It's been hot in Connecticut the last few days. Nothing like the heat in the southwest, for sure, and no brush fires that I know of. I sometimes wonder why anyone would live anywhere other than New England--land of four seasons without tornadoes for the most part, no brush fires, no 120 degree temperatures, rare but troubling hurricanes, no avalanches or volcanoes. Hey it snows, but it is, after all New England and we are a hardy bunch up here in the Blue States.
Now that I think of it, I don't want people from the Southwest and South moving up here and messing up our Blue State. I just want them to stay put and wait for the liberals moving from the Northeast and the birthrate of minorities to turn the Red states Blue.
On the other hand, I miss the Republican Party of my father and his brothers. They were a pragmatic and level-headed bunch. Where are they now, I wonder....
So, my theory about growing older, if I haven't told you this before, is this: "we just get MORE the way we already are...."
It's been true for me, I know. I get clumsier daily and calmer (I've always been calm, it just deepens as I age) and more liberal about almost everything. And the longer I live I love animals and birds more and more.
So that's my theory and I'm sticking to it--the older you get, the MORE you get the way you always were.
But 'heat' is the exception that proves the rule.
People used to ask me, "hot enough for you?"
And I'd reply, "Hell NO, not hot enough by half and how about a little more humidity....?"
And in the past, I hated, dreaded, was almost inconsolable about the cold. I'd roll into a fetal position and weep and wail if I had to go out in the cold. (I always credited that to growing up in a home without central heat and always being cold.)
But here's the thing. I really don't like the heat I used to love. And cold doesn't bother me much at all.
So, it's not a flaw in my theory about getting older. But there's no danger of me moving to Florida or Arizona. I can bear the heat (getting even more calm than I've always been, and patient to--lots more as I age) but I'm really thinking that if I have to choose being in a place that is always hot or always cold, I would choose the latter.
But I live in Connecticut, so I get some of both. Which is better than Arizona or Florida.
{I've always been introspective even though my role made me extroverted to the extreme. Maybe that's why I write this blog...I get more introspective as I grow older....Pondering is my constant companion....and I like that. I just don't like the heat as much as I used to.....}
Stay cool, Beloved. It is July, after all.....
Friday, July 5, 2013
Thursday, July 4, 2013
The 4th of July (getting older....)
Getting older is very entertaining. You get to encounter lots of open spaces where memories used to be.
I was thinking about writing about the 4th of July and fireworks and then I remembered I know someone (though I don't remember who...) who was born on the 4th of July. Which made me think of that song (which came to me then as) 'huh, huh,huh,huh went to town riding on a pony, stuck a feather in his hat and called it Macaroni...."
Well now I remember it was Yankee Doodle who went to town and couldn't tell a feather from pasta.
But the reason I thought of that song in the first place was that I remembered I knew someone who was born on the 4th of July, maybe a first cousin or something, and I thought 'born on the 4th of July' was in the macaroni song...but now I'm not sure that wasn't another song....
See, when you get older you have lots of stuff to wonder about and ponder since there are blank spaces in your memory from time to time.
I remember talking to my friend, Brendon, and telling him I often forget names. "Does that happen to you?" I asked.
"Not me, Robert," he said. (Of course, my name is 'Jim', so he was....oh, you already got that didn't you...
We were at Jack and Sherry's house this evening eating hamburgers and hot dogs and all the other stuff it is required we eat on the 4th of July, when, somewhere in a conversation, I said, "it don't matter, it's just going to be you and me."
Sherry said, I love that joke but I don't remember it. Wonder of wonders, I did remember it, though, growing older I remember fewer and fewer jokes...or I remember everything up to the punch line.
So I told the joke. It goes like this.
A burned out lawyer from Washington DC moves to a mountaintop in West Virginia to get away from it all. He's there for several months, only occasionally seeing another human being. Then one afternoon someone knocks on his door.
He goes to the door and there is a big mountain fellow there. "How are you?" the fellow says, then he says: "I've come to invite you to a party Saturday night. I live two mountains over, you can't see it from here.....
The lawyer realizes he has begun to miss human contact so he tells the mountain man he'd love to come.
"I have to warn you," the Mountain man says, "There's going to be some drinkin'..."
The lawyer nods, "well, I like a drink myself," he says.
"And there might be some sex as well," the mountaineer tells him.
The lawyer remembered some DC parties that ended up with some of that after some considerable amount of alcohol. "Well, those things happen..." he said.
The Mountain man nods his head a while. "And there might be some fightin'...", he warned.
The lawyer said, "well, with alcohol and sex that might just happen....What should I wear to your party?"
"It don't matter", the big man replied, "it's just going to be you and me...."
(Now, I'm beginning to wonder if I've told this joke before in my blog. Stuff like that happens as you age--you don't remember WHO you told WHAT and stuff like that....)
Out on our deck, you can hear lots of fireworks, but because of all the trees, nothing is visible. I've never quite gotten the attraction of fireworks. I grew up with cherry bombs in every kid's pockets, but the loudness I never liked. I do like the spectacular stuff, especially over water like they do in New Haven. But the stuff there has been all the warnings about--the loud, local stuff...that I've never understood.
I wonder if there were fireworks in Philadelphia on the first 4th. Ben Franklin could have cobbled some together, no doubt. I know fireworks are ancient and like most digital devices these days, native to China. But the connection between the 4th and stuff exploding is something to ponder.
My next door neighbor is blowing up some stuff in his yard right now. Maybe I'll go check it out and see if anyone's hand has been blown off....
All in all, I can't be thankful enough to be an American and to celebrate this holiday each year, though it seems to have more to do with hot dogs and beer and fireworks than with patriotism....
Something to wonder about, I guess....And ponder.
Happy 4th!
I was thinking about writing about the 4th of July and fireworks and then I remembered I know someone (though I don't remember who...) who was born on the 4th of July. Which made me think of that song (which came to me then as) 'huh, huh,huh,huh went to town riding on a pony, stuck a feather in his hat and called it Macaroni...."
Well now I remember it was Yankee Doodle who went to town and couldn't tell a feather from pasta.
But the reason I thought of that song in the first place was that I remembered I knew someone who was born on the 4th of July, maybe a first cousin or something, and I thought 'born on the 4th of July' was in the macaroni song...but now I'm not sure that wasn't another song....
See, when you get older you have lots of stuff to wonder about and ponder since there are blank spaces in your memory from time to time.
I remember talking to my friend, Brendon, and telling him I often forget names. "Does that happen to you?" I asked.
"Not me, Robert," he said. (Of course, my name is 'Jim', so he was....oh, you already got that didn't you...
We were at Jack and Sherry's house this evening eating hamburgers and hot dogs and all the other stuff it is required we eat on the 4th of July, when, somewhere in a conversation, I said, "it don't matter, it's just going to be you and me."
Sherry said, I love that joke but I don't remember it. Wonder of wonders, I did remember it, though, growing older I remember fewer and fewer jokes...or I remember everything up to the punch line.
So I told the joke. It goes like this.
A burned out lawyer from Washington DC moves to a mountaintop in West Virginia to get away from it all. He's there for several months, only occasionally seeing another human being. Then one afternoon someone knocks on his door.
He goes to the door and there is a big mountain fellow there. "How are you?" the fellow says, then he says: "I've come to invite you to a party Saturday night. I live two mountains over, you can't see it from here.....
The lawyer realizes he has begun to miss human contact so he tells the mountain man he'd love to come.
"I have to warn you," the Mountain man says, "There's going to be some drinkin'..."
The lawyer nods, "well, I like a drink myself," he says.
"And there might be some sex as well," the mountaineer tells him.
The lawyer remembered some DC parties that ended up with some of that after some considerable amount of alcohol. "Well, those things happen..." he said.
The Mountain man nods his head a while. "And there might be some fightin'...", he warned.
The lawyer said, "well, with alcohol and sex that might just happen....What should I wear to your party?"
"It don't matter", the big man replied, "it's just going to be you and me...."
(Now, I'm beginning to wonder if I've told this joke before in my blog. Stuff like that happens as you age--you don't remember WHO you told WHAT and stuff like that....)
Out on our deck, you can hear lots of fireworks, but because of all the trees, nothing is visible. I've never quite gotten the attraction of fireworks. I grew up with cherry bombs in every kid's pockets, but the loudness I never liked. I do like the spectacular stuff, especially over water like they do in New Haven. But the stuff there has been all the warnings about--the loud, local stuff...that I've never understood.
I wonder if there were fireworks in Philadelphia on the first 4th. Ben Franklin could have cobbled some together, no doubt. I know fireworks are ancient and like most digital devices these days, native to China. But the connection between the 4th and stuff exploding is something to ponder.
My next door neighbor is blowing up some stuff in his yard right now. Maybe I'll go check it out and see if anyone's hand has been blown off....
All in all, I can't be thankful enough to be an American and to celebrate this holiday each year, though it seems to have more to do with hot dogs and beer and fireworks than with patriotism....
Something to wonder about, I guess....And ponder.
Happy 4th!
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Why I write this....
I sometimes ask myself--being naturally introspective and wont to ask myself stuff--why I write this blog.
Some reasons that just aren't relevant.
I don't write it to 'change the world'. Over 650 posts have produced only 27,000+ page views. About 4 views per post, though some people might look at more than one post in a view. But nothing transforming about that number of folks reading what I write.
I don't write it to give pleasure to many. The statistics above prove that isn't true.
I don't write it to make money--every time I sign on to write I get presented with a scheme to get sponsors and ads--but I can't imagine who would want to sponsor Under the Castor Oil Tree...aging white men who like to ponder stuff? Well, that and about $3 will get you a reasonable cup of coffee at Starbucks.
I write it wishing I could change the world or give pleasure to many or even make a dime or two.
But I write it because I need to write it. I would most likely write it if only a couple of people read it. Or, no one at all read it.
It is therapy for me--and cheap therapy at that--because I have things I ponder and need to write them down.
You see, in the Meyers-Briggs scale of personalities, I am an Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceptive personality. An ENFP in the way that scale puts it. The truth is, I don't know what I "think", being a Feeling type, until I either say it out loud or write it down. Extroverts like me, live in the world outside them, so I don't figure out what I think 'inside myself' but when I express it to the world.
And since I'm Intuitive by nature, I don't have a organized, rational way to think about my thoughts and ponderings--they just jump out full-blown and the only way I can ponder them is in print or in conversation.
Finally, I am off the scale Perceptive (as opposed to Judging) so I have no idea how to evaluate what I say or write until I say or write it.
I am, in the Meyers-Briggs (or is it 'Briggs-Meyers'? I'm never sure) past extreme in the Intuitive, Feeling and Perceptive scales. I'm hardly Sensate, Thinking and Judging at all. I am close to the middle in Extrovert/Introvert--which means I love to be alone only a little less than I love to be with people and....it gives me the possibility of 'pondering' from time to time.
So, that's why I write this--for my own therapy and my own understanding of myself and my own way of pondering what's up inside me and around me.
So, thanks for reading if and when you do. It humbles me to think someone is listening in on my thoughts and writing. And, I would do it anyway, even if you weren't reading.
So (for the third time) if you enjoy being inside my head and heart at all, tell friends. I would write this even if you didn't, but, in my way of thinking....the more the merrier....
Love you...
Some reasons that just aren't relevant.
I don't write it to 'change the world'. Over 650 posts have produced only 27,000+ page views. About 4 views per post, though some people might look at more than one post in a view. But nothing transforming about that number of folks reading what I write.
I don't write it to give pleasure to many. The statistics above prove that isn't true.
I don't write it to make money--every time I sign on to write I get presented with a scheme to get sponsors and ads--but I can't imagine who would want to sponsor Under the Castor Oil Tree...aging white men who like to ponder stuff? Well, that and about $3 will get you a reasonable cup of coffee at Starbucks.
I write it wishing I could change the world or give pleasure to many or even make a dime or two.
But I write it because I need to write it. I would most likely write it if only a couple of people read it. Or, no one at all read it.
It is therapy for me--and cheap therapy at that--because I have things I ponder and need to write them down.
You see, in the Meyers-Briggs scale of personalities, I am an Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceptive personality. An ENFP in the way that scale puts it. The truth is, I don't know what I "think", being a Feeling type, until I either say it out loud or write it down. Extroverts like me, live in the world outside them, so I don't figure out what I think 'inside myself' but when I express it to the world.
And since I'm Intuitive by nature, I don't have a organized, rational way to think about my thoughts and ponderings--they just jump out full-blown and the only way I can ponder them is in print or in conversation.
Finally, I am off the scale Perceptive (as opposed to Judging) so I have no idea how to evaluate what I say or write until I say or write it.
I am, in the Meyers-Briggs (or is it 'Briggs-Meyers'? I'm never sure) past extreme in the Intuitive, Feeling and Perceptive scales. I'm hardly Sensate, Thinking and Judging at all. I am close to the middle in Extrovert/Introvert--which means I love to be alone only a little less than I love to be with people and....it gives me the possibility of 'pondering' from time to time.
So, that's why I write this--for my own therapy and my own understanding of myself and my own way of pondering what's up inside me and around me.
So, thanks for reading if and when you do. It humbles me to think someone is listening in on my thoughts and writing. And, I would do it anyway, even if you weren't reading.
So (for the third time) if you enjoy being inside my head and heart at all, tell friends. I would write this even if you didn't, but, in my way of thinking....the more the merrier....
Love you...
Monday, July 1, 2013
friends say the meanest things....good for them!
I was getting out of my car at the Veterans Cemetery in Middletown where I was going to inter the ashes of a woman I never met but her family told me so much about her that I loved her.
I wear sandals all summer but an interment seemed to me to demand shoes. So, I got out of my car and took off my sandals and reached down to get some loafers out of the well of the back seat and saw something that looked like a guest book under my back seat. I pulled it out and it was, in fact, a guest book that has been under the driver's side front seat of my car since September 19, 2009. It was the guest book for my 'roast' after 20 years as Rector of St. John's on the Green in Waterbury, CT. The program was a "Playbill" like you get at Broadway shows, with my face, looking appropriately disheveled, as I normally look, with my face surrounded by the words "Roast of the Rector".
It was an amazing night and I've wondered for almost 4 years where that stuff got to but only found it because I had loafers in the back seat of my car for an internment.
I read the list of names with great interest and was pained to see that perhaps 10 of those people have shuffled off this mortal coil since then. I miss them all.
But, besides the program and a news article from the Waterbury Republican that was an interview with me and others about the Roast, there was the script for one of the speakers--the first, in fact--to 'roast' me that night. It is the only night since my son's wedding that I wore a tux and I had a yellow vest just to draw attention to my odd dress.
So, I have the text of what Steve Minkler (who was Sr. Warden, Treasurer, all around major domo of the parish for the 21 years I was there. I retired, ironically, in April of the next year since I had 30 years in the Pension Fund and had decided that would have to be the reason I retired since I would have never left otherwise.
I wish I had a copy of what others said, especially what my wife, Bern, said, since she brought down the house several times and what Bishop Smith said. But Steve's is all I've got.
I want to share it with you because it is so mean and so funny and I'm glad I found it after these years. I will, from time to time, put in an aside {that will look like this} to explain some of the stuff he said that might not be obvious.
So, here it is. Welcome to it.
It's an honor and a privilege to begin tonight's festivities by paying tribute to a man and his many accomplishments at St. John's. This man is an outstanding individual whom I am proud to call a friend. He is one of the best in the business and he's brought a lot of class to our parish and he inspires us every week through his work in God's church.
But enough about Bob Havery. {Bob was, and is, the Music Director of St. John's and very classy.}
Instead, we are roasting our beloved Rector, the Rev. Dr. Jim Bradley. And I'm her to ask THE question of the hour: Why are we giving this man a dinner, when some of the best-known men in church history never got a dinner?
Adam--who said to Eve, "Whaddya mean you got nothing to wear?".....never got a dinner.
Cain, whose wife divorced him because he wasn't Able....never got a dinner.
Simon Peter, who embarrassed the other disciples at the Last Supper by asking for seconds.....never got a dinner.
St. Paul, who said to the Corinthians, 'And now abideth faith, hope and charity; but the greatest of these is charity, because at least you can get a tax dedcution'....never got a dinner.
St. Peter, who died, went to heaven and had nobody there to meet him at the Pearly Gates....never got a dinner.
Nostradamus, who predicted he would never get a dinner....never got a dinner.
Ben Him, who said to Ben Hur, "If I do, I'll be Ben Gay".....never got a dinner.
Martin Luther, who, after putting the 95 theses on the door of the church, proudly said to his friends, "I think I nailed them!".....never got a dinner.
King Henry VIII, founder of the Anglican Church, who said to his second wife, Ann Boleyn, "Keep your head about you."......never got a dinner.
Rev. Dr. John Lewis, the Rector of St., John's from 1901 to 1940--(hey, Jim, come to think of it, that's 40 years, he should have gotten TWO dinners)--Dr. Lewis, who said on his deathbed, "How come I never got a dinner?".....never got a dinner.
Scott Moore, our Senior Warden {who is 6'7" or so} whose mother said to him, "stop looking down on your parents!".....never got a dinner.
Jay Anthony, our emcee--who had to leave the funeral home business because all his clients stiffed him....never got a dinner.
Bishop Drew Smith, who is retiring because, as bishop, he's tired of walking in a diagonal line....never got a dinner. (What, no chess players in the room?)
But seriously, we are here to give Jim Bradley a dinner because of his 20 years as the Rector of a remarkable urban ministry here in the city of Waterbury. St. John's is all about building community--16,000 or so people who come to worship services each year, 300 souls a day finding a good meal and much more in the Soup Kitchen, the countless baptisms, weddings and funerals, Americares, Outreach, our growing Hispanic congregation and yes, our famous 'bathroom ministry'--Jim continues to remind us that the Church is here to serve us 'where we are'. Jim, we are blessed to have you among us and blessed to have you as our Rector. Happy 20th anniversary!
{The 'bathroom ministry' was that there was, from time to time, concern about the street people and Soup Kitchen guests who would often trash the bathrooms of St. John's. At some point, I agreed to clean up whatever no one else was willing to clean up. And I did, more often than I like to remember....plumber's helper and mop in hand...I did my ministry, proud and humbled by it all....}
Thanks, Steve, for the memories....
I wear sandals all summer but an interment seemed to me to demand shoes. So, I got out of my car and took off my sandals and reached down to get some loafers out of the well of the back seat and saw something that looked like a guest book under my back seat. I pulled it out and it was, in fact, a guest book that has been under the driver's side front seat of my car since September 19, 2009. It was the guest book for my 'roast' after 20 years as Rector of St. John's on the Green in Waterbury, CT. The program was a "Playbill" like you get at Broadway shows, with my face, looking appropriately disheveled, as I normally look, with my face surrounded by the words "Roast of the Rector".
It was an amazing night and I've wondered for almost 4 years where that stuff got to but only found it because I had loafers in the back seat of my car for an internment.
I read the list of names with great interest and was pained to see that perhaps 10 of those people have shuffled off this mortal coil since then. I miss them all.
But, besides the program and a news article from the Waterbury Republican that was an interview with me and others about the Roast, there was the script for one of the speakers--the first, in fact--to 'roast' me that night. It is the only night since my son's wedding that I wore a tux and I had a yellow vest just to draw attention to my odd dress.
So, I have the text of what Steve Minkler (who was Sr. Warden, Treasurer, all around major domo of the parish for the 21 years I was there. I retired, ironically, in April of the next year since I had 30 years in the Pension Fund and had decided that would have to be the reason I retired since I would have never left otherwise.
I wish I had a copy of what others said, especially what my wife, Bern, said, since she brought down the house several times and what Bishop Smith said. But Steve's is all I've got.
I want to share it with you because it is so mean and so funny and I'm glad I found it after these years. I will, from time to time, put in an aside {that will look like this} to explain some of the stuff he said that might not be obvious.
So, here it is. Welcome to it.
It's an honor and a privilege to begin tonight's festivities by paying tribute to a man and his many accomplishments at St. John's. This man is an outstanding individual whom I am proud to call a friend. He is one of the best in the business and he's brought a lot of class to our parish and he inspires us every week through his work in God's church.
But enough about Bob Havery. {Bob was, and is, the Music Director of St. John's and very classy.}
Instead, we are roasting our beloved Rector, the Rev. Dr. Jim Bradley. And I'm her to ask THE question of the hour: Why are we giving this man a dinner, when some of the best-known men in church history never got a dinner?
Adam--who said to Eve, "Whaddya mean you got nothing to wear?".....never got a dinner.
Cain, whose wife divorced him because he wasn't Able....never got a dinner.
Simon Peter, who embarrassed the other disciples at the Last Supper by asking for seconds.....never got a dinner.
St. Paul, who said to the Corinthians, 'And now abideth faith, hope and charity; but the greatest of these is charity, because at least you can get a tax dedcution'....never got a dinner.
St. Peter, who died, went to heaven and had nobody there to meet him at the Pearly Gates....never got a dinner.
Nostradamus, who predicted he would never get a dinner....never got a dinner.
Ben Him, who said to Ben Hur, "If I do, I'll be Ben Gay".....never got a dinner.
Martin Luther, who, after putting the 95 theses on the door of the church, proudly said to his friends, "I think I nailed them!".....never got a dinner.
King Henry VIII, founder of the Anglican Church, who said to his second wife, Ann Boleyn, "Keep your head about you."......never got a dinner.
Rev. Dr. John Lewis, the Rector of St., John's from 1901 to 1940--(hey, Jim, come to think of it, that's 40 years, he should have gotten TWO dinners)--Dr. Lewis, who said on his deathbed, "How come I never got a dinner?".....never got a dinner.
Scott Moore, our Senior Warden {who is 6'7" or so} whose mother said to him, "stop looking down on your parents!".....never got a dinner.
Jay Anthony, our emcee--who had to leave the funeral home business because all his clients stiffed him....never got a dinner.
Bishop Drew Smith, who is retiring because, as bishop, he's tired of walking in a diagonal line....never got a dinner. (What, no chess players in the room?)
But seriously, we are here to give Jim Bradley a dinner because of his 20 years as the Rector of a remarkable urban ministry here in the city of Waterbury. St. John's is all about building community--16,000 or so people who come to worship services each year, 300 souls a day finding a good meal and much more in the Soup Kitchen, the countless baptisms, weddings and funerals, Americares, Outreach, our growing Hispanic congregation and yes, our famous 'bathroom ministry'--Jim continues to remind us that the Church is here to serve us 'where we are'. Jim, we are blessed to have you among us and blessed to have you as our Rector. Happy 20th anniversary!
{The 'bathroom ministry' was that there was, from time to time, concern about the street people and Soup Kitchen guests who would often trash the bathrooms of St. John's. At some point, I agreed to clean up whatever no one else was willing to clean up. And I did, more often than I like to remember....plumber's helper and mop in hand...I did my ministry, proud and humbled by it all....}
Thanks, Steve, for the memories....
I heart giraffes....
That's what the bumper sticker said on the back of the car I was following through the rain today: "I (then one of those Red Hearts) Giraffes".
I chuckled all the way home.
It's a wonder to me what people put on the back of their cars and trucks. I have four stickers myself: the state seal of West Virginia; a compass looking thing with the longitude and latitude of Oak Island, North Carolina; the red, white and blue seal of the Episcopal Church and a big old Obama '12 magnet.
I used to have a gold and blue magnet with the stylized WV of West Virginia University. But someone stole it when we were in Baltimore. You would expect such behavior in Pittsburgh, but not Baltimore. But then WVU is now in a athletic conference with teams from Texas, Oaklahoma and Iowa while the University of Pittsburgh is in a conference with teams from the Carolina's, Georgia and Virginia. Go figure. Don't get me started on the demise of college sports because money drives natural rivals (like Pitt and WVU--60 miles apart and connected by a river as well as an Interstate) to engage in competition with teams they hardly know. If you get me started on that, I'll lose the train of thought about stuff we put on our bumpers....
I'm fascinated by the little stick figures that must represent all the members (human and animal) of a family, usually on the window of SUV's. But I've also seen a sticker on a car or two that says, simply: "I HATE YOUR STICK FIGURE FAMILY'.
Some people, usually in Toyota Forresters, it seems to me, cover the whole back of their hatch back with left-wing, environmentalist, feminist, multicultural bumper stickers. I have come close to rear-ending them, trying to read as many of the 'equal pay', 'pro-choice', 'save the whales...and everything else', 'US out of ____', wherever we're IN at the time, "tax the rich" bumper stickers.
Whenever I find one of those tree-hugging, ultra-liberal Toyota's in a parking lot, I read them all and chuckle a bit at most of them.
Whatever you think of liberals, they have a much deeper and more expansive sense of humor than conservatives when it comes to bumper stickers. The best right-wing folks can do is "My German Shepherd is smarter than your Honor Student."
And when I see a car (or, more likely a truck, though I hate to label people: with one of those coiled rattlesnakes and the phrase, "Don't Tread on Me" on the bumper, I brake and drop back. No way I want rear-end a Tea Party member. That could get messy quick.
But I must say, "I heart Giraffes" is right up there with the picture of the earth and the phrase "Love Your Mother".
I heart giraffes too, now....
I chuckled all the way home.
It's a wonder to me what people put on the back of their cars and trucks. I have four stickers myself: the state seal of West Virginia; a compass looking thing with the longitude and latitude of Oak Island, North Carolina; the red, white and blue seal of the Episcopal Church and a big old Obama '12 magnet.
I used to have a gold and blue magnet with the stylized WV of West Virginia University. But someone stole it when we were in Baltimore. You would expect such behavior in Pittsburgh, but not Baltimore. But then WVU is now in a athletic conference with teams from Texas, Oaklahoma and Iowa while the University of Pittsburgh is in a conference with teams from the Carolina's, Georgia and Virginia. Go figure. Don't get me started on the demise of college sports because money drives natural rivals (like Pitt and WVU--60 miles apart and connected by a river as well as an Interstate) to engage in competition with teams they hardly know. If you get me started on that, I'll lose the train of thought about stuff we put on our bumpers....
I'm fascinated by the little stick figures that must represent all the members (human and animal) of a family, usually on the window of SUV's. But I've also seen a sticker on a car or two that says, simply: "I HATE YOUR STICK FIGURE FAMILY'.
Some people, usually in Toyota Forresters, it seems to me, cover the whole back of their hatch back with left-wing, environmentalist, feminist, multicultural bumper stickers. I have come close to rear-ending them, trying to read as many of the 'equal pay', 'pro-choice', 'save the whales...and everything else', 'US out of ____', wherever we're IN at the time, "tax the rich" bumper stickers.
Whenever I find one of those tree-hugging, ultra-liberal Toyota's in a parking lot, I read them all and chuckle a bit at most of them.
Whatever you think of liberals, they have a much deeper and more expansive sense of humor than conservatives when it comes to bumper stickers. The best right-wing folks can do is "My German Shepherd is smarter than your Honor Student."
And when I see a car (or, more likely a truck, though I hate to label people: with one of those coiled rattlesnakes and the phrase, "Don't Tread on Me" on the bumper, I brake and drop back. No way I want rear-end a Tea Party member. That could get messy quick.
But I must say, "I heart Giraffes" is right up there with the picture of the earth and the phrase "Love Your Mother".
I heart giraffes too, now....
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Under the Castor Oil Tree explained
I've been reading a lot of Ian Rankin's novels about a Scottish detective named John Rebus. One of the things I've noticed in all Rankin's novels is that Rebus' partner, whose name is Siobhan Clarke, always finds a way to tell someone how to pronounce her name. It is pronounced Shivon, but how would anyone know if she didn't find a way to tell them.
I recommend the series (and there are lots of them) because Rebus is tough and terribly ironic (and I love irony).
All that reminded me to tell people (maybe even some new readers) what "Under the Castor Oil Tree" means...how it's pronounced, so to speak.
My favorite book of the Bible is the book of Jonah. Jonah, you might remember, is called by God to go to Nineveh and convert the people there. He agrees to go but then takes a ship in the other direction. When the ship is about to sink, he tells the crew he has disobeyed his God, Yahweh, and the crew throws him overboard and he is swallowed by a big fish--or a whale, if you prefer, though whales are fishes--who vomits him up on the shore of Nineveh.
He argues with God throughout the book and tells him he knows God will save the people of Nineveh, so why did he drag him half-way around the known world to do it? Sure enough, God saves Nineveh and Jonah finds himself on a hill overlooking that great city 'so angry he could die'. Plus, it's getting hot.
So got causes a plant to grow to give Jonah shade. Then, that night, God sends a worm to kill the plant.
Which just gives Jonah one more thing to whine about. "Why did you kill my plant?" he cries out to God, once again 'so angry he could die'.
So God tells him something like this: "Jonah, why are you so worried about your shade tree--that you didn't plant--when you weren't worried about all those people in Nineveh who I saved through your calling them to repent?" And something about all the animals in the city too.
And that's where the story ends. With Jonah on the hillside, sweating, pondering God's words....
Well, it so happens, some Biblical scholars think that plant, which God caused to grow to shade Jonah and then sent a worm to kill was a castor oil tree. Who knows why they think that? But nevertheless they do.
In a sense, I identify with Jonah. I never, ever intended to be an Episcopal priest. The fish (or whale) that swallowed me was the Viet Nam war. If I had gone to the University of Virginia to get a PhD in American Literature and taught that for all the years of my life like I wanted to...I would have been drafted and perhaps died in some rice patty half a world away. But I was given a 'Trial Year in Seminary' from the Rockefeller Foundation, was exempt from the draft and got hooked on Theology.
So, like Jonah, I sit under my dead Castor Oil Tree and ponder the mystery and mischievousness of God's ways.
That's why this blog is called that. In case you wondered.
I recommend the series (and there are lots of them) because Rebus is tough and terribly ironic (and I love irony).
All that reminded me to tell people (maybe even some new readers) what "Under the Castor Oil Tree" means...how it's pronounced, so to speak.
My favorite book of the Bible is the book of Jonah. Jonah, you might remember, is called by God to go to Nineveh and convert the people there. He agrees to go but then takes a ship in the other direction. When the ship is about to sink, he tells the crew he has disobeyed his God, Yahweh, and the crew throws him overboard and he is swallowed by a big fish--or a whale, if you prefer, though whales are fishes--who vomits him up on the shore of Nineveh.
He argues with God throughout the book and tells him he knows God will save the people of Nineveh, so why did he drag him half-way around the known world to do it? Sure enough, God saves Nineveh and Jonah finds himself on a hill overlooking that great city 'so angry he could die'. Plus, it's getting hot.
So got causes a plant to grow to give Jonah shade. Then, that night, God sends a worm to kill the plant.
Which just gives Jonah one more thing to whine about. "Why did you kill my plant?" he cries out to God, once again 'so angry he could die'.
So God tells him something like this: "Jonah, why are you so worried about your shade tree--that you didn't plant--when you weren't worried about all those people in Nineveh who I saved through your calling them to repent?" And something about all the animals in the city too.
And that's where the story ends. With Jonah on the hillside, sweating, pondering God's words....
Well, it so happens, some Biblical scholars think that plant, which God caused to grow to shade Jonah and then sent a worm to kill was a castor oil tree. Who knows why they think that? But nevertheless they do.
In a sense, I identify with Jonah. I never, ever intended to be an Episcopal priest. The fish (or whale) that swallowed me was the Viet Nam war. If I had gone to the University of Virginia to get a PhD in American Literature and taught that for all the years of my life like I wanted to...I would have been drafted and perhaps died in some rice patty half a world away. But I was given a 'Trial Year in Seminary' from the Rockefeller Foundation, was exempt from the draft and got hooked on Theology.
So, like Jonah, I sit under my dead Castor Oil Tree and ponder the mystery and mischievousness of God's ways.
That's why this blog is called that. In case you wondered.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Tears
OK, I broke down twice this week: first when I heard the Gay Men's chorus sing the National Anthem on the steps of the Supreme Court and secondly (it amazes me to admit) when I just saw Lady Gaga sing it on line at a Gay Pride event in New York, clutching a rainbow flag in her hand.
The Prop 8 and DOMA decisions didn't do what I'd hoped for--a Supreme Court decision as wide as previous decisions on Row v. Wade and in Civil rights cases in the 60's--a decree that made marriage equality the law of the land.
But, given that, the two decisions were stunning and wondrous.
I grew up with a lesbian first-cousin. She was much older than me and is now, sadly, dead, but Sarita and her partner Eloise introduced me to a life that wasn't even spoken about back in the 50's. No one in my father's family ever admitted it because it couldn't be admitted, but there was a lesbian couple in our midst. I loved them both and though I didn't have words to express what I 'knew' about them, I 'knew' it non-the-less.
I remember one day, talking with my father after my mother was dead, so I was in my mid-twenties, and he started talking about how much he liked Sarita and Eloise, how much fun they were. How loving they were with him with my mother died.
"You know they're a couple?" I asked.
He looked confused, shook his head, seemed anxious. "They're roommates," he said.
I pondered that a moment and agreed. "Roommates" I said, knowing how to pick my battles.
They lived in Florida--Sarita and Eloise--and drove to the high school where they both taught in separate cars, never drawing attention to their relationship. How humiliating and wrong that was that they had to 'hide' Who They Were.
Of all my first cousins (and I had over 20) they were my favorite couple. They never, ever had public displays of emotion like the awkward kisses and forced hugs of my heterosexual couples. But I would watch them looking at each other on the edges of things, noticing their smiles and arched eye-brows. They were masters of 'irony', my favorite attitude toward life's ebbs and flows.
I wish Sarita was still alive and I could invite them to Connecticut and preside at their marriage (which my current bishop, unlike the last, would allow).
What amazes me about the GLBT acceptance in society is how fast it happened, while the rights of black and brown minorities still have to be waged. It just goes to show, I believe, that racism is much deeper, much more entrenched, much more DNA deep that homophobia ever was.
I think most people (like my father) who know a gay/lesbian couple are able to love them and, if he had had time, come to accept their love.
Here's how I know racism is deep and murky and hard to admit or dislodge: my son is married to a Taiwanese-American woman. It was a few years after their twins were born that someone said, "you have bi-racial grandchildren" and I realized I'd never thought of them that way. But I know and know fair well, that if Josh had married a Black woman or Hispanic woman, I would think of my grandchildren as bi-racial. Somehow Asians (probably because they are almost always perceived as educated and middle class or above) don't register with me as a 'different race'.
But, I'm sad to admit, Hispanics and African Americans do register on my compass as 'another race'.
So, if I, so Left wing I scare myself, make that distinction, is it any wonder that others, to the far Right of me, don't even recognize their racism?
As I celebrate the rapidly moving 'marriage equality' movement, I am reminded that racial equality has not had such momentum and good luck.
I want, someday soon, to tear up when Immigration Reform (good luck!) is a reality and I hear the National Anthem in Spanish. And I long for the day when African Americans are truly, truly equal and free in the patchwork quilt of ethnicity that is this country.
I long for that--and long for the GLBT community, that has made such advances, to realize that their Hispanic and Black brothers and sisters need their help.....
I really long for that....
The Prop 8 and DOMA decisions didn't do what I'd hoped for--a Supreme Court decision as wide as previous decisions on Row v. Wade and in Civil rights cases in the 60's--a decree that made marriage equality the law of the land.
But, given that, the two decisions were stunning and wondrous.
I grew up with a lesbian first-cousin. She was much older than me and is now, sadly, dead, but Sarita and her partner Eloise introduced me to a life that wasn't even spoken about back in the 50's. No one in my father's family ever admitted it because it couldn't be admitted, but there was a lesbian couple in our midst. I loved them both and though I didn't have words to express what I 'knew' about them, I 'knew' it non-the-less.
I remember one day, talking with my father after my mother was dead, so I was in my mid-twenties, and he started talking about how much he liked Sarita and Eloise, how much fun they were. How loving they were with him with my mother died.
"You know they're a couple?" I asked.
He looked confused, shook his head, seemed anxious. "They're roommates," he said.
I pondered that a moment and agreed. "Roommates" I said, knowing how to pick my battles.
They lived in Florida--Sarita and Eloise--and drove to the high school where they both taught in separate cars, never drawing attention to their relationship. How humiliating and wrong that was that they had to 'hide' Who They Were.
Of all my first cousins (and I had over 20) they were my favorite couple. They never, ever had public displays of emotion like the awkward kisses and forced hugs of my heterosexual couples. But I would watch them looking at each other on the edges of things, noticing their smiles and arched eye-brows. They were masters of 'irony', my favorite attitude toward life's ebbs and flows.
I wish Sarita was still alive and I could invite them to Connecticut and preside at their marriage (which my current bishop, unlike the last, would allow).
What amazes me about the GLBT acceptance in society is how fast it happened, while the rights of black and brown minorities still have to be waged. It just goes to show, I believe, that racism is much deeper, much more entrenched, much more DNA deep that homophobia ever was.
I think most people (like my father) who know a gay/lesbian couple are able to love them and, if he had had time, come to accept their love.
Here's how I know racism is deep and murky and hard to admit or dislodge: my son is married to a Taiwanese-American woman. It was a few years after their twins were born that someone said, "you have bi-racial grandchildren" and I realized I'd never thought of them that way. But I know and know fair well, that if Josh had married a Black woman or Hispanic woman, I would think of my grandchildren as bi-racial. Somehow Asians (probably because they are almost always perceived as educated and middle class or above) don't register with me as a 'different race'.
But, I'm sad to admit, Hispanics and African Americans do register on my compass as 'another race'.
So, if I, so Left wing I scare myself, make that distinction, is it any wonder that others, to the far Right of me, don't even recognize their racism?
As I celebrate the rapidly moving 'marriage equality' movement, I am reminded that racial equality has not had such momentum and good luck.
I want, someday soon, to tear up when Immigration Reform (good luck!) is a reality and I hear the National Anthem in Spanish. And I long for the day when African Americans are truly, truly equal and free in the patchwork quilt of ethnicity that is this country.
I long for that--and long for the GLBT community, that has made such advances, to realize that their Hispanic and Black brothers and sisters need their help.....
I really long for that....
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