I was looking forward to several weeks of daytime 60's and nighttime mid-40's. But we've been near 80 a couple of times already and tomorrow for sure.
A tropical storm is a few weeks too early in the Carolinas.
The Midwest is having tornadoes already.
The Rockies are expecting heavy snow tonight.
California is in a 4 year drought.
But there's no such thing as 'climate change', right, Republicans?
When will everyone be able to admit something is amiss in the air?
Oh, and the percentage of carbon dioxide in the air is the highest last year for, I kid you not, millions of years.
We need to take a deep breath and admit to ourselves that we are killing our planet--and then, if possible, put our heads together to figure out what, if anything, we can do right now.
(We live in the historic district of Cheshire. I met a guy in Stop and Shop pushing solar power. We have a lot of roof and live on a street that goes East to West and would have major sunshine. When I told him where we lived he shook his head. "No chance," he said, "the historic commission would never allow it."
History is more important than the Future.
Odd. Strange. Wrong.)
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
A post you ought to read
OK, I was just streaming through past posts and found this one that has been so ignored. So, if I can figure out how to copy it here, I will. And you should read it.
Really.
Really.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Pelicans
I love pelicans about as much as I love anything...well, probably there
are a couple of dozen people I love more and oysters on the half-shell
and a good Pino Grigio and dogs...most of them, but not the little ones
people carry in a bag and who seem so unhappy. But pelicans are up there
in my hierarchy of things I love.
Oak Island is one of the most prolific breeding grounds of Brown Pelicans on the face of the earth. There are literally hundreds of them there--flying down the beach, diving into the water, floating like ducks on the ocean. I spend a lot of time on Oak Island watching the pelicans do all that. I really love them. And I spend a lot of time on Oak Island telling the people in the house with me about my insights and speculations and imaginings about pelicans.
I happened to say out loud that I'd like to be a pelican for a day. My wife waited the kind of interval you always wait at the beach just because everything slows down there before saying, 'no, you wouldn't like that....' After about 4 minutes, the normal time for a response when you are facing south on the Atlantic, hardly thinking and drinking a little Pino Grigio and watching another couple of dozen pelicans glide down the beach, I responded, 'you're probably right....' I've sometimes thought I'd like to be my dog for a day, but I know for certain I wouldn't want to be one of our cats for a day, or even a minute. I could, I imagine, extricate myself from my dog's mind with little trouble. Dogs are not deep or profound. But being in a cat would seduce me to stay there because they are so inscrutable and complex.
Another time, when I was waxing eloquent about pelicans--how graceful and also clumsy they are and how much I love them--my friend John said, in a random thought, "they don't know how much you love them...."
Astonishingly, I realized how true--like TRUE--that was. And, since I am given to pondering stuff, I pondered it for a while. Does anyone, any creature--besides your dog, who certainly understands--really KNOW how much you love them?
While we were away, my wife, Bern, and I celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary. I sometimes ponder how much of that time we have truely 'been married'. That's a lot of years and stuff happens and the bond is, from time to time broken. I estimate that we have been 'truly married' for about 30 of those 39 years, give or take a year. But that's a hell of a long time to be loving someone. And I wonder if she really KNOWS how deeply and wonderously I love her.
Probably not.
We are all pelicans gliding down the beach, not aware of how deeply and profoundly we are loved.
You are welcomed to ponder that about yourself and God's love. I invite you to do that. And I would write about it except I am still, in my mind, sitting on that wondrous deck, watching pelicans that I adore and knowing they don't know. I'll leave the God's love thing for you to consider.
Oak Island is one of the most prolific breeding grounds of Brown Pelicans on the face of the earth. There are literally hundreds of them there--flying down the beach, diving into the water, floating like ducks on the ocean. I spend a lot of time on Oak Island watching the pelicans do all that. I really love them. And I spend a lot of time on Oak Island telling the people in the house with me about my insights and speculations and imaginings about pelicans.
I happened to say out loud that I'd like to be a pelican for a day. My wife waited the kind of interval you always wait at the beach just because everything slows down there before saying, 'no, you wouldn't like that....' After about 4 minutes, the normal time for a response when you are facing south on the Atlantic, hardly thinking and drinking a little Pino Grigio and watching another couple of dozen pelicans glide down the beach, I responded, 'you're probably right....' I've sometimes thought I'd like to be my dog for a day, but I know for certain I wouldn't want to be one of our cats for a day, or even a minute. I could, I imagine, extricate myself from my dog's mind with little trouble. Dogs are not deep or profound. But being in a cat would seduce me to stay there because they are so inscrutable and complex.
Another time, when I was waxing eloquent about pelicans--how graceful and also clumsy they are and how much I love them--my friend John said, in a random thought, "they don't know how much you love them...."
Astonishingly, I realized how true--like TRUE--that was. And, since I am given to pondering stuff, I pondered it for a while. Does anyone, any creature--besides your dog, who certainly understands--really KNOW how much you love them?
While we were away, my wife, Bern, and I celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary. I sometimes ponder how much of that time we have truely 'been married'. That's a lot of years and stuff happens and the bond is, from time to time broken. I estimate that we have been 'truly married' for about 30 of those 39 years, give or take a year. But that's a hell of a long time to be loving someone. And I wonder if she really KNOWS how deeply and wonderously I love her.
Probably not.
We are all pelicans gliding down the beach, not aware of how deeply and profoundly we are loved.
You are welcomed to ponder that about yourself and God's love. I invite you to do that. And I would write about it except I am still, in my mind, sitting on that wondrous deck, watching pelicans that I adore and knowing they don't know. I'll leave the God's love thing for you to consider.
OK, it can only get better...
A female ex-CEO, a Black neurosurgeon, a Baptist preacher--all the Republican field for President needs is a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker. A few more Senators and Governors and Donald Trump will make this the most interesting field ever for the nomination.
How boring the Democrats seem by comparison: a former first-Lady/Senator/Secretary of State and Bernie Sanders.
Truth be known (and why not?) Bernie Sanders is the first candidate for the Presidential nomination in my life-time that I actually agree with almost completely. I am a socialist (as is Bernie and a good number of people in Vermont). Last year our income was the largest it's ever been. Between my (God love the Church Pension Fund) pension, Bern and my Social Security and my part time job, we had an income of well over $100,000. (Both my children make much, much more than that--as it should be in the old days.) And Bern and I paid NO TAXES because of the IRS rules about ordained clergy and housing allowances and such things.
I would gladly pay 33% of my income in taxes if health care and higher education were free and every family in the country was guaranteed an income of $45,000 a year.
That makes me a socialist. And proud to be one.
If Bernie had a snowball's chance in hell of being the Democratic candidate, I'd gladly give that 33% I'll never pay in taxes to his campaign. But he doesn't have even an ice-cube's chance in hell of winning.
And I am (in spite of what people might tell you about me) ultimately a Pragmatist.
So, when the smoke clears I'll support Hillary, or whoever (beyond all reason) defeats her in the primaries for President.
I am a socialist by ideology. Practically and pragmatically, I am a Democrat.
The Democrats don't, by any stretch of the imagination, come down where I am politically and socially. But they actually have a change to win, so I'm with them as my best bad bet.
Why shouldn't someone like Bernie run for President? His ideas are closer to mine than any candidate I've ever know.
Why not?
Well, unfortunately, we all know. Given how much people hate Obamacare, the best thing the haters can say about it is this: "at least it's not socialized medicine."
Too bad, I say.
But it's not going to change in my lifetime.
That makes me a yellow-dog Democrat (a Democrat who would vote for a yellow dog even if Mother Teresa was the Republican candidate.)
Alas.
And so be it.
How boring the Democrats seem by comparison: a former first-Lady/Senator/Secretary of State and Bernie Sanders.
Truth be known (and why not?) Bernie Sanders is the first candidate for the Presidential nomination in my life-time that I actually agree with almost completely. I am a socialist (as is Bernie and a good number of people in Vermont). Last year our income was the largest it's ever been. Between my (God love the Church Pension Fund) pension, Bern and my Social Security and my part time job, we had an income of well over $100,000. (Both my children make much, much more than that--as it should be in the old days.) And Bern and I paid NO TAXES because of the IRS rules about ordained clergy and housing allowances and such things.
I would gladly pay 33% of my income in taxes if health care and higher education were free and every family in the country was guaranteed an income of $45,000 a year.
That makes me a socialist. And proud to be one.
If Bernie had a snowball's chance in hell of being the Democratic candidate, I'd gladly give that 33% I'll never pay in taxes to his campaign. But he doesn't have even an ice-cube's chance in hell of winning.
And I am (in spite of what people might tell you about me) ultimately a Pragmatist.
So, when the smoke clears I'll support Hillary, or whoever (beyond all reason) defeats her in the primaries for President.
I am a socialist by ideology. Practically and pragmatically, I am a Democrat.
The Democrats don't, by any stretch of the imagination, come down where I am politically and socially. But they actually have a change to win, so I'm with them as my best bad bet.
Why shouldn't someone like Bernie run for President? His ideas are closer to mine than any candidate I've ever know.
Why not?
Well, unfortunately, we all know. Given how much people hate Obamacare, the best thing the haters can say about it is this: "at least it's not socialized medicine."
Too bad, I say.
But it's not going to change in my lifetime.
That makes me a yellow-dog Democrat (a Democrat who would vote for a yellow dog even if Mother Teresa was the Republican candidate.)
Alas.
And so be it.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
I love my 'job'
I don't really have a real 'job'--I'm the very part-time Interim Missioner of the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry (three small churches in Killingworth, Higganum and Northford.
But my 'job' (12 hours a week) is so refreshing and life-giving.
I had dinner tonight with the chair and vice-chair of the Cluster Council. (The treasurer was sick and couldn't make it. We were there, at Cozy Corner in Durham, CT (where the World's Greatest Waitress works). It's a sort-of Italian place with Pizza and hors devours that are really Italian but things like Gyros as well, which are, well, not Italian.
The purpose of the monthly dinner is to prepare the agenda for the 2nd Tues of the month Cluster Council meeting.
But really what we do is enjoy each others' company and enjoy a meal together.
I really love those three people and time spent with them is precious time.
Same as with the three congregations I serve, with two other priests who are Sunday only.
I love these people and these people are my 'job'--ergo, I love my job.
I sometimes talk to people who hate their jobs and feel robbed by them.
I love my job and am given life by it.
How lucky and blessed am I?
More than I deserve, certainly, and even more than that.
Breaking bread with Garnet and Nancy (and usually our poor, sick Ann) is sacrament to me.
That's how much I love my 'job', such as it is and not hard work....
But my 'job' (12 hours a week) is so refreshing and life-giving.
I had dinner tonight with the chair and vice-chair of the Cluster Council. (The treasurer was sick and couldn't make it. We were there, at Cozy Corner in Durham, CT (where the World's Greatest Waitress works). It's a sort-of Italian place with Pizza and hors devours that are really Italian but things like Gyros as well, which are, well, not Italian.
The purpose of the monthly dinner is to prepare the agenda for the 2nd Tues of the month Cluster Council meeting.
But really what we do is enjoy each others' company and enjoy a meal together.
I really love those three people and time spent with them is precious time.
Same as with the three congregations I serve, with two other priests who are Sunday only.
I love these people and these people are my 'job'--ergo, I love my job.
I sometimes talk to people who hate their jobs and feel robbed by them.
I love my job and am given life by it.
How lucky and blessed am I?
More than I deserve, certainly, and even more than that.
Breaking bread with Garnet and Nancy (and usually our poor, sick Ann) is sacrament to me.
That's how much I love my 'job', such as it is and not hard work....
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Like "The Wizard of OZ"
Remember how, in that movie, the world switched from Black and White to technicolor?
That's how the outside of my life has seemed.
After month after month of gray and white, white and gray, I step out on either porch and the world is 'in color'.
We've lived at 95 Cornwall Avenue since 1989--that's 26 years for Bern to make our yards be awash in color for all of spring and summer. We must have tulips in over a half a dozen colors and jonquils aplenty plus early blooming shrubs and ground cover with early blooms. And the Forsythia is at it's height. Plus the trees are beginning to have leaves again. At least a dozen shades of green.
Who couldn't love the Spring?
The world has returned to color.
That's how the outside of my life has seemed.
After month after month of gray and white, white and gray, I step out on either porch and the world is 'in color'.
We've lived at 95 Cornwall Avenue since 1989--that's 26 years for Bern to make our yards be awash in color for all of spring and summer. We must have tulips in over a half a dozen colors and jonquils aplenty plus early blooming shrubs and ground cover with early blooms. And the Forsythia is at it's height. Plus the trees are beginning to have leaves again. At least a dozen shades of green.
Who couldn't love the Spring?
The world has returned to color.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
my mother
I must admit, and regret, that I seldom think of my mother.
Her name was Marion Cleo Jones Bradley. Everyone called her Cleo.
Her name should have been Marion Cleo O'Connor Bradley, but her grandfather came over from Ireland with two brothers and they got into such a fight on the boat they all gave false names at Ellis Island so they'd never be able to find each other in this new land. My great-grandfather gave the name "Jones", a double insult to his brothers since 'Jones' is Welsh. Don't tell me the Irish don't know about grudges....
She died when I was just 25.
The only thing I could do for her as she was dying was feed her vanilla ice cream with a little wooden spoon. Her stroke altered brain didn't allow her to know who I was, but she loved the ice cream and I fed it to her whenever I could.
I'm sorry I don't think of her more. But I don't. I'm 6 years older than she was when she died. I'm 15 years younger than my father was when he died.
Maybe I'll be lucky and live like him.
I'd like to live 15 more years--to see my older two granddaughters graduate from college. That would be a treat...unless I'm drooling and don't know where I am.
But there's time to think of all that.
What I want to do tonight is remember my mother, since I so seldom do.
So, that's what I'll be up to after I click on 'publish' for this post.
Maybe you'd like to remember your mother for a while when you read this. Even if she's still alive, a little remembering can go a long way.
Check it out.
Her name was Marion Cleo Jones Bradley. Everyone called her Cleo.
Her name should have been Marion Cleo O'Connor Bradley, but her grandfather came over from Ireland with two brothers and they got into such a fight on the boat they all gave false names at Ellis Island so they'd never be able to find each other in this new land. My great-grandfather gave the name "Jones", a double insult to his brothers since 'Jones' is Welsh. Don't tell me the Irish don't know about grudges....
She died when I was just 25.
The only thing I could do for her as she was dying was feed her vanilla ice cream with a little wooden spoon. Her stroke altered brain didn't allow her to know who I was, but she loved the ice cream and I fed it to her whenever I could.
I'm sorry I don't think of her more. But I don't. I'm 6 years older than she was when she died. I'm 15 years younger than my father was when he died.
Maybe I'll be lucky and live like him.
I'd like to live 15 more years--to see my older two granddaughters graduate from college. That would be a treat...unless I'm drooling and don't know where I am.
But there's time to think of all that.
What I want to do tonight is remember my mother, since I so seldom do.
So, that's what I'll be up to after I click on 'publish' for this post.
Maybe you'd like to remember your mother for a while when you read this. Even if she's still alive, a little remembering can go a long way.
Check it out.
Friday, May 1, 2015
Baltimore
My son and his family live in Baltimore.
Cathy Chen, my daughter-in-law is even a prosecutor for the city of Baltimore.
So the events there in the last week have riveted me to the developing news.
And, for the first time in the seemingly endless confrontations between the police and young black men, response was rapid, decisive and, I believe, just.
The response in North Charleston, South Carolina, was encouraging. This Baltimore action is full of hope for a long delayed need to redefine 'policing' in the United States.
I'm not sure the severity of the charges will all survive the Byzantine configurations of the justice system, but the decision to charge all 6 officers sets the bar high in any future confrontations.
(I told Bern this afternoon, when we were talking about the Baltimore situation, that I once wrote a story for a college creative writing class where a West Virginia State Policeman assaulted a man in a bar for no reasonable reason. My professor didn't buy it. Truth was, it was the only thing in the short story that was 'real'. I witnessed that assault myself!
So, I never look a policeman in the eye--the way Freddie Gray did. I lower my eyes whenever I talk to the police, which I seldom do.)
If a middle-class, aging white man who is an Episcopal priest has some reservations about the police, God help a 20 something Black man in Baltimore--which feels, in the numerous times I've been there--a lot further south than Maryland.
(By the way, I read a study on line about racism and discovered that the most racist area of the country is not the deep South, but the states of my upbringing--Appalachia. Kentucky, Tennessee, West Virginia, eastern Pennsylvania, South western Virginia, Western North Carolina. At first I was shocked, having grown up there. But then, it began to make sense. western Maryland is part of Appalachia, as is part of western New York. I did go to segregated schools in a county with a 50/50 black/white population--a dozen years after Brown vs. the Board of Education.....)
I heard a speech on radio by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. recently when he asked "How long? Not long..." Over and over he said that. And 50 years later we deal with Ferguson and Baltimore.
How long? Who can say, alas?
Cathy Chen, my daughter-in-law is even a prosecutor for the city of Baltimore.
So the events there in the last week have riveted me to the developing news.
And, for the first time in the seemingly endless confrontations between the police and young black men, response was rapid, decisive and, I believe, just.
The response in North Charleston, South Carolina, was encouraging. This Baltimore action is full of hope for a long delayed need to redefine 'policing' in the United States.
I'm not sure the severity of the charges will all survive the Byzantine configurations of the justice system, but the decision to charge all 6 officers sets the bar high in any future confrontations.
(I told Bern this afternoon, when we were talking about the Baltimore situation, that I once wrote a story for a college creative writing class where a West Virginia State Policeman assaulted a man in a bar for no reasonable reason. My professor didn't buy it. Truth was, it was the only thing in the short story that was 'real'. I witnessed that assault myself!
So, I never look a policeman in the eye--the way Freddie Gray did. I lower my eyes whenever I talk to the police, which I seldom do.)
If a middle-class, aging white man who is an Episcopal priest has some reservations about the police, God help a 20 something Black man in Baltimore--which feels, in the numerous times I've been there--a lot further south than Maryland.
(By the way, I read a study on line about racism and discovered that the most racist area of the country is not the deep South, but the states of my upbringing--Appalachia. Kentucky, Tennessee, West Virginia, eastern Pennsylvania, South western Virginia, Western North Carolina. At first I was shocked, having grown up there. But then, it began to make sense. western Maryland is part of Appalachia, as is part of western New York. I did go to segregated schools in a county with a 50/50 black/white population--a dozen years after Brown vs. the Board of Education.....)
I heard a speech on radio by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. recently when he asked "How long? Not long..." Over and over he said that. And 50 years later we deal with Ferguson and Baltimore.
How long? Who can say, alas?
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