feet?  (Assuming the same line of flight)
Why do I crave food even if I am not really hungry?

These are some that I took from the top of my head.  You got some?  Get them off your chest before the New Year so that you can start the Leap Year with a clean slate!

Peace and tranquility to you all.

CHRISTMAS DAY TRAFFIC STOP (3:00 AM)

You know, I haven't scribbled too much too regularly on these "pages" lately, but tonight, I just got this burning sensation in my gouty fingers and my spongy grey matter to do something seasonal.  It was also caused by the totally silly questions that I started to ask myself about what would happen to my friend (yeah, I do have 1) who was stopped coming home from a "noche buena" (happy night) party after Midnight Mass.
My friend is not afraid to have fun in the right circumstances.  Christmas is one of the better suited circumstances for having fun...including ascertaining the quality of the Holiday Tequila.  So, he obliged the hosts by testing the libations of choice.  One of them was a gift that regularly sells for $125.00 per fifth.  After all, they wanted to know if what they were serving was respectful of the guests.  Like it says in the Bible, "you only serve the best."
According to my friend all went well until on his way home he saw the wig-wagging blue light on the cruiser roof reflected in his rear-view mirror.
Let the tape in the "black box" - you know, the one that contains all the incriminating facts despite the total obliteration of the rest of the vehicle - yeah, that one - so, let the tape show that the curious police person who conducted the interrogation was polite (my friend is a a safe shade of white), and he (at that time of day,on the holidays, they are all "he") gave the driver a choice as to whether or not to take the "breathalizer" test.  My friend said "yes" to the breath test.  Depending on your point of view, he "passed." :-(
When I asked him why he did that, his answer was:  "I thought it was my only way to beat it in court."
"Huh!?!" says I
"Lemme explain," says he.
"That fine and respectful servant of the state does't really know if I was cogent enough to appreciate 'the consequences of my consent to the test.  He didn't test my mind he only knows what the breath 'machine told him. He didn't ask me when my last swallow took place.  When he asked me how far 'away I lived from that spot, I told him a quarter of a mile.  I said that I would park my car and walk 'the rest of the way home.
'He agreed.  Got in his car.  Watched me for a minute or two as I started to walk and then he left.
'When he left, I got in my car and drove the two miles home.  He must not have checked my car's 'location since not a soul has called me nor come to the house to arrest me after two days.
'I'm gonna beat this guy like a drum in court.  He determines that I am too impaired to drive.  He also 'determines that despite that I'm reasonable enough to consent to an incriminating act like take a 'breath test.  Sorry, man, you gotta be outta yer mind to consent to an incriminating act in front of the 'tin badge.  So how can I be sane enough to be guilty of a crime?"
Oh, wait, you say, but he'll say that you lied to him about where you lived and that you drove your car home so as not to have to walk two miles.
"Right you are," I shout, "but he doesn't know who drove my car home.  Besides, because I was able to be so astute as to outwit Mr. Blueshirt means that 'I was not too impaired to connive and therefore not too impaired to drive.  Therefore he arrested a 'person who could not possibly be guilty under the law."

I win!

THE DOOR

The door, 11/25/2010

This is the door to the bedroom where the two Dion Boys passed from infancy to quasi adulthood.  Along the way they and their father did some interesting "guy" things.  Some of the more interesting things were the moments along the way when I would read to them from books that I thought they would enjoy based on the simple relative judgment that they were writings that I had enjoyed.
It started with the Old Testament stories that I had heard from my Grandfather.  By the time that I had the time to share tese stories with my children, I had the wisdom to do whatmy Grandfather had done and spared them from the exposure to the more racy ones.
We went from there to the Hobbitt and the three books starring Frodo vs Gollum.  That took two years of nightly, or quasi nightly bed time reading.  Along the way, The Door developped into a contemporary pictorial exression of the rights of passage of the masculine elements of the household.  As far as I can tell, the latest addition to The Door was in the vicinity of 2005.  There are three protagonists, Jo-El, Jason and Enrique.

The present state

This is the door in its present state. 11-26-2015.
There are a lot of stories
behind The Door.  If only
the prime mover behind it
would regale the world with
the story.

 

A DOCTOR'S [MD] WISDOM

Hey, I went to see a doctor today for something really benign, but interesting.  For about a year now I have this uncomfortable feeling in the upper left hand corner of my back.  It feels like an itch but even my best Chinese backscratcher thingie doesn't make it go away.  So, two weeks ago I decided to talk to my Primary Care Sawbones about it. I figured, "Hmmm, maybe this could be cancer or some such pesky disorder.  So, I showered, powdered and other such things that you do when you prepare do disrobe in front of a stranger.  I have to admit, I really felt quite spiffy.  Amost like going to the Junior Senior Prom, for goodness sake.  So after the usual preliminary security screen, like you know, First name, Last name, weight, age, blood pressure, pulse, temperature, what drugs you're on to stay alive and where does it hurt, I was ushered into the 10 x 10 cubicle, still fully clothed and told that the doctor would be in shortly.
I sat there for about 5 minutes and then the Man walked in after knocking on the door to announce his presence.  That was rather unnecessary since I was still as modestly covered as when the nurse abandoned me.  I told the Doc why I had come.  He put his hands deftly on my back,over my clean shirt, rubbed around the area a little bit and said, "You've got arthritis."  Heee, Haaww, this guy has been seeing me for 12 years and he announces to me that he has discovered that I have arthritis.  I was torn a being at a fork in the mental road...Was it better to discover that this guy finally found out that I have arthritis or to celebrate that arthritis is not nearly as deadly as cancer?  So, guess what - I shrugged and asked, "So how many people have arthritis in the upper back?"  He said, I don't know, but you do."
Now, he can also read my mind.  I'm saying to myself, "This guy never even came close to touching my bare body and he announces that he knows I have arthritis.  Maybe he's gambling because he knows that it's not cancer and that I have had the gout for nigh on to 45 years."
So, because he can read this, he says, "Go down the hall to X-ray.  If I see anything strange, I'll call you."  Hmmm.  I paid $25.00 for this!
So, I go to X-ray, pay another $25.00, get a few pictures taken (even at my age she protects the jewels with the lead shield) and I walk away.
I don't have anything to worry about.  The prognosis is for non fatal pain - for now.
Rrinnggg...Yeah, a week later.  The doc is sending me to a speciaist in "Physical medecine."  No kidding,  Physical medecine.  As opposed to what?  Or maybe I should ask, related to what?  So, what the heck, I may as well go, even if only to find out what Physical medecine is all about.
I go.  Same routine.  This time,when she asked me how tall I am I said, "Tall enough so that my feet reach the floor."  She laughed, and when all of that was determined, I went into another 10 x 10 room.
In comes the doc.  A mere child.  Small Asian kid.  I'm thinking, "This guy ain't getting physical with me."  He's looking at me a little strangely, but I can't figure out why.  But then he shows me the famous X-rays and repeats the diagnosis, "You have arthritis."  Then he answers the obvious question, "Not too many people have arthritis in the upper back because there's not much bone movement up there."  Phew, I'm glad we got that out of the way.  I'm also glad that now I can actually celebrate the fact that I have arthritis.  I tell him that and he smiles and says, "I know why you're happy.  I was surprised to see how much better you look in person than you do on paper."
Huh?  "Yeah, when I walked in after reading the stat sheet and saw you I thought that I was in the wrong room."
So there.  Not only do I have arthritis in a weird location but I found out all about it without taking one stitch of clothes off to find out.  That's good, because if that young boy doctor would have seen me naked, he would have discovered that I look worse in person than I do on paper.

QUID EST VERITAS ?

Dicit ei Pilatus: "Ergo rex es tu?"  (So, you are a king?)  (Ref. John 18; verses 37 and 38)
Respondit Iesus: "Tu dicis quia rex sum ego. Ego in hoc natus sum, et ad hoc veni in mundum, ut testimonium perhibeam veritati. Omnis qui est ex veritate, audit meam vocem ". 
Dixit itaque ei Pilatus: "Quid est veritas?  What is truth? (Pontius Pilate)

This question was posed 2,000 years ago, and it wasn't new, even back then.

This article is provoked by the fact that I feel as though I have reached a point of about 210 degrees fahrenheit when it comes to the way that the lack of truth in our daily interactions has just about become 100%.  
The truth does not seem to be a part of our daily lives any more.  Even in our very own living rooms.  I was at a birthday party (a quiet, old people's type celebration) and a newcomer to the group of usual suspects turned out to be quite the conversationalist.  He has a lot to say and I allowed my uncontrollable curiosity to take sway and found myself listening to him for about 30 or 40 minutes with nothing much more than grunts and nods from me.
He strung out a line of various "conspiracy theory"stories that were rather interesting, but not compelling directives to factual truth.  The best one was the complete assurance that the Bush family engineered the assassination of JFK.  Now, I have to say that in my view, the Bushes could not organize a three car funeral, let alone the assassination of a president.

As I separated myself from him I mentioned that he should know that I was convinced (still am) that the vast amount of things that he said as though they are truth rung false to me.  His reaction?  "You don't trust the government and the media, do you?"  I told him, "No, neither your stories nor theirs strike me as being 100% worthy of my trust."  He just walked away.  I am very sure that he is happy that he won't have to put up with me at his Thanksgiving shindig. Which is true...and mutual :-)

Then, today I heard that the New York Times had an editorial taking the government and the presidential candidates to task for not correcting certain egregious fabrications that come out of the mouths of politicians.  The one that has been catching the greatest amount of attention these days is the story that Don Trump has been telling which describes his witnessing of thousands and thousands of Arabs dancing in the streets of Jersey City as the Twin Towers came crashing down in New York, across the East River on 9/11/2001.  One report in reaction to the New York Times' editorial was that everyone, from politicians to Joe Lunch Bucket is convinced that politicians, the media, the official government offices, the military, in short, EVERYONE lies -- all the time.   So to call anyone back to the factual truth is not worth the effort.

So, it appears as though we are living in the greatest cloud of dishonesty (if 100% lying is dishonest) that has ever existed.  Pretty daunting isn't it!  Everything that is spoken is a lie. Everything that is thought and not spoken is also a lie because it is the retention of the truth. 

Have you noticed that I did not include everything that is WRITTEN?

Therefore, be careful what you fight for

WIN SOME, LOOSE SOME -- REMEMBER 'EM ALL

You know, ours is a very strange life. I have two thoughts today. One old one and one new one.  This is the old one and I am visiting it because it has been there for over a year now. Not only that, the new one is a real strange one and it is really challenging.  Nerdy challenging...geeky stuff.  So geeky that there is no picture for it, I am sure.  So I will have to wait for the thought that will come to rescue me from the depths of a thought that can't be pictured.  Go ahead, turn that over in your head for a while and you'll see why I am starting with playground swings.  Now that you can picture.  Assuming of course that you lived somewhere in the vicinity of a playground that had swings.  Yeah, we had them where I grew up.  When I was older they disappeared.  Someone told me it was because there was not enough money to pay for the liability insurance needed to protect the town from the parental lawsuits.  Maybe.  I can't relate to that because when I grew up in that town all we cared about was who was going to be coming back from Europe and/or Asia, not too much about who fell off the swings at the playround yesterday. Now you know how old I am.
Notice that the little boy above is just sitting there.  We can't really tell whether or not he is dejected because the swing is not flying for him like it does for the older boys.  He seems to look forlorn, and I don't blame him.  That happened to me a lot.  Learning how to keep the swing flying after getting an initial push was a rather long and trying process for me.  (Retart!)  After I was able to keep it flying, it took me about three or four semesters at the playround MIT lab before success at starting from a stop became mine.  Along the way I had built a great reputation as the fat little kid who couldn't even fly a swing.  Man, I tell you, I was stupid...no, really stupid.

Now, I wasn't a girl, but I can tell you that I looked like this a lot in one of the worst Summers of my life.  How many mornings I would leave the house early and walk the 1/3 of a mile or so to the playground where I would be alone and I would grunt, and cry, and scream, throw sand, anything but be smart enough to get that sadistic machine to do for me what it did for every other creature on the planet.  That was the Summer when the older boys refused to give me the initial push.  Even friend "Red" J... (he's no longer around) told me to learn on my own.  Now that really raised the hackles of the back of my neck.  It was so bad, it weakened me and went home crying.
In case you're wondering: No, there is no happy ending to this story.  It took me at least three more weeks of  frustrating leg flailing before I discovered the full body, fulcrum-based harmony that was necessary to get the inertia to break and take to the air.  I never did get much accomplished that Summer, but at least I did have the body memory that I needed to have great fun the following year.  I haven't forgotten it, but I sure don't waste any time thinking about it because it reminds of just how stupid I can be.  That's why it took 5 years before telling the story here.

CHRISTIANITY IS LOVE; ISLAM MEANS PEACE; JUDAISM IS LOVING LAW

These days it is difficult to not think about the relationship that humans have with one another as defined by the religious faith to which they identify.  I do not profess to be an expert about what it is that I am about to opine, but opining is what this space does best.  I therefore allow myself the liberty of making a few remarks about the strengths and foibles of human beings when it comes to the religion with which they identify and the factual conduct that they display in their every day lives.  I am certain that you will be able to identify with some of the following remarks. 
Christians and Jews are commanded by the Holy Bible to love one another.  We Christians and Jews alike all know that.  We also all know that to follow that command is not easy.  After all, there are many different expressions of Christianity as we all know. At last count there were some 3,000+ "denominations" of Christians around the world. I, for one, can confess openly that it is not easy for me to love the adherents to some of these denominatioins just as there are many of them who can't stand the sight of me or any other Catholic.  So, yeah, we have some work to do there.   
I have come to know that there are similar feelings among some of the different expressions of Judaism as well. Oh well, I guess that even God can't win 'em all!
We all know that there are divisions in the Islamic world as well.  It would be nice if we Christians and Jews could present the Muslims with a united front and be sure that we were better than they, but we can't.  Just as they cannot present the Christians and Jews with a united front and win the prize for being the religion of peace, even by pointing to the peaceful relations that they might want to present between their various factions.
Now, I can't speak knowingly about Yoga, but I do know that there are different expressions of Yoga spirituality too. I happen to have first hand experience of that.  What I have not been able to ascertain is whether or not the adherents of one expression and the other in Yoga harbor negative feelings about one another.  No, I am not interested in finding out. 
At this point, I'm almost willing to bet that there are negative feelings among Atheists as to their common reasons, or lack thereof, for unbelief.  Bad feelings about people of differing opinions seem to be the norm of the human condition.  
Heck, just think of the political goupings in the world and you'll see just what it is that we are made of.  

So, at this point my conclusion is this:  Don't quote me the Holy Koran and I won't quote you the Holy Bible.  You, Mr and Mrs Christian, don't quote me the Holy Bible and I won't quote the Holy Bible to you.  To you all, myself too, let us all show one another by our habitual conduct the behavior that expresses the lived experience of the words that we would have quoted to one another from one Holy Text or the other. 
If we do that regularly and without fail, we will have no reason to cry at one another's funeral, guaranteed.       

ANNIVERSARY - A FEW DAYS

365 THOUGHTS X 500 WORDS, ON AVERAGE = 329,000 and if I remember right, I think every single one of them has been "G" rated.  As I wrote that, I found myself wondering if anyone knows what that means these days.  You might want to let me know.
The last few months, quite a few,I might add, I wrote notes to mysef about thoughts that I would like to write about.  That's as far as it got.  I have been writing a lot, but not in this space.  That's too bad because this is the one space where I generally have the most fun.  So now you know that what I have been doing is somewhat less than fun.  But now that the calendar has come back to the starting point of this blog, I figured that I might as well revisit you for moment.  

Five years is not a great amount of time in the long run.  However, when I tell you that when I started doing this I was only 73.6 years old, that should tell you that 5 years is a long time.  That is one large number.  There are many who were reading this back then who are not reading it now.  Back then there were barely 60 people on the mailing list.  Now there are twice than many plus those who follow it on Google+.  In the space of time, I joined Facebook and after three months I shut it off because it was pestering the daylights out of me.  Google+ is much quieter.  I still get pestered by Zuckerman's Folly but it is easier to press "delete" than to spend time making "friends" that I have never met.  Go ahead, call me old fashioned.  

So, now that I have come back, I am going to have to try to keep in touch over the next few days because the real anniversary date is creeping up on me...November 25 if I am not mistaken.  Then I am going to be leaving for Bethlehem, the Real One and I just might have a chance to write you a word or two from that vicinity.  If the angels don't keep me up all night with their singing.

Take it easy, y'all and stay tuned.

KILL 'EM WITH HUMOR

They have the arms,
Screw them,
We have the Champagne!

The great war between secular Liberty, Equality and Fraternity and Theocracy (with my respectful tip of the Christian hat to my Jewish brethren).
The meaning of today's cover of the weekly satirical magazine published in Paris...The very one that was attacked by the Theocrats (so called) last January 7...goes very deep into the complex situation that is the prevailing environment in many parts of the world.
It is interesting to me and to the publisher of Charlie Hebdo:  The secular environment of freedom and mutual respect is seen as an insult to the Theocracy that is attached to the religious faith of a portion of the country's population.  The magazine is saying, "Do what you will and die in anger while I live my life out in joy and good humor.

That's my thought for the day.  You can tell that this event has really grabbed me.  Don't worry, I'll get over it.  Even if I don't, you still are expected to not cry at my funeral, even though Champagne, and its close and distant relatives, are no longer a part of my life.

Peace and joy to you all.

PARIS

It has been five decades, at least, since I was enjoying the seductive charms of the world's finest city.
Actually, it has been +/-55 years since I was there for the first time.  It was for Summer classes in French literature at the Institut Catholique de Paris.  It was a Summer when Algeria was terrorizing the city by placing Plastique bombs in the metro stations.  So, we walked the three kilometers (1.9 miles) to and from school. The streets were as hirsute as porcupines with the amount of military long arms on the streets and gathered at the entries to the underground transportation system.
I was young, apolitical and wide-eyed about being in Paris. It was a great month.  I had a student pass to the city.  Louvre, Comedie Francaise, Tour Eiffel, Versailles, etc.  I even had a student's discount ticket for the Metro.  I was able to put it to good use once the French gendarmerie got the situation under control and took the Metro back from the terrorists.  Actually I think I learned more from the streets than I did from the school during that month.
Once more after that month I was in Parish for about two days.  It was barely all I could afford, so I was glad to get out of there.
I have been to France a number of times since then, but never again to Paris...Physically.  I never go to France without dreaming of my favorite big city in the world.  (N.B. San Diego, California is my favorite, but compared to Tokyo, New York, Rome, Jerusalem, Manila, Los Angeles and Chicago, San Diego is not a big city.)  By the way, if your city does not appear on this list it is simply because I have not been there, ever, for more than an airport "pit stop."  Sorry, Madrid :-(  You too, Amsterdam.  London?  I admit, I have avoided it on purpose.
So, now I have been re-living my first month in Paris.  It has been a hard year for me especially since this is the second attack on Paris within a year.  It comes to my mind that in some ways Parisians bring it upon themselves with their "in-your-face" arrogance.  So, have you ever been to New York?  Have you ever started to roll 2 seconds beyond the change of the light without hearing a horn?  Have you ever needed directions on the street?  The terrorists of 9/11 didn't dare do their thing on the street level in New York.  No siree! They opted to stay out of the way and do it from the air.
BUT, I've got news for them...messing with the French in Paris is a real bad choice.  Twice in the same year!  The result is going to be the 21st century version of the Guillotine...heads are going to roll...lots of them...The French carry a centuries old, festering disgust for the grade of people who are responsible for these attacks.  This is not over.  ISIS has just embraced an armful of fury...trust me on this one.  It is a fury born of a nine centuries' old gestation.  The baby is not going to be named
"Cal I. Phate."

Il y a déjà cinq décennies, au moins, depuis que j’ai eu le grand plaisir d’apprécier les charmes séducteurs de la plus belle ville du monde.

En fait, il y a +/- 55 années depuis la première fois que j’ai mis pied-à-terre à Paris.  Ce fut pour des classes d'été en littérature française à l'Institut Catholique de Paris. Ce fut un été quand l’Algérie terrorisait la ville en plaçant des bombes de Plastique dans les stations du métro. Donc, nous marchions les trois kilomètres entre notre domicile et l'école. Les rues étaient aussi hirsutes que les porcs épics avec la quantité de longues armes militaires dans les rues et devant les entrées du système de transport souterrain.

J’étais  jeune, apolitique avec les yeux écarquillés d'être à Paris. C’était un mois merveilleux.  Je disposais un laissez-passer d'étudiant à la ville. Le Louvre, la Comédie-Française, la Tour Eiffel, Versailles, etc., J’avais même acheté  le ticket de réduction pour étudiant pour le métro. Je me suis trouvé en mesure de le mettre à profit une fois que la gendarmerie française prit la situation sous contrôle et libéra le métro des menaces des terroristes. En fait, je pense que j’appris plus dans les rues qu’à l'école au cours de ce mois.

Une fois de plus après ce premier séjour, je me suis trouvé à Paris une deuxième fois pendant environ deux jours. Il était à peine tout ce que je pouvais me permettre ($), donc j’étais content de sortir de là.

Je suis allé en France un certain nombre de fois depuis, mais jamais à Paris ... Physiquement.  Je ne vais jamais en France sans rêver de ma grande ville préférée du monde. (NB San Diego, en Californie, est ma préférée absolue, mais par rapport à Tokyo, New York, Rome, Jérusalem, Manille, Los Angeles et Chicago, San Diego n’est pas une grande ville.) Par ailleurs, si votre ville ne figure pas sur la liste, c’est tout simplement parce que je n'y suis pas allé, jamais, pour rien de plus qu’un arrêt au stand à l’aéroport.  Désolé, Madrid :-( et toi aussi, Amsterdam.  Londres ?  J’admets que je l’évite sciemment.

Donc, maintenant, je revis mon premier mois à Paris. Cette une année se montre difficile pour moi d'autant plus que c’est la deuxième attaque sur Paris dans un an. Il me vient à l'esprit que, à certains égards les Parisiens appellent ces actions sur eux-mêmes grâce à leur air de supériorité.  Alors, avez-vous déjà visité New York? Avez-vous déjà mis un délai d’au-delà de 2 secondes avant de rouler au changement du feu sans entendre un klaxon? Avez-vous déjà eu besoin de directions pour votre promenade? Les terroristes du 9/11 n'ont pas osé faire leurs dégâts au niveau de la rue à New York. Non Messieurs! Ils ont choisi de rester en dehors de la voie et de le faire à partir de l'air.

MAIS, j’ai des nouvelles pour eux ... tordre le français à Paris est un vrai mauvais choix. Deux fois dans la même année! Le résultat va être la version de la guillotine du 21e siècle... des têtes vont rouler ... plusieurs ... Les Français portent depuis plusieurs siècles, un purulent dégoût de la catégorie des gens qui sont responsables pour ces attaques. Cela n’en veut pas plus. ISIS vient de cueillir une brassée de fureur ... croyez-moi sur ce coup. Elle est née d'une gestation de neuf siècles de fureur. Le bébé ne va pas être nommé "Kali Phat."

TODAY I SAW GOD - NOW I KNOW / AUJOURD'HUI J'AI VU MON DIEU - J'EN SUIS SUR / HOY VI EL SENOR DIOS - AHORA NE SOY SEGURO

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Your Card Balance Card Number Card Number: 7000630211127134553 Current Balance: $24.69 My prepaid Shell card - Note the balance  Ma carte Shell pré-payée - Notez le solde

I saw God today, about 5 hours ago.  Boy, He was ugly then, but now He is as resplendent as the sun.

The last two months  have been rather demanding when it comes to doing good deeds for people who accost me at the gas station.  I have been "hit" three times in the last two months.  The story is always the same and the size of the vehicle is always at least three times greater than my small Honda Civic Hybrid.

The story line is this.  Excuse me but I'm coming in from Arizona.  I left in a hurry because I was told that my sister had been diagnosed with cancer.  My mind is not right.  I left in a hurry.  Can you help me with a little gas so that I can reach her in ...(name the city)

It varies a little but the emergency has been cancer and the vehicle is always a beat up old Chevvy or Dodge van, lots of rust, loud engine, and, in one case a yappy dog who cut my contribution down to $5.00.

5 hours ago, the Voice from the Kitchen and I were on our way back from San Diego to the city where she works.  We decided to stop for some fuel so that we could feel more secure burning it off the top rather than off the bottom. (That's a paraphrase of a favorite oft repeated axiom of Edward Dion.)

We pulled up to the pump, I got out, ran my $100.00 prepaid Shell card through my side of the pump and began to fill the tank.  As I was standing there waiting for the auto shut-off to work, there came a rusty old Chevvy "beater" van, just like in the documentary films.  It stopped right opposite me and from the cab tumbled out a scraggly, broomstick thin, wrinkled female with dim eyes, unkempt hair, dirty clothes all wrapped up in a mysteriously unpleasant cloud full of olfactory challenges.

She came to me and with surprising poise and grace excused  herself, told me how embarassed she was to disturb me, but she felt that she had no other choice.  She underlined the fact the she was not seeking money, but she did need gas since her vehicle was nearly dry.  She was not crying, she was not teary eyed, she knew what her situation was and she knew that she had to abase herself to stay afloat somehow.  

She told me that her husband had been diagnosed with advanced, incurable cancer and since they were in dire financial straits, they had both come to the conclusion that this was going to be the end.

She needed gas for her vehicle, the rest would take care of itself, one way or the other.  As my tank was being filled, we exchanged other talk about the human condition and we had connecting mental and emotional wave lengths.  My tank was now filled and I told her that I would now give her some fuel.  In the process of running my card, something went wrong, so I had to stop the process and restart it.  All along we were working on being nice to one another and I must say that it was comforting to her, and she said so.

I succeeded in running my card, so everything was set.  Because Belle was waiting in the car and because we knew there was a lot of traffic on the 100 mile road ahead, I took my card out of the mechanism and as I handed her the pump I said, "We are leaving now.  I am trusting you with $20.00 from my card.  May God bless you.  She was happy, we parted gently and politely.  The Voice from the Kitchen asked if I had given the lady something and I said yes.

We got back on the road and suffered through 2.5 hours of traffic over a distance that usually takes 90 minutes.

We got home.  Unloaded the car.  Ate the evening meal.  Showered.

I remembered my smelly Noah and wondered if I still had any animals left in my prepaid ark.

I went to my computer and entered the necessary information to see if my new found, unidentified friend had held herself to the entrusted amount of $20.00, or ???

My friends, you know that I would not be writing this if she had ripped me off.  You have my breath taking assurance that she took about $20.00 from a card that she could have tried to get more from.

There were $45.50 on the card when she started to fill her tank and when she was finished the card had, and still has $24.68.

I saw God today, and I'm still trembling from the experience.  I hope that He will introduce us some day...she and her beloved husband.

Je l'ai vu Dieu aujourd'hui, il y a environ 5 heures.  Je vous certifie qu'il était laid, et plus que laid, mais maintenant il est aussi resplendissant que le soleil.

Les deux derniers mois ont été plutôt exigeants quand il vient à faire de bonnes actions pour les personnes qui m'accostent à la station de carburant. J'ai été "sollicité" trois fois au cours des deux derniers mois. L'histoire est toujours la même et la taille du véhicule est toujours au moins trois fois plus grande que ma petite Honda Civic Hybrid.

La ligne de l'histoire est la suivante. Excusez-moi, mais je suis venue de l'Arizona. Je suis parti à la hâte parce qu'on m'a dit que ma sœur avait été diagnostiqué avec le cancer. Mon esprit ne se tient pas bien claire ces jours-ci. Je suis parti à la hâte. Pouvez-vous me aider avec un peu de gazoline de sorte que je peux finis le voyage vers elle qui habite ... (nom de la ville)

L'histoire varie un peu, mais la situation d'urgence est normalement le cancer et le véhicule est toujours une vieille chevvy  toute rouillée ou Dodge van, beaucoup de rouille, moteur bruyant, et, dans un cas, un petit chien aboyant constamment qui a coupé ma contribution jusqu'à $5.00.

Il y a 5 heures, la Voix de ma Cuisine et moi étions sur notre chemin de retour de San Diego à la ville où elle travaille dans la mission des pères de notre Dame de La Salette. Nous avons décidé d'arrêter pour un peu de carburant afin que nous puissions être assures d'arriver chez-nous sans contre-temps.

Nous sommes arrivés à la pompe, je suis sorti, j'ai passe ma carte pré-payée de $100.00 à travers mon côté de la pompe et avais commencé à remplir le réservoir. Comme je me tenais là en attente que l'arrêt automatique éclanche, il vint une vieille chevvy rouillée "déchevelée", tout comme dans les films documentaires. Elle s'est arrêté juste en face de moi et de la cabine a chuté sur une femme mince comme un manche de balais, ridée avec des yeux sombres, cheveux hirsutes, les vêtements sales tout enveloppés dans un nuage mystérieusement désagréable plein de défis olfactifs.

Elle est venue à moi et avec aisance et grâce surprenantes s'excusa, me raconta comment elle avait honte de me déranger, mais elle sentait qu'elle n'avait pas d'autre choix. Elle a souligné le fait qu'elle ne cherchait pas l'argent, mais qu'elle avait un grand besoin de carburant puisque son véhicule était presque à sec. Elle ne pleurait pas, elle n'avait pas les larmes aux yeux, elle savait ce que sa situation était, et elle savait qu'elle devait se rabaisser pour rester à flot d'une manière ou d'une autre.

Elle m'a dit que son mari avait été diagnostiqué à un stade avancé, d'un cancer incurable et puisqu'ils étaient dans une situation financière désespérée, ils avaient tous deux venus à la conclusion que cela allait être la fin.

Elle avait besoin de gazoline pour son véhicule, le reste suivrait la course de la nature, d'une façon ou l'autre. Comme mon réservoir était maintenant rempli, nous avons échangé une autre paire de paroles sur la condition humaine et nous avons réalisé une connexion plaisante d'ondes mentales et émotionnelles. Mon réservoir était maintenant au plain et je lui ai dit que je voudrais maintenant lui donner un peu de carburant. Dans le processus d'exécution de ma carte, quelque chose est allé mal, donc j'ai du arrêter le processus et le redémarrer. Tout au long, nous nous sommes amuses avec des gentillesses de l'un à l'autre et je dois dire que cet échange fut réconfortant pour elle, et elle l'a dit.

J'ai finalement réussis à connecte ma carte, donc tout a été réglé. Parce que Belle m'attendait dans la voiture et parce que nous savions qu'il y avait beaucoup de circulation sur la route de 160 kilometres de parcours, je pris ma carte du le mécanisme et comme je lui tendis la pompe je lui dis, «Nous partons maintenant. Je vous offre $20.00 de carburant chargés sur ma carte. Que Dieu vous bénisse." Elle était heureuse, nous nous sommes laissés doucement et poliment. La Voix de la Cuisine m'a demandé si j'avais donné quelque chose a la dame et je lui dis que oui.

Nous sommes revenus sur la route et avons endure le malaise de 2,5 heures de trafic sur une distance qui prend généralement 90 minutes.

Nous sommes rentrés chez nous. Avons déchargé la voiture. Avons fait le souper. 

Je me suis souvenu de mon Noé malodorant et me demandai s'il me restait encore des animaux dans mon arche prépayé.

Je suis allé à mon ordinateur.  J'effectuai les informations nécessaires pour voir si mon amie nouvellement trouvée, bien que non identifiée s'était tenue à la quantité confiée de $20.00 ou ???

Mes amis, vous savez que je ne raconterais pas l'histoire si elle m'avait trahi. Vous avez mon assurance qu'elle a pris environ $ 20.00 à partir d'une carte qu'elle aurait pu essayer d'en obtenir beaucoup plus.

Il y avait $45.50 sur la carte quand elle a commencé à remplir son réservoir et quand elle a terminée son versement, la carte avait, et a encore $24.69.

J'ai vu Dieu aujourd'hui, et je tremble encore de l'expérience. 

Peut-être nous nous reverrons un jour au paradis.  Elle et son époux bien aimé.

I GOTTA HAVE SOME FUN WITH THIS GUY

If I were wrong, don't you think I would know it?

This is one of the greatest moments of my young life.  I am so glad that I am familiar with the one of the earliest biographies of the "One who doesn't have time for political correctness."  It makes me wonder if it is because he is too busy counting his $10 billion or it he is confusing political correctness with basic kindergarten level politeness.
Back in the mid 17th century my favorite classical writer, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, AKA, Moliere wrote about a Misanthrope who had the same basic problem as the sweetheart in the picture.  He was convinced that the world had to pay attention to him because he was the only one who would "tell it as it is," in season and out of season.  He had one difficulty, the woman that he loved didn't like the forceful torrent of negativity and invective that came out of the mouth of her pursuer.  In the book, Alceste, the guy who didn't have time nor penchant for the niceties of life, wanted this woman more than anything.  In our present lives we are led to believe that the man with no patience for human niceties wants the White House more than anything.  $10 billion worth of anything.  That's impressive.

Enjoy yourselves, boys and girls, this show still has a while to run.

By the way:  Alceste does get the girl, but only after a very radical about face.
Don't hold your breath on this one.