I seldom proof read these posts. And the one from Thursday night was terrible. I said having crickets in you head is "a lot worse" than other things. What I meant to say (and have now corrected it to say) is it's 'not's nearly as bad' as other afflictions.
In fact, if I cold choose an affliction if I had to have one. I'd choose crickets in my head.
Go back and read the redacted version. It's what I meant....Sorry....
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Thursday, August 27, 2015
The crickets in my head
I have tinnitus. It sounds like crickets in my head. So, it's very pleasant and rather relaxing to listen to the crickets in my head.
But sometimes they go away.
They are away right now. I was just out on the porch and real crickets were making their cricket noise and the crickets in my head went away.
I remember when I was at St. John's in Waterbury, I'd go sit in the church while Bob Havery, the organist was practicing. And the crickets in my head would go away. Maybe it was some note or series of notes that made them leave. I don't know.
It's rather odd to have no sound in my head at all, since I have it most always.
I hope I'm not getting to the point where I miss the crickets in my head when they're not there!
But here's the truth, as I know it, having crickets in you head is not nearly as bad as most afflictions.
In fact, if someone could promise me that after death I'd just hear crickets for all eternity, that would be an afterlife worth longing for.
They still aren't there--the crickets in my head--and it's been half-an-hour.
What I'm pondering is this: do I want them to come back or not.....?
How strange, to be wondering if I'll miss an affliction....!
But sometimes they go away.
They are away right now. I was just out on the porch and real crickets were making their cricket noise and the crickets in my head went away.
I remember when I was at St. John's in Waterbury, I'd go sit in the church while Bob Havery, the organist was practicing. And the crickets in my head would go away. Maybe it was some note or series of notes that made them leave. I don't know.
It's rather odd to have no sound in my head at all, since I have it most always.
I hope I'm not getting to the point where I miss the crickets in my head when they're not there!
But here's the truth, as I know it, having crickets in you head is not nearly as bad as most afflictions.
In fact, if someone could promise me that after death I'd just hear crickets for all eternity, that would be an afterlife worth longing for.
They still aren't there--the crickets in my head--and it's been half-an-hour.
What I'm pondering is this: do I want them to come back or not.....?
How strange, to be wondering if I'll miss an affliction....!
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Mr. Robot rules!
Mr. Robot is this TV show we like. It is very weird and nerdy--the main characters are Super Hackers who try to even the playing field by bringing down the rich and powerful via computer magic.
This morning, you all know, two journalists in Virginia were gunned down on live-TV by a former and disgruntled employee of their station. The woman being interviewed was wounded. The TV interviewer and her cameraman were both killed. Police followed the suspect on the Interstate and after he wrecked his car, found he had turned his gun on himself. He subsequently died.
So, trying not to think of that horrible act of violence, Bern and I were settled down to watch the last episode of this season of 'Mr. Robot' and what came up were yellow words on a black screen. I don't remember them exactly, but some of it said, 'tonight's episode of Mr. Robot contains a graphic scene that resembles what happened this morning in Virginia. Out of respect for the families of the victims in Virginia, the season finale will not be shown tonight.'
Then, last weeks episode began again.
Who knows what the scene was--reporter being shot on camera or something like that--but Mr. Robot is quite popular and millions of people were settling in to watch the end of the season and they pulled it, just like that.
And they'd only had 12 hours or so to decide that and accomplish it.
I don't expect people who make art in order to make money to be that sensitive. And I realize they had to contact all the sponsors and convince them to pay for another episode and to know that the huge 'finale crowd' they expected tonight wouldn't be there to see their commercials.
It was, it seems to me, a very big deal.
And, beyond that, the Absolute Right Thing To Do.
Which doesn't get done much.
Next week we'll see what the producers felt it would be insensitive to show this night. We'll still see it, but I can't remember the last time I've witnessed that kind of integrity from the media.
I applaud the people who pulled off delaying a top rated TV show out of respect for victims. A rare moment, it seems to me, since many TV shows try to exploit current tragedies in fictionalized ways.
Thank you, Mr. Robot, for being decent and respectful.
(The problem is--where are we as a society when 'decency' and 'respect' deserve a thank you? Shouldn't decency and respect be the norm? It shocks me to the core to realize my reaction to what the producers of Mr. Robot did tonight is the exception and not the rule. We all need to ponder how we can be a part of restoring 'decency' and 'respect' to being the default actions of our society....)
This morning, you all know, two journalists in Virginia were gunned down on live-TV by a former and disgruntled employee of their station. The woman being interviewed was wounded. The TV interviewer and her cameraman were both killed. Police followed the suspect on the Interstate and after he wrecked his car, found he had turned his gun on himself. He subsequently died.
So, trying not to think of that horrible act of violence, Bern and I were settled down to watch the last episode of this season of 'Mr. Robot' and what came up were yellow words on a black screen. I don't remember them exactly, but some of it said, 'tonight's episode of Mr. Robot contains a graphic scene that resembles what happened this morning in Virginia. Out of respect for the families of the victims in Virginia, the season finale will not be shown tonight.'
Then, last weeks episode began again.
Who knows what the scene was--reporter being shot on camera or something like that--but Mr. Robot is quite popular and millions of people were settling in to watch the end of the season and they pulled it, just like that.
And they'd only had 12 hours or so to decide that and accomplish it.
I don't expect people who make art in order to make money to be that sensitive. And I realize they had to contact all the sponsors and convince them to pay for another episode and to know that the huge 'finale crowd' they expected tonight wouldn't be there to see their commercials.
It was, it seems to me, a very big deal.
And, beyond that, the Absolute Right Thing To Do.
Which doesn't get done much.
Next week we'll see what the producers felt it would be insensitive to show this night. We'll still see it, but I can't remember the last time I've witnessed that kind of integrity from the media.
I applaud the people who pulled off delaying a top rated TV show out of respect for victims. A rare moment, it seems to me, since many TV shows try to exploit current tragedies in fictionalized ways.
Thank you, Mr. Robot, for being decent and respectful.
(The problem is--where are we as a society when 'decency' and 'respect' deserve a thank you? Shouldn't decency and respect be the norm? It shocks me to the core to realize my reaction to what the producers of Mr. Robot did tonight is the exception and not the rule. We all need to ponder how we can be a part of restoring 'decency' and 'respect' to being the default actions of our society....)
Monday, August 24, 2015
Where I come from
Where I come from, the southern most county of West Virginia, when you met someone, your first question to them was "where are you from?"
Where I've lived since 1980, when you meet someone, your first question is "what do you do?"
That tells you most of what you need to know about 'where I come from.
"Location, location, location" was the Appalachian mantra. Where you fit into the geography of life was the beginning of a relationship. "What you did" was secondary...not even secondary, rather beyond importance.
Knowing where your roots sunk into the mountains was remarkably telling. I would then have known who 'your people' were and who lived around you and what your universe looked like. I would begin to 'know' you as soon as I could place you in the landscape.
People, where I come from, were defined by which mountain, which valley, which creek they lived near. It was in our DNA to seek out location as a way to begin to know another person.
"Oh, you're from Filbert," meant the person was most likely a second or third generation immigrant from, most likely Italy. "Oh, you're from Spencer's Curve" meant the person was generations after generations a Scots/Irish resident of Appalachia.
When people asked me where I was from and I answered "Anawalt" they knew I was from a town (if you can call 500 people a 'town') and that I was probably of a merchant background or a teacher was in my family. People in Anawalt, everyone knew, didn't work in the mines because Anawalt wasn't a mining camp. Being from Anawalt meant your family sold stuff or taught school. And it was true.
Amazing what knowing where someone was 'from' could tell you about them. Ethnicity, employment, educational level--all that quickly. My father 'sold stuff' and my mother was a teacher. I was the quintessential resident of Anawalt. Knowing where you were from told people what you "did for a living".
It's much more complicated here in New England. Being from Cheshire doesn't tell you a damn thing about your ethnicity or employment or education. All 'being from Cheshire' says is that you're probably upper Middle Class or you couldn't afford to 'be from Cheshire'.
Appalachian 'location' is much richer and more telling than other places.
(This is my third post about being an Appalachian in the last couple of weeks. I need to ponder why that's so obviously on my mind. Most of the time I don't think of it unless someone catches something in my accent and asks me if I'm southern....)
Where I've lived since 1980, when you meet someone, your first question is "what do you do?"
That tells you most of what you need to know about 'where I come from.
"Location, location, location" was the Appalachian mantra. Where you fit into the geography of life was the beginning of a relationship. "What you did" was secondary...not even secondary, rather beyond importance.
Knowing where your roots sunk into the mountains was remarkably telling. I would then have known who 'your people' were and who lived around you and what your universe looked like. I would begin to 'know' you as soon as I could place you in the landscape.
People, where I come from, were defined by which mountain, which valley, which creek they lived near. It was in our DNA to seek out location as a way to begin to know another person.
"Oh, you're from Filbert," meant the person was most likely a second or third generation immigrant from, most likely Italy. "Oh, you're from Spencer's Curve" meant the person was generations after generations a Scots/Irish resident of Appalachia.
When people asked me where I was from and I answered "Anawalt" they knew I was from a town (if you can call 500 people a 'town') and that I was probably of a merchant background or a teacher was in my family. People in Anawalt, everyone knew, didn't work in the mines because Anawalt wasn't a mining camp. Being from Anawalt meant your family sold stuff or taught school. And it was true.
Amazing what knowing where someone was 'from' could tell you about them. Ethnicity, employment, educational level--all that quickly. My father 'sold stuff' and my mother was a teacher. I was the quintessential resident of Anawalt. Knowing where you were from told people what you "did for a living".
It's much more complicated here in New England. Being from Cheshire doesn't tell you a damn thing about your ethnicity or employment or education. All 'being from Cheshire' says is that you're probably upper Middle Class or you couldn't afford to 'be from Cheshire'.
Appalachian 'location' is much richer and more telling than other places.
(This is my third post about being an Appalachian in the last couple of weeks. I need to ponder why that's so obviously on my mind. Most of the time I don't think of it unless someone catches something in my accent and asks me if I'm southern....)
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Appalachians as a minority group
Going through some old stuff I found an old, yellowed article from The Register Herald, a Beckley, West Virginia newspaper from July 5, 1999 titled "Cincinnati designates Appalachians as a minority group."
It seems the Cincinnati Opera has a survey in the program to La Boheme, which included a place to mark your ethnicity. The options were: African American, Native American/Alaska native, Asian American, Latino-Hispanic, White and Appalachian.
(By the way, the second a in the word is a short 'a' for those who live there. It's "Appalatchian" to a native. John Kennedy, running for President came to West Virginia and pronounced it "AppalAchian" which confused even us who lived there and made people pronounce it that way....If JFK said it, it must be true!)
Well, we'd always suspected people saw us as a minority group and that proved it.
Appalachians, when the coal mines were on strike, would go to Cincinnati or Detroit or Toledo for work. Bern's father went to Detroit a time or two, if I remember correctly.
And a joke we told (don't you DARE tell it! since we're a minority group, only 'we' can tell jokes about ourselves...the same as Jews and Blacks) went like this: How can you get 20 West Virginians in a Volkswagon bug? Tell them it's going to Cincinnati....
Cincinnati, according to the article, protected Appalachians from discrimination in employment and housing just like racial and sexual minorities.
There you go. Treat me with some respect from now on and dare not discriminate against me. I'm a minority group! Full protection of the law and all that.
There's a quote in the article from a 1994 LA Times article about Cincinnati that goes like this: "Here in Cincinnati, it is clear that those who retain traces of the hills can be made to feel different."
Well, I have traces of the hills dripping off me. Don't make me have to report you for making me feel different....
At last, civil rights for mountain folks....
It seems the Cincinnati Opera has a survey in the program to La Boheme, which included a place to mark your ethnicity. The options were: African American, Native American/Alaska native, Asian American, Latino-Hispanic, White and Appalachian.
(By the way, the second a in the word is a short 'a' for those who live there. It's "Appalatchian" to a native. John Kennedy, running for President came to West Virginia and pronounced it "AppalAchian" which confused even us who lived there and made people pronounce it that way....If JFK said it, it must be true!)
Well, we'd always suspected people saw us as a minority group and that proved it.
Appalachians, when the coal mines were on strike, would go to Cincinnati or Detroit or Toledo for work. Bern's father went to Detroit a time or two, if I remember correctly.
And a joke we told (don't you DARE tell it! since we're a minority group, only 'we' can tell jokes about ourselves...the same as Jews and Blacks) went like this: How can you get 20 West Virginians in a Volkswagon bug? Tell them it's going to Cincinnati....
Cincinnati, according to the article, protected Appalachians from discrimination in employment and housing just like racial and sexual minorities.
There you go. Treat me with some respect from now on and dare not discriminate against me. I'm a minority group! Full protection of the law and all that.
There's a quote in the article from a 1994 LA Times article about Cincinnati that goes like this: "Here in Cincinnati, it is clear that those who retain traces of the hills can be made to feel different."
Well, I have traces of the hills dripping off me. Don't make me have to report you for making me feel different....
At last, civil rights for mountain folks....
Friday, August 21, 2015
requiescat in pace
Jim Johnson was my classmate at Virginia Seminary (class of 1975). We were ordained deacons together at Trinity, Huntington, WV. I was at his ordination to the priesthood and he was at mine. We served together in West Virginia for 5 years, until I went to New England.
I exchanged emails with him on August 6 and 7 of this year about the 40th Anniversary of our graduating from VTS. He's been the class steward all these years, the one who kept the class informed about stuff from 'the Holy Hill' in Alexandria. He was urging me to be at the 40th Anniversary celebration which coincides with the dedication of VTS's new chapel (the other having burned down 4 or 5 years ago). In fact, I told him, I'd be in Washington DC during that time in October, helping to lead a Making a Difference Workshop, but wouldn't be able to cross the Potomac to be in Alexandria.
I told him about my children and grandchildren. He sent me his phone number so we could catch up more.
And today I got an email from the seminary that he died suddenly and at home on August 8 and has already been buried.
It was eerie to know I must have been one of the last people he communicated with.
I wrote about Jim once. He always wore a black suit and clerical collar, even on airplanes, which is inviting crazy people to talk to you. He flew from LA to Chicago with a business man and had a long conversation with him. Landing at O'Hare, the man asked Jim, "what do you do?" Jim looked down at his black shirt and collar and said, "I'm an Episcopal Priest."
The man replied, "I know what you are, I just wondered what you do."
Interestingly enough, the Making a Difference Workshop is about 'who you are/be' rather than what you 'do'.
Jim, I'm sorry I didn't call on the 7th or since. Go not gently into that good night. Be well and stay well. Rest in Peace. I will miss you now.....
I exchanged emails with him on August 6 and 7 of this year about the 40th Anniversary of our graduating from VTS. He's been the class steward all these years, the one who kept the class informed about stuff from 'the Holy Hill' in Alexandria. He was urging me to be at the 40th Anniversary celebration which coincides with the dedication of VTS's new chapel (the other having burned down 4 or 5 years ago). In fact, I told him, I'd be in Washington DC during that time in October, helping to lead a Making a Difference Workshop, but wouldn't be able to cross the Potomac to be in Alexandria.
I told him about my children and grandchildren. He sent me his phone number so we could catch up more.
And today I got an email from the seminary that he died suddenly and at home on August 8 and has already been buried.
It was eerie to know I must have been one of the last people he communicated with.
I wrote about Jim once. He always wore a black suit and clerical collar, even on airplanes, which is inviting crazy people to talk to you. He flew from LA to Chicago with a business man and had a long conversation with him. Landing at O'Hare, the man asked Jim, "what do you do?" Jim looked down at his black shirt and collar and said, "I'm an Episcopal Priest."
The man replied, "I know what you are, I just wondered what you do."
Interestingly enough, the Making a Difference Workshop is about 'who you are/be' rather than what you 'do'.
Jim, I'm sorry I didn't call on the 7th or since. Go not gently into that good night. Be well and stay well. Rest in Peace. I will miss you now.....
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Deuteronomy 15.1
"...At the end of every seven years you shall grant a relinquishing of debts...."
Somehow I happened upon a website that was called 'Shemitah 2015 survival data'.
I listened to the droning voice for over 10 minutes telling me how Deuteronomy 15.1 predicted both World Wars, the Great Depression, 9/ll and the recent recession and now is predicting a September 2015 melt down in the US that will see both federal and state governments close, banks close and martial law.
I stopped listening at that point. Deuteronomy deserves better.
I never got to the survival data since it doesn't seem any of us would survive.
I hate when people use the Bible to push their own agenda. I especially hate it when Christians (born again, of course) use the Hebrew scripture for their own agenda.
Maybe I should have listened to the whole thing and sent money and found out how to survive Deuteronomy 15.1 next month.
But I didn't.
God, has everyone gone crazy? Is the Trump Affect overcoming all rationality and logic.
Deuteronomy 15.1 for goodness sake. It was simply good agricultural advice and solid socialism. How did this guy get all he got out of it.....?
Somehow I happened upon a website that was called 'Shemitah 2015 survival data'.
I listened to the droning voice for over 10 minutes telling me how Deuteronomy 15.1 predicted both World Wars, the Great Depression, 9/ll and the recent recession and now is predicting a September 2015 melt down in the US that will see both federal and state governments close, banks close and martial law.
I stopped listening at that point. Deuteronomy deserves better.
I never got to the survival data since it doesn't seem any of us would survive.
I hate when people use the Bible to push their own agenda. I especially hate it when Christians (born again, of course) use the Hebrew scripture for their own agenda.
Maybe I should have listened to the whole thing and sent money and found out how to survive Deuteronomy 15.1 next month.
But I didn't.
God, has everyone gone crazy? Is the Trump Affect overcoming all rationality and logic.
Deuteronomy 15.1 for goodness sake. It was simply good agricultural advice and solid socialism. How did this guy get all he got out of it.....?
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