Bern and I were sitting outside our hotel in Rome the night before we flew back to the US when a couple from Buffalo came across the street to the hotel and engaged us in conversation.
The man was clearly pretty drunk on Italian wine--and who could blame him? He told me every Italian he'd met asked about how on earth could Donald Trump be a candidate for President of the USA. Clearly, he'd been with people I hadn't been with since no one asked me that. But he'd been in a bar across the street and obviously was conversational.
He told me that when they asked him who he was going to vote for he told them 'he didn't know yet'.
I told him to hold his nose if he had to, but to vote for Hillary.
His wife agreed with me. Just goes to show that the possible Trump voters are mostly middle-aged white men from places like Buffalo, who are a bit drunk.
One part of me--the part that believes in Americans as sane and decent people--tells me the election is going to be worse than the Goldwater debacle for Republicans.
Another part of me--the part that talks to drunk men from Buffalo in Rome--tells me that might not be true.
God help the first part of me be right.....
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Lunch in Etruscian caves
We had lunch one day in Siena in caves carved out by the Etruscians--the folks who pre-dated the Italians.
There was no Etruscian written language so all that is know about them is hear-say and conjecture.
But they made caves under Siena. And we had lunch on the second level of them--there were two more levels below. And incredible meal in an astonishing space.
The three 'girls' sat at a different table across from Josh, Cathy, Dan, Bern and me. And they were remarkably grown up about it. The staff treated them as if they were alone and even offered them the check!
What a place.
So Italy has a 'native people' about which they know about what we know about native Americans.
Someone is always pushing someone out.
The Etruscian culture was deeply woven into the land of Tuscany. And yet they know so little about it.
Again, like us and Native Americans.
But I've never eaten in a restaurant Native Americans dug out under a modern city.
That's different. And haunting.
And, once more, a great Siena meal.
There was no Etruscian written language so all that is know about them is hear-say and conjecture.
But they made caves under Siena. And we had lunch on the second level of them--there were two more levels below. And incredible meal in an astonishing space.
The three 'girls' sat at a different table across from Josh, Cathy, Dan, Bern and me. And they were remarkably grown up about it. The staff treated them as if they were alone and even offered them the check!
What a place.
So Italy has a 'native people' about which they know about what we know about native Americans.
Someone is always pushing someone out.
The Etruscian culture was deeply woven into the land of Tuscany. And yet they know so little about it.
Again, like us and Native Americans.
But I've never eaten in a restaurant Native Americans dug out under a modern city.
That's different. And haunting.
And, once more, a great Siena meal.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
My name is Jim and I have sleep apnea.
The internet has made us all stupid. Nobody knows anything anymore because they assume they can take out their smart phone and google whatever it is.
I have a C-path machine for my apnea. I love it. It makes my life much better than it would otherwise be. I take it wherever I go.
When I'm in Ireland, the Conference Center where we meet has a DC/AC machine. It weighs about 15 pounds and is about the size of a breadbox (for those who can remember what size a breadbox was--or even 'what' a breadbox was). You plug it into Direct Current and plug your machine into the other side and DC miraculously becomes AC and your C-Path works!
Before we left for Italy I tried to buy one of those machines (the DC/AC converter) but really couldn't find one that I thought was similar to the one in Ireland. So I surfed the internet for days, trying to find out what exactly I needed to use my C-path in Italy. There was entirely too much information and not anything specific enough to respond to googling "How to use an American C-Path in Italy".
I called my supplier for the machine and nobody really knew but all told me to google it.
I called the manufacturer of my machine and spoke to an engineer who gave me the details on a plug that he was reasonably sure would work. Beware of engineer's who are 'reasonably sure' and use the internet!
I ordered the plug and didn't believe it would work. So, I took it to my Tuesday group where the two smartest people I know attend. I showed them the plug and the information that came with it and they were 'reasonably sure' it would work.
It worked one night in Italy and then burned my machine to a crisp.
Now, trying to get a new machine has turned into a nightmare since no knows anything anymore and the internet has 1,345,856 hits, none of which say: "Do this to replace your C-Path machine".
My supplier's fax number refused to receive my GP's Rx. So I had him refer me to the sleep center where I went 10 years or more ago, which was Gaylord then and Yale-New Haven Hospital now. So, I have to wait to see them before I get my machine. If, that is, they can locate the Gaylord records!!!
I wake up congested--which I never do with the machine. I seem about to doze off from time to time (which I never do with the machine). And I'm snoring, Bern tells me (which I never do with the machine.)
I just want a new machine. That's all.
But, beyond that I want people to 'know' stuff again and the internet to die a painful, horrible, exhausting death.
Just that. That's all.
I have a C-path machine for my apnea. I love it. It makes my life much better than it would otherwise be. I take it wherever I go.
When I'm in Ireland, the Conference Center where we meet has a DC/AC machine. It weighs about 15 pounds and is about the size of a breadbox (for those who can remember what size a breadbox was--or even 'what' a breadbox was). You plug it into Direct Current and plug your machine into the other side and DC miraculously becomes AC and your C-Path works!
Before we left for Italy I tried to buy one of those machines (the DC/AC converter) but really couldn't find one that I thought was similar to the one in Ireland. So I surfed the internet for days, trying to find out what exactly I needed to use my C-path in Italy. There was entirely too much information and not anything specific enough to respond to googling "How to use an American C-Path in Italy".
I called my supplier for the machine and nobody really knew but all told me to google it.
I called the manufacturer of my machine and spoke to an engineer who gave me the details on a plug that he was reasonably sure would work. Beware of engineer's who are 'reasonably sure' and use the internet!
I ordered the plug and didn't believe it would work. So, I took it to my Tuesday group where the two smartest people I know attend. I showed them the plug and the information that came with it and they were 'reasonably sure' it would work.
It worked one night in Italy and then burned my machine to a crisp.
Now, trying to get a new machine has turned into a nightmare since no knows anything anymore and the internet has 1,345,856 hits, none of which say: "Do this to replace your C-Path machine".
My supplier's fax number refused to receive my GP's Rx. So I had him refer me to the sleep center where I went 10 years or more ago, which was Gaylord then and Yale-New Haven Hospital now. So, I have to wait to see them before I get my machine. If, that is, they can locate the Gaylord records!!!
I wake up congested--which I never do with the machine. I seem about to doze off from time to time (which I never do with the machine). And I'm snoring, Bern tells me (which I never do with the machine.)
I just want a new machine. That's all.
But, beyond that I want people to 'know' stuff again and the internet to die a painful, horrible, exhausting death.
Just that. That's all.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Siena food
In a city the size of Siena, Italy (80,000 or so souls) there is surely some 'not so good food'. But in the week we were there I didn't find any.
I actually ate pasta with wild boar. I would have told you a week ago I would never, ever, not in a million years, eat wild boar. But I did. And it was magnificent (though I hate to admit it)!
I ate lots of pasta and lots of cured meat and lots of cheese in Siena. And all of it was wondrous. The last night, in Rome, I had swordfish in a remarkable onion sauce as well.
Once for lunch at the Palio in Siena, I had procuttia (sp--my spell check is being difficult), the best half a cantalope I've ever had and a motzarella ball the size of a baseball. Incredible.
There was this one rustic, local place a short walk from the villa where we ate two dinners, where only the chef really spoke English. She came out each time to translate our orders to the waiter. After the second night (she was delighted--folks in Italy really want to use their English skills) I went back to the kitchen and thanked her for her translation and more, much more, for her food.
Even the few meals we cooked in the villa were seemingly better than they would have been at home. Eggs and butter are much better Italian style. I did a dinner of Pica (the ultra fat spaghetti of Siena) with oil, creamy butter, red onion, arrugla and lots of cheese that I couldn't reproduce here on a bet.
Siena is simply a place for food.
And we ate it and ate it and ate it. World without End. Amen.
Thank you Italy for the food. And did I mention the wine????
I actually ate pasta with wild boar. I would have told you a week ago I would never, ever, not in a million years, eat wild boar. But I did. And it was magnificent (though I hate to admit it)!
I ate lots of pasta and lots of cured meat and lots of cheese in Siena. And all of it was wondrous. The last night, in Rome, I had swordfish in a remarkable onion sauce as well.
Once for lunch at the Palio in Siena, I had procuttia (sp--my spell check is being difficult), the best half a cantalope I've ever had and a motzarella ball the size of a baseball. Incredible.
There was this one rustic, local place a short walk from the villa where we ate two dinners, where only the chef really spoke English. She came out each time to translate our orders to the waiter. After the second night (she was delighted--folks in Italy really want to use their English skills) I went back to the kitchen and thanked her for her translation and more, much more, for her food.
Even the few meals we cooked in the villa were seemingly better than they would have been at home. Eggs and butter are much better Italian style. I did a dinner of Pica (the ultra fat spaghetti of Siena) with oil, creamy butter, red onion, arrugla and lots of cheese that I couldn't reproduce here on a bet.
Siena is simply a place for food.
And we ate it and ate it and ate it. World without End. Amen.
Thank you Italy for the food. And did I mention the wine????
Solstice (a day early)
It's 8:39 p.m. and I just came in from the deck where I was reading a book. I could probably have stayed a few more minutes before it was too dark to read.
I love the Solstice. I don't paint myself blue and dance around like my ancient ancestors did in the British Isles, but I do love the longest day of the year. I was looking forward to the 'Strawberry Moon'--what a full moon on June 21 is called. There are decades between on Strawberry Moon and the next, but it's cloudy in Connecticut so I'll have to live another 20 years or so to see the next one. Though by then I probably won't know what the moon is!
I wish all days were this long and this mild. I am a fan of the light, though I usually sleep well into it most mornings.
From today on, the light begins to fade seconds a day until the dark of New England winter returns.
Ah, well, seasons are what they are.
(This year on the Solstice there were three muskrats in our yard eating clover. I'm not sure where they live. There used to be a couple of acres of woods behind our back yard but a McMansion ate up a lot of it. It was good to see them in any event. Later this summer when the mulberries on the bush behind our yard fall off and ferment, we'll be treated to drunk muskrats for a week or so. Something not to be missed. Muskrats are not the most agile of creatures to begin with, but in their cups they are amazingly clumsy. Seeing them took away some of the sting of missing a strawberry moon.)
Happy Solstice! Lean into the Light!
I love the Solstice. I don't paint myself blue and dance around like my ancient ancestors did in the British Isles, but I do love the longest day of the year. I was looking forward to the 'Strawberry Moon'--what a full moon on June 21 is called. There are decades between on Strawberry Moon and the next, but it's cloudy in Connecticut so I'll have to live another 20 years or so to see the next one. Though by then I probably won't know what the moon is!
I wish all days were this long and this mild. I am a fan of the light, though I usually sleep well into it most mornings.
From today on, the light begins to fade seconds a day until the dark of New England winter returns.
Ah, well, seasons are what they are.
(This year on the Solstice there were three muskrats in our yard eating clover. I'm not sure where they live. There used to be a couple of acres of woods behind our back yard but a McMansion ate up a lot of it. It was good to see them in any event. Later this summer when the mulberries on the bush behind our yard fall off and ferment, we'll be treated to drunk muskrats for a week or so. Something not to be missed. Muskrats are not the most agile of creatures to begin with, but in their cups they are amazingly clumsy. Seeing them took away some of the sting of missing a strawberry moon.)
Happy Solstice! Lean into the Light!
What's up with this?
My blog tells me over 80 people have viewed this post in the last day or so. What's up with that?
That's what it says on the Malboro Gold Originals I've been smoking for
two weeks. I bought a carton at the Duty Free Shop at the Dublin
Airport. If I'm doing the Euro-Dollar exchange anywhere near right, the
ten packs of cigarettes cost about $4 a pack, less than half what they
cost in Cheshire.
That I still have a pack plus some others after two weeks tells me I don't smoke nearly as much as I feared. Most smokers, when they count, are horrified that they smoke more than they thought. So, give me a break on that, OK?
Yes, I KNOW I shouldn't smoke. And I do. OK? Leave me alone. I'm a priest, I stand with the oppressed and the most oppressed people in the Western world are smokers. I'm just standing with my people....
But since absolutely everything in Ireland has both Irish and English on signs, notices, directions, etc., 'whatever', each pack of cigarettes has the warning "Toradh caithimh tobac--ba`s" on it. The English translation is below: "Smoking kills". You have to admire a language that requires 22 letters to say what 12 say in English. And such wondrous words! When I try to pronounce them (which I can't for the life of me) they sound like Klingon. But if an Irish speaker said them they would sound like a bird song, really. I've listened to Irish a lot and it is a language to be sung, not spoken. English is so mundane in comparison.
No wonder the Irish love song and poetry and story so much--it sounds like birds.
I'm listening as I write this to Maggie, our parakeet sing along with the classical music station we always have on beside her cage.
With a little practice, I believe, Maggie could speak Irish. All birds, it seems to me, are Gaelic in their bird souls.....
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Toradh caithimh tobac--ba`s
That I still have a pack plus some others after two weeks tells me I don't smoke nearly as much as I feared. Most smokers, when they count, are horrified that they smoke more than they thought. So, give me a break on that, OK?
Yes, I KNOW I shouldn't smoke. And I do. OK? Leave me alone. I'm a priest, I stand with the oppressed and the most oppressed people in the Western world are smokers. I'm just standing with my people....
But since absolutely everything in Ireland has both Irish and English on signs, notices, directions, etc., 'whatever', each pack of cigarettes has the warning "Toradh caithimh tobac--ba`s" on it. The English translation is below: "Smoking kills". You have to admire a language that requires 22 letters to say what 12 say in English. And such wondrous words! When I try to pronounce them (which I can't for the life of me) they sound like Klingon. But if an Irish speaker said them they would sound like a bird song, really. I've listened to Irish a lot and it is a language to be sung, not spoken. English is so mundane in comparison.
No wonder the Irish love song and poetry and story so much--it sounds like birds.
I'm listening as I write this to Maggie, our parakeet sing along with the classical music station we always have on beside her cage.
With a little practice, I believe, Maggie could speak Irish. All birds, it seems to me, are Gaelic in their bird souls.....
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Orlando
It is late and I don't have much to say that makes much sense about Orlando.
We were in Italy and got the news in drips and drabs from devices the Josh and Cathy and Dan and Bern had.
Would it be awful to admit I'm glad we weren't here to be washed over by it 24 hours a day? It was awful to hear about, but it came--as I said--in drips and drabs rather than in MSNBC pillar to post coverage.
I preached about Orlando today. How many times have I had to preach about a mass shooting? More than a dozen times, for sure. And this one so horrible in so many ways: LGBTQ folks and most of this Hispanic.
What makes life so frightening and difficult is the false notion of The Other.
LGBTQ folks are "the other" to many. Trump wants to 'build a wall' to keep 'the other'--Hispanics out. Muslims are 'the other'. Blacks and Asians are 'the other'. Everyone has an 'other' they fear and fret about. And it's not just white folks. Everyone has the other. And 'the other' is a lie.
There is no 'other'.
Here's a story I told in my sermon about Orlando: A wise and godly rabbi is sitting with his disciples by a river as dawn is breaking.
The rabbi asks, "How much light is enough light to see?"
One of his disciples answers: "There is enough light to see when you can tell the goats from the sheep across the river."
The rabbi thinks and then says, "No, that is not enough light to see."
Another student says, "There is enough light to see when we can tell the myrtle trees from the olive trees across the river."
After a long silence, the rabbi says, "No, that is not enough light to see."
His disciples grow silent and wait as dawn comes. Finally the rabbi says, "There is enough light to see when you can look into the face of any human being and see the face of God."
We sit in darkness when we fear the Other.
We need enough light to see....
We were in Italy and got the news in drips and drabs from devices the Josh and Cathy and Dan and Bern had.
Would it be awful to admit I'm glad we weren't here to be washed over by it 24 hours a day? It was awful to hear about, but it came--as I said--in drips and drabs rather than in MSNBC pillar to post coverage.
I preached about Orlando today. How many times have I had to preach about a mass shooting? More than a dozen times, for sure. And this one so horrible in so many ways: LGBTQ folks and most of this Hispanic.
What makes life so frightening and difficult is the false notion of The Other.
LGBTQ folks are "the other" to many. Trump wants to 'build a wall' to keep 'the other'--Hispanics out. Muslims are 'the other'. Blacks and Asians are 'the other'. Everyone has an 'other' they fear and fret about. And it's not just white folks. Everyone has the other. And 'the other' is a lie.
There is no 'other'.
Here's a story I told in my sermon about Orlando: A wise and godly rabbi is sitting with his disciples by a river as dawn is breaking.
The rabbi asks, "How much light is enough light to see?"
One of his disciples answers: "There is enough light to see when you can tell the goats from the sheep across the river."
The rabbi thinks and then says, "No, that is not enough light to see."
Another student says, "There is enough light to see when we can tell the myrtle trees from the olive trees across the river."
After a long silence, the rabbi says, "No, that is not enough light to see."
His disciples grow silent and wait as dawn comes. Finally the rabbi says, "There is enough light to see when you can look into the face of any human being and see the face of God."
We sit in darkness when we fear the Other.
We need enough light to see....
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