We spent 3 days in Baltimore this week with Josh and Cathy and our three granddaughters who are 3 of the four most beautiful, smartest and funniest granddaughters on the planet (I made if 3 of 4 to make it possible for you to fit your granddaughter into the mix....) I should write about them and probably will soon, but what I want to write about is Saturday's breakfast.
We almost always go out to breakfast on Saturday when we're in Baltimore. Usually, we go to a diner and it is pretty good diner food. Lots of cops and construction workers eat there, so that is a vote of confidence.
But this Saturday we went to a new place Josh and Cathy found. It's called Miss Shirley's Cafe, a Baltimore based two Cafe chain. One is in the Inner Harbor and the one we went to is in a section of town called Roland Park, near John Hopkins undergraduate campus and the Episcopal Cathedral. You can look it up at www.MissShirleysCafe.com. It was one of the memorable breakfasts of my life. And I'm a breakfast guy. There is nothing about breakfast I don't like. I especially like breakfast in the south--and Baltimore, though above the Mason-Dixon line, is a very southern city. But Miss Shirleys is 'southern' on steroids, southern mixed with Top Chef, a selection of food such as I have never experienced.
OK, let me tell you what the twins had: they had french toast. Morgan had scrapple (from up in PA, you'd never want to know what part of the pig they put in it, but it's great. She scraped the garnish off the top. Emma bacon.
Bern had Coconut Cream Stuffed French Toast. The menu (which I took) describes it this way: "Cream cheese, Mascarpone Cheese, Flaked Coconut, Bruleed Bananas, Dipped in an almond scented egg mix, garnished with diced strawberries and dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon." The bread was challah and was crisp and hot while the stuffing tasted like coconut cream pie and was cold. Figure out how they did that....
Cathy had "What Came First?" one benne seed fried boneless breast of chicken on a biscuit and one poached egg on a biscuit, smothered in peppery ground beef and sausage gravy. Come on, chicken and egg? They also have Chicken and waffles. And anything smothered in gravy...what else can you want.
Josh had Sunrise Benedict: Poached eggs and House-mad slow roasted Carolina Pulled Pork on corn bread rounds with collard greens made with tasso ham and Cajun Hollandaise sauce. Any similarity to Canadian Bacon on and English Muffin is not on coincidental, it doesn't even count as a similarity!
Mine--I saved the best for last--was "Gets your grits on". As described in the menu, though the menu does no justice to the mean, "Jumbo Blackened Shrimp on Fried Green Tomatoes, Savory Grits made with Bacon and Roasted Corn Emulsion". Three of my favorite foods: fried green tomatoes, shrimp and grits. The tomatoes were among the best I've ever had--fried in corn meal and sturdy and tangy--the shrimp was amazing and each of the three slices of green tomato had two huge shrimp on top of the grits that topped the tomatoes. But the grits--let me tell you this as a grits aficionado --these were, by far, the best I've ever tasted.
Here's how 'savory grits' are described elsewhere in the menu: "Heavy cream, Mascarpone Cheese, chives, Apple-wood smoked bacon and tomatoes." If you like grits, or even if you don't ponder that recipe for a while. Holy-Moley!
And, get this, the food, those complicated things, all arrived before anyone finished their first cup of coffee.
So, if you're ever in Baltimore, check out Miss Shirley's Cafe for breakfast.
It is pricey. "Two eggs any style" with homefries or grits is $10. Most items are in the mid to upper teens. But to eat something you have never eaten before and discover it is not only 'as good as it sounded' but better than you could have imagined--we all agreed on that....well, what's money for but to bring pleasure and do good....?
Hope I made you hungry.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
There is a God
And the robes of God are, oh, let me think, colored Old Gold and Blue.
In case you don't follow college basketball and, in particular, UConn college basketball, you need to be told that, oh, let me think, West Virginia University defeated UConn tonight, not in 'convincing fashion', which would mean by 20 points or so, but adequately, 10 points or more. And all is well in God's country this night--West Virginia, in case you don't know, is definitely God's country.
But a little piece of God's Country is embedded in the soul of every Mountaineer.
I've had a lot of problems living in CT, the worst of which is that I hate UConn athletic teams because they play in the Big East Conference with WVU.
People used to ask me, "who's you favorite football team?" and I'd say, "WVU and which ever team is playing Notre Dame this week.
I want every Big East team, in whatever sport, to lose so that WVU will move up in whatever standings they are.
By the way, WVU has won the rifle competition in the NCCA for something going on 20 years. I'm not sure which other Big East schools have rifle teams, but don't, whatever you do, mess with West Virginia.
So, taking a big breath, remembering how John Flowers blocked Kimba Walker's shot, how Dennis Kolichia, the 'big Turk' dunked over the big African who is 5 inches taller, how Joe Massula hit more 3 point shots against UConn that he had all year long, how UConn kept fouling 'Truck' Bryant down the stretch and he kept making the shots, how Huggie Bear ((what we call coach Bob Huggins) just shook Jim Calhoun's hand, rather than hugging him and whispering in his ear like he does with every other coach....well, I'm in hog heaven....the dawn will be bright and God is in heaven and all is right with the world.
Let's go Mountaineers!
Montani Semper Liberi--Mountaineers are always free...and, tonight, at any rate, better than UConn in basketball.
Amen.
In case you don't follow college basketball and, in particular, UConn college basketball, you need to be told that, oh, let me think, West Virginia University defeated UConn tonight, not in 'convincing fashion', which would mean by 20 points or so, but adequately, 10 points or more. And all is well in God's country this night--West Virginia, in case you don't know, is definitely God's country.
But a little piece of God's Country is embedded in the soul of every Mountaineer.
I've had a lot of problems living in CT, the worst of which is that I hate UConn athletic teams because they play in the Big East Conference with WVU.
People used to ask me, "who's you favorite football team?" and I'd say, "WVU and which ever team is playing Notre Dame this week.
I want every Big East team, in whatever sport, to lose so that WVU will move up in whatever standings they are.
By the way, WVU has won the rifle competition in the NCCA for something going on 20 years. I'm not sure which other Big East schools have rifle teams, but don't, whatever you do, mess with West Virginia.
So, taking a big breath, remembering how John Flowers blocked Kimba Walker's shot, how Dennis Kolichia, the 'big Turk' dunked over the big African who is 5 inches taller, how Joe Massula hit more 3 point shots against UConn that he had all year long, how UConn kept fouling 'Truck' Bryant down the stretch and he kept making the shots, how Huggie Bear ((what we call coach Bob Huggins) just shook Jim Calhoun's hand, rather than hugging him and whispering in his ear like he does with every other coach....well, I'm in hog heaven....the dawn will be bright and God is in heaven and all is right with the world.
Let's go Mountaineers!
Montani Semper Liberi--Mountaineers are always free...and, tonight, at any rate, better than UConn in basketball.
Amen.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Real Men Pee Outside
I had a classmate in seminary who, for some quirky reason, wouldn't go to the bathroom in someone else's house. So, I'd encounter him out in the bushes around the 'garden apartments' we all lived in around Alexandria. Once I watched him pee off a balcony.
For most of human history, there were no bathrooms inside. For much of the world, there still isn't.
Ponder, I'd encourage you, that by the accident of your birth, you have had indoor plumbing you're whole life when 99% of the people who have ever lived and probably 75% of the people alive today, don't.
I used to have to go to my grandmother's outhouse when I was there in Conklintown. It had two seats though I never shared it. And, yes, there were Sears catalogs there to, you know, do the paper work.
I've seen signs in bathrooms that said "The Business isn't finished until the paper work is done."
Ponder this: most of the people on the planet don't ordinarily use toilet paper. A big reason why many cultures find it vile if someone eats with their left hand. Oh, by the way, a lot of the people on the planet don't eat with forks and spoon and knives. They eat with their hands--or at least the right hand.
Steve Arbogast, a seminarian I worked with, spent several years in the bush in west Africa teaching. He told me the worst part of his reentry into American culture was when he went into a Super Stop and Shop and walked down the paper aisle. The shear amount of toilet tissue sent him out of the store to his car. For his time in Africa, toilet paper had been an instrument of barter better than American dollars or Euros.
In the winter, walking from my grandmother's house down to the 'two seater', you passed the strawberry patch, the chicken coop and the storage shed. You don't want an outhouse too close to your house after all. Cold nights the chickens and a couple of ducks would be all assembled around the edges of the outhouse. Decomposing human waste gives off heat, after all. So you'd have to shoo them away with your feet even to go into the outhouse.
It might be appropriate to give thanks for whatever bathrooms you have in your house and for toilet paper.
And, it is kind of manly to pee outside. I'd never pee off our deck...not me...never...don't even think for a moment...even in the dark.....
For most of human history, there were no bathrooms inside. For much of the world, there still isn't.
Ponder, I'd encourage you, that by the accident of your birth, you have had indoor plumbing you're whole life when 99% of the people who have ever lived and probably 75% of the people alive today, don't.
I used to have to go to my grandmother's outhouse when I was there in Conklintown. It had two seats though I never shared it. And, yes, there were Sears catalogs there to, you know, do the paper work.
I've seen signs in bathrooms that said "The Business isn't finished until the paper work is done."
Ponder this: most of the people on the planet don't ordinarily use toilet paper. A big reason why many cultures find it vile if someone eats with their left hand. Oh, by the way, a lot of the people on the planet don't eat with forks and spoon and knives. They eat with their hands--or at least the right hand.
Steve Arbogast, a seminarian I worked with, spent several years in the bush in west Africa teaching. He told me the worst part of his reentry into American culture was when he went into a Super Stop and Shop and walked down the paper aisle. The shear amount of toilet tissue sent him out of the store to his car. For his time in Africa, toilet paper had been an instrument of barter better than American dollars or Euros.
In the winter, walking from my grandmother's house down to the 'two seater', you passed the strawberry patch, the chicken coop and the storage shed. You don't want an outhouse too close to your house after all. Cold nights the chickens and a couple of ducks would be all assembled around the edges of the outhouse. Decomposing human waste gives off heat, after all. So you'd have to shoo them away with your feet even to go into the outhouse.
It might be appropriate to give thanks for whatever bathrooms you have in your house and for toilet paper.
And, it is kind of manly to pee outside. I'd never pee off our deck...not me...never...don't even think for a moment...even in the dark.....
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
My Calendar and Me
Ok, it was like neverending joke around St. John's--I'd have something written on my calendar that made perfect sense to me (I assume) when I wrote it, and I'd have no idea what it meant when the day drew near. Harriet, the Parish Administrator, and Sue, the Secretary, became cryptograpraphers (Sorry, my spellcheck isn't working no matter how many times I click the ABC with a check on my page so I know I didn't spell that correctly--what it means is someone who can break codes) for me and my calendar.
But those days are over since I retired.
Well, I turned to March on my 'one month on a page' Episcopal Church Calendar' and read this on March 8: "Post 1st CaaOP" (all underlined; and below that) "83log" or "831og". It doesn't matter which it is, each, whether L or 1 before 'og', makes no f***ing sense to me.
I have as much knowledge of molecular biology (none!) as I do about what is written in my unmistakable hand writing on March 8, 2011.
I've pondered and pondered what on earth that collection of letters and numbers could possibly mean.
I have one idea. I think that maybe March 8 is the anniversary of my blogging and I was telling myself to "Post 1st COT on blog".
How in heaven's name did that become "Post 1st Caaop 83log"???
I'm betting that's what it means. But do I write that poorly or do my brain synapses fail so often.
Thanks for reading about me figuring that out. If I'm wrong, someone is going to be furious that I didn't "Post 1st Caaop" with them at "83log".
(I've always known I have a little number dyslectia {spell check still not working!}, but this makes me concerned for my learning disabilities in a new way....)
Wait, I just looked closely at what I wrote on March 7 again....The T of Tree, in my shorthand, looks like a P and what looks like '83 log' is really a 'B' that ended up looking like '83'.
Maybe it's not my disabilities, maybe it's my handwriting.
Thanks for helping me figure all that out and tune in on March 7 for a reprise of my first ever blog....
But those days are over since I retired.
Well, I turned to March on my 'one month on a page' Episcopal Church Calendar' and read this on March 8: "Post 1st CaaOP" (all underlined; and below that) "83log" or "831og". It doesn't matter which it is, each, whether L or 1 before 'og', makes no f***ing sense to me.
I have as much knowledge of molecular biology (none!) as I do about what is written in my unmistakable hand writing on March 8, 2011.
I've pondered and pondered what on earth that collection of letters and numbers could possibly mean.
I have one idea. I think that maybe March 8 is the anniversary of my blogging and I was telling myself to "Post 1st COT on blog".
How in heaven's name did that become "Post 1st Caaop 83log"???
I'm betting that's what it means. But do I write that poorly or do my brain synapses fail so often.
Thanks for reading about me figuring that out. If I'm wrong, someone is going to be furious that I didn't "Post 1st Caaop" with them at "83log".
(I've always known I have a little number dyslectia {spell check still not working!}, but this makes me concerned for my learning disabilities in a new way....)
Wait, I just looked closely at what I wrote on March 7 again....The T of Tree, in my shorthand, looks like a P and what looks like '83 log' is really a 'B' that ended up looking like '83'.
Maybe it's not my disabilities, maybe it's my handwriting.
Thanks for helping me figure all that out and tune in on March 7 for a reprise of my first ever blog....
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
My Meyers/Briggs results
Ok, I was in Jungian analysis for 10 years so I believe in and have used the Meyers/Briggs Personality Inventory.
Here's what you need to know. I'm an ENFP--big surprise, huh, to those who know the M/B?
Since I retired I've gotten in touch with my Introvert as opposed to my Extrovert. I've always been near the middle on that and I realize I really enjoy being alone and pondering as much as I enjoy being with dozens of diverse people and hanging out with them.
I'm pretty much stuck with being a Feeling rather a Thinking person and being a Perceptive rather than a Judging person. I'm 2/3 to the FP side from the TJ side.
But I am off the scale completely Intuitive rather than, what is it? I can't even remember, oh, yeah, Sensate. I don't even score on the S scale of the N/F scale.
How I always explained the difference between the two to groups I've used M/B with was this: "A sensate personality takes something that needs to be assembled, organizes the pieces and begins with the instructions (having read them once or twice) with step one. An intuitive personality dumps the pieces out, throws away the instructions and looks at the picture on the box." I am like that to the Nth (ironically enough) degree. I am so N I wouldn't know S if it bumped into me, took my money and left me for dead.
So, after tonight's adventure with Facebook, I've decided it must be a counter-intuitive thing and I would never ever be able to figure it out.
Here's how it started.
I got an email that my friend Jo had written something on my Wall. (Nevermind that in all the time I've tried to master Face Book I've never figured out what 'my wall' was. But I clicked on the connection embedded in the email.
I was told I had "New Answers" to unlock. On the right were endless vertical ads for stuff I didn't want and wasn't interested in.
Jo had answered a question about me so I clicked on the spot and went to a page where there were actually 2 questions about me, though I'd never asked them.
Did Jim ever lie in an interview?
Did Jim ever not pick up a tab?
By the way, FB said 'James' which shows how much FB knows about me....
I needed 50 coins (whatever they are) to open either answer and I had, not unsurprisingly, zero coins since I have no idea whatsoever what they are or how I would get them if I wanted them.
Trying to negotiate away, I was asked if I wanted to 'view my matches'. There were hearts floating out of that question which made me think it was some kind of dating service. The only options were YES or NEXT. I took NEXT.
That brought me to a page that said something or someone called "Are you interested?" wanted access to everything on my FB, whatever that is since I can't find my way around it and have no idea what might be there.
The choice was ALLOW/LEAVE APP
I took LEAVE APP and may have arrived at what may be my 'wall' with 55 things from people I know and don't know with pictures and short sentences that I don't know what to do with.
I clicked on someone I don't really know and got sent--I suspect--to the Universe they inhabit with photos of them in stages of undress. Maybe this is the "Are you Interested" world, I have no idea, but I was able to get back to what might be 'my wall' but isn't anymore since I decided at that point I wanted to unsubscribe to FB and simply give up trying to intuit what the hell it is all about since nothing about it makes any sense to me.
I discovered I had 401 'friends' waiting to be 'friended' or whatever the word is. I also discovered that someone I've never heard of had invited me to a performance of The Highwaymen this Friday.
When I asked "help" to help me cancel my FB membership I was directed to a group called "Cancel My FB Membership" that had 311 members and wanted to 'friend' me.
I finally got to a page with the 'most asked questions' of HELP on FB. The most frequently asked question was "How do I cancel my account?"
Clicking on that I was instructed to go to my account page.
Clicking on that I got pictures of people I really love, including my daughter, 'who will miss you' if you commit social network suicide and cancel your account.
Mimi's picture almost made me hit 'cancel'.
But I'm just sick of trying to understand something that I simply don't understand. I think I could understand how to speak Albanian before I could comprehend what the Reason For and Usefulness Of FB is.
Even from the underhanded attempt to dissuade me of showing me my darling baby girl's photo, it took 3 more clicks and pages to finally do the deed of ending my unfortunate relationship with FB. Plus I had to type in some really goofy semi-disguised words. (Could someone who knows about such thing tell me this: Is there anyone who can't type in the squiggly letters and number correctly, and, if not, why, for God's sake???)
The page that came up when I finally, after 25 minutes or so, committed the equivalent of 'social network suicide', was a page from FB inviting me to join.
At that point I went for the big red X at the right-hand top of my screen.
It is finished....
(I do apologize for my hyper-intuitive personality that was absolutely incapable of joining you in the wondrous--I'm sure--bliss of being Face Book 'friends'. I have 2 phone numbers, an email address and live in a non-virtual spot on the planet where mail arrives. Stay in touch, please. I love you. You ARE my non-virtual 'friends'. I just couldn't take feeling so stupid and incompetent any more....)
Jim Bradley's Face Book Page
RIP 2/22/2011
(All will be well and all will be well and all
manner of things will be well....)
All things considered, I'd rather
be in Philadelphia....
Here's what you need to know. I'm an ENFP--big surprise, huh, to those who know the M/B?
Since I retired I've gotten in touch with my Introvert as opposed to my Extrovert. I've always been near the middle on that and I realize I really enjoy being alone and pondering as much as I enjoy being with dozens of diverse people and hanging out with them.
I'm pretty much stuck with being a Feeling rather a Thinking person and being a Perceptive rather than a Judging person. I'm 2/3 to the FP side from the TJ side.
But I am off the scale completely Intuitive rather than, what is it? I can't even remember, oh, yeah, Sensate. I don't even score on the S scale of the N/F scale.
How I always explained the difference between the two to groups I've used M/B with was this: "A sensate personality takes something that needs to be assembled, organizes the pieces and begins with the instructions (having read them once or twice) with step one. An intuitive personality dumps the pieces out, throws away the instructions and looks at the picture on the box." I am like that to the Nth (ironically enough) degree. I am so N I wouldn't know S if it bumped into me, took my money and left me for dead.
So, after tonight's adventure with Facebook, I've decided it must be a counter-intuitive thing and I would never ever be able to figure it out.
Here's how it started.
I got an email that my friend Jo had written something on my Wall. (Nevermind that in all the time I've tried to master Face Book I've never figured out what 'my wall' was. But I clicked on the connection embedded in the email.
I was told I had "New Answers" to unlock. On the right were endless vertical ads for stuff I didn't want and wasn't interested in.
Jo had answered a question about me so I clicked on the spot and went to a page where there were actually 2 questions about me, though I'd never asked them.
Did Jim ever lie in an interview?
Did Jim ever not pick up a tab?
By the way, FB said 'James' which shows how much FB knows about me....
I needed 50 coins (whatever they are) to open either answer and I had, not unsurprisingly, zero coins since I have no idea whatsoever what they are or how I would get them if I wanted them.
Trying to negotiate away, I was asked if I wanted to 'view my matches'. There were hearts floating out of that question which made me think it was some kind of dating service. The only options were YES or NEXT. I took NEXT.
That brought me to a page that said something or someone called "Are you interested?" wanted access to everything on my FB, whatever that is since I can't find my way around it and have no idea what might be there.
The choice was ALLOW/LEAVE APP
I took LEAVE APP and may have arrived at what may be my 'wall' with 55 things from people I know and don't know with pictures and short sentences that I don't know what to do with.
I clicked on someone I don't really know and got sent--I suspect--to the Universe they inhabit with photos of them in stages of undress. Maybe this is the "Are you Interested" world, I have no idea, but I was able to get back to what might be 'my wall' but isn't anymore since I decided at that point I wanted to unsubscribe to FB and simply give up trying to intuit what the hell it is all about since nothing about it makes any sense to me.
I discovered I had 401 'friends' waiting to be 'friended' or whatever the word is. I also discovered that someone I've never heard of had invited me to a performance of The Highwaymen this Friday.
When I asked "help" to help me cancel my FB membership I was directed to a group called "Cancel My FB Membership" that had 311 members and wanted to 'friend' me.
I finally got to a page with the 'most asked questions' of HELP on FB. The most frequently asked question was "How do I cancel my account?"
Clicking on that I was instructed to go to my account page.
Clicking on that I got pictures of people I really love, including my daughter, 'who will miss you' if you commit social network suicide and cancel your account.
Mimi's picture almost made me hit 'cancel'.
But I'm just sick of trying to understand something that I simply don't understand. I think I could understand how to speak Albanian before I could comprehend what the Reason For and Usefulness Of FB is.
Even from the underhanded attempt to dissuade me of showing me my darling baby girl's photo, it took 3 more clicks and pages to finally do the deed of ending my unfortunate relationship with FB. Plus I had to type in some really goofy semi-disguised words. (Could someone who knows about such thing tell me this: Is there anyone who can't type in the squiggly letters and number correctly, and, if not, why, for God's sake???)
The page that came up when I finally, after 25 minutes or so, committed the equivalent of 'social network suicide', was a page from FB inviting me to join.
At that point I went for the big red X at the right-hand top of my screen.
It is finished....
(I do apologize for my hyper-intuitive personality that was absolutely incapable of joining you in the wondrous--I'm sure--bliss of being Face Book 'friends'. I have 2 phone numbers, an email address and live in a non-virtual spot on the planet where mail arrives. Stay in touch, please. I love you. You ARE my non-virtual 'friends'. I just couldn't take feeling so stupid and incompetent any more....)
Jim Bradley's Face Book Page
RIP 2/22/2011
(All will be well and all will be well and all
manner of things will be well....)
All things considered, I'd rather
be in Philadelphia....
Monday, February 21, 2011
I can see my house from here...
While I was out walking the dog tonight, I ascertained what I already kinda knew--we are on the landing pattern from the Hartford Springfield Airport.
Several planes passed over from the south-west heading north east and coming down while Bela sniffed month old snow and considered passing water or other bodily waste.
So, when you flying into Bradley from most anywhere south of here, you could look down and see our house. Right now it's the one with 9 foot piles of snow near the driveway. In the spring it would be the one with a multitude of brightly colored flowers. In the summer, the flowers and shrubs will be in full bloom. In the fall, there is a red maple in the back yard and a barking Puli on the deck.
So, if you fly into Bradley International Airport from the south, look down and see our house.
The one time my father visited before I went to West Virginia and collected him to come live with us for a few weeks until he started wandering away and then he lived in a nursing home in Hamden: that one time he was a free man and visiting his only child and his daughter in law and his two grand children, the stewardess noticed his last name was "Bradley".
"You're going to 'your' airport," she told him. And she brought him a free bourbon on the rocks because his name was the name of the airport whose landing path is over our house in Cheshire.
He enjoyed that wondrously and talked about it until he began to only talk about things that happened before I was born, and probably you too.
Here's what to ponder under your Castor Oil Tree today: what could you say to a stranger that would mean so much to them they'd talk about it years later?
Welcoming strangers, the Christian (and Jewish and Muslim and Buddhist) sacred writings all tell us, is like welcoming Angels unaware.
Perhaps we should all speak to a stranger every day and try to say something that makes them remember it.
How would that alter the occurring of the universe for both the stranger and us?
Something to ponder, sitting there under your Castor Oil Tree. Like Jonah...like me...like you....
Several planes passed over from the south-west heading north east and coming down while Bela sniffed month old snow and considered passing water or other bodily waste.
So, when you flying into Bradley from most anywhere south of here, you could look down and see our house. Right now it's the one with 9 foot piles of snow near the driveway. In the spring it would be the one with a multitude of brightly colored flowers. In the summer, the flowers and shrubs will be in full bloom. In the fall, there is a red maple in the back yard and a barking Puli on the deck.
So, if you fly into Bradley International Airport from the south, look down and see our house.
The one time my father visited before I went to West Virginia and collected him to come live with us for a few weeks until he started wandering away and then he lived in a nursing home in Hamden: that one time he was a free man and visiting his only child and his daughter in law and his two grand children, the stewardess noticed his last name was "Bradley".
"You're going to 'your' airport," she told him. And she brought him a free bourbon on the rocks because his name was the name of the airport whose landing path is over our house in Cheshire.
He enjoyed that wondrously and talked about it until he began to only talk about things that happened before I was born, and probably you too.
Here's what to ponder under your Castor Oil Tree today: what could you say to a stranger that would mean so much to them they'd talk about it years later?
Welcoming strangers, the Christian (and Jewish and Muslim and Buddhist) sacred writings all tell us, is like welcoming Angels unaware.
Perhaps we should all speak to a stranger every day and try to say something that makes them remember it.
How would that alter the occurring of the universe for both the stranger and us?
Something to ponder, sitting there under your Castor Oil Tree. Like Jonah...like me...like you....
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The End of Life as we know it
So it won't be the rebellion in the Muslim world--Egypt, Tunisia, Libya , Iran, Birayn, and all that.
It won't be the deeply divided Federal Government or the Tea Party that does it.
It won't be global warming or climate change.
It won't be the Stock Market or Health Care or the Entitlements in the budget.
No, no, no, and once more no.
The End of Life as we know it has happened on the Farmington Canal.
The old Canal path is paved for six miles or more through Cheshire and Hamden. It begins just down the hill from where we live. We take our dog there every day to walk for about two miles--the length from Cornwall Avenue to the nest road that interrupts the Canal.
Hundreds of dogs are walked on the Canal. And people are scrupulous about picking up their dogs'...how should I put it...? bodily waste.
But since the snows began, no one carries a plastic bag with them. There is even a little container for dog poop bags at the beginning of the Canal. But for a month now, no one seems to be picking up the poop--and you can't get to the container because of the snow.
It is the snow and ice that has done it--destroyed the social contract that holds the fabric of civil life together. People always picked up their dogs' bowel movements and deposited it in the huge trash can the town provides for just such waste. But no more.
Dogs seem to love to climb up on the snow banks and do their business. Ours does, I assure you, slip-sliding away, he does his toilet. And I don't pick it up and put it where it belongs in the big huge trash can. No one does.
Worn out by winter and ice and snow the people of Cheshire leave their dogs' poop where it falls. When the melt came, it became apparent that we have all abandoned the rules of the tribe that kept us all civilized. No poop picked up. Chaos and anarchy--this is CHESHIRE for God's sake--we are citizens beyond compare, we obey the rules, we keep the trust, we bear each others' burdens and make life safe, livable, and poop free....But no more....
It has been the winter that has broken the bonds on humanity. And dog poop is the evidence that the social contract, the general agreement, the tender tendrils that bind us together into a culture and a society have been violated.
What's next we might ponder if we dare?
The end of Unions in, of all places, Wisconsin?
The Roman Catholics accepting confessions on I-phone aps?
Clarence Thomas not recluseing himself on any Supreme Court ruling involving the Health Care Bill since his wife works for a company that makes lots of money lobbying against the Health Care Bill?
The Chicago Cubs winning the World Series?
How can we survive such thoughts and events?
People of Cheshire, pick up your dogs' poop. Only then can we live in peace and know contentment....The Social Contract is a fragile thing. Only we can maintain it.
It won't be the deeply divided Federal Government or the Tea Party that does it.
It won't be global warming or climate change.
It won't be the Stock Market or Health Care or the Entitlements in the budget.
No, no, no, and once more no.
The End of Life as we know it has happened on the Farmington Canal.
The old Canal path is paved for six miles or more through Cheshire and Hamden. It begins just down the hill from where we live. We take our dog there every day to walk for about two miles--the length from Cornwall Avenue to the nest road that interrupts the Canal.
Hundreds of dogs are walked on the Canal. And people are scrupulous about picking up their dogs'...how should I put it...? bodily waste.
But since the snows began, no one carries a plastic bag with them. There is even a little container for dog poop bags at the beginning of the Canal. But for a month now, no one seems to be picking up the poop--and you can't get to the container because of the snow.
It is the snow and ice that has done it--destroyed the social contract that holds the fabric of civil life together. People always picked up their dogs' bowel movements and deposited it in the huge trash can the town provides for just such waste. But no more.
Dogs seem to love to climb up on the snow banks and do their business. Ours does, I assure you, slip-sliding away, he does his toilet. And I don't pick it up and put it where it belongs in the big huge trash can. No one does.
Worn out by winter and ice and snow the people of Cheshire leave their dogs' poop where it falls. When the melt came, it became apparent that we have all abandoned the rules of the tribe that kept us all civilized. No poop picked up. Chaos and anarchy--this is CHESHIRE for God's sake--we are citizens beyond compare, we obey the rules, we keep the trust, we bear each others' burdens and make life safe, livable, and poop free....But no more....
It has been the winter that has broken the bonds on humanity. And dog poop is the evidence that the social contract, the general agreement, the tender tendrils that bind us together into a culture and a society have been violated.
What's next we might ponder if we dare?
The end of Unions in, of all places, Wisconsin?
The Roman Catholics accepting confessions on I-phone aps?
Clarence Thomas not recluseing himself on any Supreme Court ruling involving the Health Care Bill since his wife works for a company that makes lots of money lobbying against the Health Care Bill?
The Chicago Cubs winning the World Series?
How can we survive such thoughts and events?
People of Cheshire, pick up your dogs' poop. Only then can we live in peace and know contentment....The Social Contract is a fragile thing. Only we can maintain it.
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