OK, so here's something I don't understand.
How do pebbles get in your shoes?
One of the major questions about the Meaning of the Universe in my book.
I always get pebbles in my shoes when I walk the dog on the Canal. Now, you need to know this, I wear sneakers that are a half size too big (I like loose shoes) and I tie them so I can take them off and put them on without untying them (I really, really like loose shoes).
There is a cinder path beside the paved part of the Canal--on the right, across from the water itself. So, I've always thought I got pebbles in my shoes from the cinder path.
But today, as an experiment, I only walked on the pavement or on the grass near the water and I had to stop 3 times to shake pebbles out of my shoes.
What is the physics about that? How does it happen? Is it just me or do other people have that same experience? Am I cursed? Do my feet expel pebbles from inside my soles somehow? What the hell is going on about getting pebbles in my shoes?
Any explanations anyone out there has?
I think if I stayed indoors I would eventually get a pebble in my shoe.
Am I being paranoid and crazy?
Where do those pebbles come from and how do they get in my shoes?
And should I call the pebbles "Dare". (An allusion for Godspell fans....)
Friday, May 6, 2011
Growing old and forgetting together
Bern and I have know each other for 47 years now. In September we'll have been married 41 years. Amazing.
We are growing old together. And with age comes problems, mostly with memory.
Bern had been looking at houses on the internet, not that we're considering buying by any means, but because she wanted to look at a house near us and see the price and such as that.
She saw a house that she said was where one of Mimi's friends lived--neither of us could remember her name though both of us could remember lots of things about her. The house was on Jinny Hill Road, which is a left going south on Rt 10 just past the McDonald's and what was the last fabric store in Cheshire and is now a Dollar Store. But that's not where what's her name--who did Mimi wrong and it is just as well that she is nameless--lived. She lived on a left off of Wallingford Road, that I know. Bern even remembered it was a left after the retirement condos, which is Wallingford Road. But Bern was insisting it was Jinny Hill Road and I was about to let her be right--which is what keeps you together for over 4 decades--when she realized she was wrong.
Then she said that one of Josh's friends lived on that same road--and I couldn't remember--but she said, "that's where he wrecked that time" and I didn't remember him wrecking there.
So, we're even. Which is another thing that keeps you together for over 40 years...always being even....
We are growing old together. And with age comes problems, mostly with memory.
Bern had been looking at houses on the internet, not that we're considering buying by any means, but because she wanted to look at a house near us and see the price and such as that.
She saw a house that she said was where one of Mimi's friends lived--neither of us could remember her name though both of us could remember lots of things about her. The house was on Jinny Hill Road, which is a left going south on Rt 10 just past the McDonald's and what was the last fabric store in Cheshire and is now a Dollar Store. But that's not where what's her name--who did Mimi wrong and it is just as well that she is nameless--lived. She lived on a left off of Wallingford Road, that I know. Bern even remembered it was a left after the retirement condos, which is Wallingford Road. But Bern was insisting it was Jinny Hill Road and I was about to let her be right--which is what keeps you together for over 4 decades--when she realized she was wrong.
Then she said that one of Josh's friends lived on that same road--and I couldn't remember--but she said, "that's where he wrecked that time" and I didn't remember him wrecking there.
So, we're even. Which is another thing that keeps you together for over 40 years...always being even....
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
being a Patriot
I had a brief email exchange with Bill, who reads my blog, about Osama bin Laden. In my response to his email and the blog from, of all places, The Wall Street Journal, that he suggested (and was helpful) I commented that I am a Patriot but not a compliant 'citizen'.
Here's why I am a Patriot: every morning I wake up, I am grateful I wake up in the US.
I love this land--literally, 'this land', every place I put my foot, the ground beneath me and the privilege to walk on it as a free person.
I love my house, my family, my neighborhood.
And that love keeps me from being a pacifist.
I would engage and try to kill anyone who sought to take any of that away from me.
In the summer of 1969, I went on a bus from Welch, WV with 23 other young men to have a physical to see if I was eligible to serve in the armed forces of the United States. I took lots of medical records that showed that my eye-sight, my allergies, my asthma would disqualify me from being a soldier.
The Army doctor told me, "they told us we need bodies, even bodies like yours" and ignored my medical files.
That fall, on my second day at Harvard Divinity School, I received my draft notice. It did, really, begin with 'Greetings'. I called the Chaplain at WVU, Snork Roberts, to ask him what to do. He told me he'd call the Bishop of West Virginia. Snork called me back and gave me The Rt. Rev. Wilburn Camrock Campbell's phone number. I called him--all this from the hall phone in Divinity Hall (no cell phones back then).
Bishop Campbell asked me about my father--my father served in the WWII. He was in the Engineer Corps. He built bridges for Patten's tanks and after the tanks crossed the bridges, my father blew them up. "We weren't coming back that way," he once told me. About the only thing he ever told me about 'the war'. Most people, I've come to know, who were 'really' in a war don't say much about it.
Bishop Campbell asked me what I was going to do.
I wasn't sure. But I told him I was a lot closer to Canada than I was to West Virginia.
"Are you a conscientious objector?" he asked.
I told him I wasn't, that I wouldn't bat an eye about killing someone coming up my street to do harm to me or those I loved or the ground beneath my feet. Then I told him I hated and abhored the war in Viet Nam. I didn't believe it was just or right or defending my street and my family and the ground beneath my feet. So I wouldn't go.
"What would your father think if you went to Canada?" he asked me.
"It would break his heart," I told the bishop, who had confirmed me at Trinity Church in Morgantown, WV, but who I really didn't know beyond his hands on my head.
"I'll call you back," the bishop told me.
A half-an-hour later, he did. And he told me my draft order had been 'rescinded' and I was a 'Postulate for Holy Orders'. I didn't know what that meant, but it was good enough for me. I didn't have to go to Canada and I wasn't going to break my father's heart.
I was, what?, 21 or 22 when all this happened.
I would have enlisted in WWII, but I didn't believe in Viet Nam. Seemed simple to me.
I am not happy with our wars--the longest in our history--in Iraq and Afghanistan. I wish we'd never started them. I wish we had sought out the 9/11 monsters in covert ways and not killed so many people (our own, enemies and the innocent). I would have gone to Canada rather than gone to those wars.
And, I am a patriot--red, white and blue through and through.
I love this land, this dirt, this remarkably naive experiment in democracy, with all it's flaws and madness and craziness.
But I am not a compliant 'citizen'. I object to much that my government (which I support and would die for) does.
And I am proud that it is 'my government', my nation, my neighborhood, my house, the dirt beneath my feet.
That much is truer than true.
Here's why I am a Patriot: every morning I wake up, I am grateful I wake up in the US.
I love this land--literally, 'this land', every place I put my foot, the ground beneath me and the privilege to walk on it as a free person.
I love my house, my family, my neighborhood.
And that love keeps me from being a pacifist.
I would engage and try to kill anyone who sought to take any of that away from me.
In the summer of 1969, I went on a bus from Welch, WV with 23 other young men to have a physical to see if I was eligible to serve in the armed forces of the United States. I took lots of medical records that showed that my eye-sight, my allergies, my asthma would disqualify me from being a soldier.
The Army doctor told me, "they told us we need bodies, even bodies like yours" and ignored my medical files.
That fall, on my second day at Harvard Divinity School, I received my draft notice. It did, really, begin with 'Greetings'. I called the Chaplain at WVU, Snork Roberts, to ask him what to do. He told me he'd call the Bishop of West Virginia. Snork called me back and gave me The Rt. Rev. Wilburn Camrock Campbell's phone number. I called him--all this from the hall phone in Divinity Hall (no cell phones back then).
Bishop Campbell asked me about my father--my father served in the WWII. He was in the Engineer Corps. He built bridges for Patten's tanks and after the tanks crossed the bridges, my father blew them up. "We weren't coming back that way," he once told me. About the only thing he ever told me about 'the war'. Most people, I've come to know, who were 'really' in a war don't say much about it.
Bishop Campbell asked me what I was going to do.
I wasn't sure. But I told him I was a lot closer to Canada than I was to West Virginia.
"Are you a conscientious objector?" he asked.
I told him I wasn't, that I wouldn't bat an eye about killing someone coming up my street to do harm to me or those I loved or the ground beneath my feet. Then I told him I hated and abhored the war in Viet Nam. I didn't believe it was just or right or defending my street and my family and the ground beneath my feet. So I wouldn't go.
"What would your father think if you went to Canada?" he asked me.
"It would break his heart," I told the bishop, who had confirmed me at Trinity Church in Morgantown, WV, but who I really didn't know beyond his hands on my head.
"I'll call you back," the bishop told me.
A half-an-hour later, he did. And he told me my draft order had been 'rescinded' and I was a 'Postulate for Holy Orders'. I didn't know what that meant, but it was good enough for me. I didn't have to go to Canada and I wasn't going to break my father's heart.
I was, what?, 21 or 22 when all this happened.
I would have enlisted in WWII, but I didn't believe in Viet Nam. Seemed simple to me.
I am not happy with our wars--the longest in our history--in Iraq and Afghanistan. I wish we'd never started them. I wish we had sought out the 9/11 monsters in covert ways and not killed so many people (our own, enemies and the innocent). I would have gone to Canada rather than gone to those wars.
And, I am a patriot--red, white and blue through and through.
I love this land, this dirt, this remarkably naive experiment in democracy, with all it's flaws and madness and craziness.
But I am not a compliant 'citizen'. I object to much that my government (which I support and would die for) does.
And I am proud that it is 'my government', my nation, my neighborhood, my house, the dirt beneath my feet.
That much is truer than true.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Ding Dong, the Witch is dead....
I've spent much of my day--as I'm sure you have--hearing more and more details about the death of Osama bin Laden.
Like most sane people, I figure the world is better off without him in it.
And I do understand the joy and relief people feel who lost loved ones in 9/11 and other terrorist attacks.
And I am proud to be defended by such warriors as Navy Seals. God bless them.
And, I must say, I am proud and glad that President Obama is showing up so decisive and thoughtful and masterful in the whole thing. I love the President and am thankful for anything that shows him off as the remarkable man and leader he is.
And, in spite of all that, I harbor deep reservations about a policy that can only be seen as state sponsored assassination (a more politically correct word for 'murder').
What I hear, listening most of the day, is that the mission was not to apprehend or capture...but to kill Osama.
I well know Osama alive would be more trouble, much more trouble than him dead. I well know he couldn't ever be prosecuted in a court in the US with anywhere near a 'fair trial' much less a jury of his 'peers'.
Yet, it troubles me. It just does.
I'm just a purist about the limits on the government. I know, believe me, I know, most people consider him a enemy combatant.
But it gives me pause that we simply went to kill him. It just does.
Like most sane people, I figure the world is better off without him in it.
And I do understand the joy and relief people feel who lost loved ones in 9/11 and other terrorist attacks.
And I am proud to be defended by such warriors as Navy Seals. God bless them.
And, I must say, I am proud and glad that President Obama is showing up so decisive and thoughtful and masterful in the whole thing. I love the President and am thankful for anything that shows him off as the remarkable man and leader he is.
And, in spite of all that, I harbor deep reservations about a policy that can only be seen as state sponsored assassination (a more politically correct word for 'murder').
What I hear, listening most of the day, is that the mission was not to apprehend or capture...but to kill Osama.
I well know Osama alive would be more trouble, much more trouble than him dead. I well know he couldn't ever be prosecuted in a court in the US with anywhere near a 'fair trial' much less a jury of his 'peers'.
Yet, it troubles me. It just does.
I'm just a purist about the limits on the government. I know, believe me, I know, most people consider him a enemy combatant.
But it gives me pause that we simply went to kill him. It just does.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
more information
So, there was a blog on June 29, 2010 about the end of last year's robin saga.
Just thought I'd let you know.
I'll be keeping you updated on this year's brood....
Everyone needs a robin nest on their front porch....It seems, I think, to make me a better person....
Just thought I'd let you know.
I'll be keeping you updated on this year's brood....
Everyone needs a robin nest on their front porch....It seems, I think, to make me a better person....
They're baaaccckkk....
I went back and checked the archives of my blog--last May 1...2010...I wrote a blog about the robins who built a nest on the old alarm system alarm on our front porch, just to the right of the front door when you walk out of our house.
There are lots more blogs after that--my thinking they abandoned the nest, cow bird problems, lots of thing, finally baby robins and all the joy that entails.
Well, they're back. The same robin couple, I believe, the look the same but how am I to be able to tell one robin from another? Daddy is 'huge', really big. Today, when I was on the back deck, where I can't even see the nest, he sat on a tree near me and yelled at me for a long time. We see him all over, in trees where he can see the nest, guarding.
Mama is sitting on what I can only assume are more eggs. She's always there. On the Monday of Easter week, when Josh and Cathy and the girls were leaving, I showed Josh and Tegan the nest and Mama flew out, almost bumping Tegan's face. Tegan is 18 months old and the look she gave me when the bird flew so close to her would define 'amazement' and 'astonishment'.
She is used to us now, the bird, I mean, and when I go out or come in, I say, "Hey, mama..."
Last year, if you go back and read my blogs, I was anxious to the extreme about her and the nest and her eggs and then babies, who finally flew away.
This year, I'm mellow about the whole thing.
It's just like your second child. We were frantic and crazy and anxious about everything about Josh. When Mimi came along we were like "well, whatever" and so calm and nonplussed about the whole baby thing.
I love the robins on our front porch. This year, I love them without anxiety.
By the way, a storm blew the nest down in construction and I thought they'd leave, but they build it again and Mama is sitting on it non-stop and Dad is guarding it and bringing Mama food.
I can't wait for the second generation of Robin babies....
What joy.....
There are lots more blogs after that--my thinking they abandoned the nest, cow bird problems, lots of thing, finally baby robins and all the joy that entails.
Well, they're back. The same robin couple, I believe, the look the same but how am I to be able to tell one robin from another? Daddy is 'huge', really big. Today, when I was on the back deck, where I can't even see the nest, he sat on a tree near me and yelled at me for a long time. We see him all over, in trees where he can see the nest, guarding.
Mama is sitting on what I can only assume are more eggs. She's always there. On the Monday of Easter week, when Josh and Cathy and the girls were leaving, I showed Josh and Tegan the nest and Mama flew out, almost bumping Tegan's face. Tegan is 18 months old and the look she gave me when the bird flew so close to her would define 'amazement' and 'astonishment'.
She is used to us now, the bird, I mean, and when I go out or come in, I say, "Hey, mama..."
Last year, if you go back and read my blogs, I was anxious to the extreme about her and the nest and her eggs and then babies, who finally flew away.
This year, I'm mellow about the whole thing.
It's just like your second child. We were frantic and crazy and anxious about everything about Josh. When Mimi came along we were like "well, whatever" and so calm and nonplussed about the whole baby thing.
I love the robins on our front porch. This year, I love them without anxiety.
By the way, a storm blew the nest down in construction and I thought they'd leave, but they build it again and Mama is sitting on it non-stop and Dad is guarding it and bringing Mama food.
I can't wait for the second generation of Robin babies....
What joy.....
Friday, April 29, 2011
the world I live in
I live in a world where there are lots of locally owned, small jewelry stores.
I needed a new watch band, mine about to break completely off on one side, so I went to my local jewelry store to get one.
Problem is, there is not a single jewelry store in Cheshire. I went to the one I remembered, in the same building with a pizza shop and, much to my chagrin, I found a cupcake store where the watchbands should be.
So I got in my car and drove down RT 10 to Hamden. Hamden is, I believe, the largest town in square miles in the state...may be wrong but I think so. I think I drove most of Hamden--down Dixwell and cutting across and coming back on Whitney. Miles and miles I drove. But no jewelry store. None. Not one. I found one place that was a clock and watch store, but it only sold clocks and watches, no replacement watch bands.
Finally, after vowing to the Baby Jesus I'd never do it, I went to Walmart in Hamden Plaza and found a watch band. It is, I believe, only the third time in my life I've been in a Walmart. Once in West Virginia on a whim. And once in CT because I needed something they would surely have. I hate Walmart--aisles too narrow, stuff piled too high, too much stuff. But I broke my solemn vow and went there, there being no little neighborhood jewelry stores in the two towns of Cheshire and Hamden. (Oh, I know I could have found a jewelry store in a mall in Meriden or Waterbury, but I resent malls only a little less than I resent Walmart.)
I was walking the dog this afternoon and realized that all my neighbors had dug up the dandelions in their yards and thrown them out onto Cornwall Ave. I was horrified! Where I grew up dandelions were a food group, just like gravy. You mostly ate them wilted in bacon renderings, but they were also good unwilted. For Easter dinner, we had dandelion risotto Jack made from dandelions he picked on the grounds of Bethesda Lutheran Church in New Haven. It was heavenly. (I even, years ago, had some dandelion wine...it's not Pino Grigio, but it is pretty good.)
No local jewelry stores, people wasting dandelions--what else is an illusion in the world I live in.
I live in a world where people drink water from a faucet instead of a plastic bottle.
I live in a world where phones have rotary dials.
I live in a world where most everyone smokes.
I live in a world where people 'drop in' rather than email.
I live in a world where you call your doctors by their first name (since they do that to you....)
I live in a world where people give great respect to the President whether they agree with him or not.
I live in a world where 'please' and 'thank you' are the two things you say most often.
I live in a world where athletes are heroes, not criminals.
I live in a world where everyone agrees that everyone should have healthcare.
I live in a world where FACEBOOK isn't the 'social network', the 'social network' is you friends and family.
I live in a world where strangers are simply friends you haven't met.
I live in a world where God is Love rather than Judge.
I live in a world that includes drug stores that have a soda fountain.
I live in a world where there was a mechanic where you get your gas rather than a convenience store.
I know, I know, I really know--I live in an illusion.
But, it is my world and I prefer it.
Welcome to my world.
Want to join me...?
I needed a new watch band, mine about to break completely off on one side, so I went to my local jewelry store to get one.
Problem is, there is not a single jewelry store in Cheshire. I went to the one I remembered, in the same building with a pizza shop and, much to my chagrin, I found a cupcake store where the watchbands should be.
So I got in my car and drove down RT 10 to Hamden. Hamden is, I believe, the largest town in square miles in the state...may be wrong but I think so. I think I drove most of Hamden--down Dixwell and cutting across and coming back on Whitney. Miles and miles I drove. But no jewelry store. None. Not one. I found one place that was a clock and watch store, but it only sold clocks and watches, no replacement watch bands.
Finally, after vowing to the Baby Jesus I'd never do it, I went to Walmart in Hamden Plaza and found a watch band. It is, I believe, only the third time in my life I've been in a Walmart. Once in West Virginia on a whim. And once in CT because I needed something they would surely have. I hate Walmart--aisles too narrow, stuff piled too high, too much stuff. But I broke my solemn vow and went there, there being no little neighborhood jewelry stores in the two towns of Cheshire and Hamden. (Oh, I know I could have found a jewelry store in a mall in Meriden or Waterbury, but I resent malls only a little less than I resent Walmart.)
I was walking the dog this afternoon and realized that all my neighbors had dug up the dandelions in their yards and thrown them out onto Cornwall Ave. I was horrified! Where I grew up dandelions were a food group, just like gravy. You mostly ate them wilted in bacon renderings, but they were also good unwilted. For Easter dinner, we had dandelion risotto Jack made from dandelions he picked on the grounds of Bethesda Lutheran Church in New Haven. It was heavenly. (I even, years ago, had some dandelion wine...it's not Pino Grigio, but it is pretty good.)
No local jewelry stores, people wasting dandelions--what else is an illusion in the world I live in.
I live in a world where people drink water from a faucet instead of a plastic bottle.
I live in a world where phones have rotary dials.
I live in a world where most everyone smokes.
I live in a world where people 'drop in' rather than email.
I live in a world where you call your doctors by their first name (since they do that to you....)
I live in a world where people give great respect to the President whether they agree with him or not.
I live in a world where 'please' and 'thank you' are the two things you say most often.
I live in a world where athletes are heroes, not criminals.
I live in a world where everyone agrees that everyone should have healthcare.
I live in a world where FACEBOOK isn't the 'social network', the 'social network' is you friends and family.
I live in a world where strangers are simply friends you haven't met.
I live in a world where God is Love rather than Judge.
I live in a world that includes drug stores that have a soda fountain.
I live in a world where there was a mechanic where you get your gas rather than a convenience store.
I know, I know, I really know--I live in an illusion.
But, it is my world and I prefer it.
Welcome to my world.
Want to join me...?
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