All is well

The news came this morning. My heart is light and bursting with joy. My baby is safe. All of the uncertainty and wandering of life is over for her, she has achieved happiness. I spent the day yesterday wondering if all had gone well and this morning brought the good news. I spent much of the day yesterday tempted to call her and find out but each time I reached for the telephone I stopped, realizing that this would be a busy day for her and the last thing she needed was for her cell phone to ring during the ceremony and hear the voice of Cassandra on the other end. No dire predictions, I see love and peace and happiness and rainbows and a child not just walking through life but skipping and singing and laughing and HAPPY! "A kiss for luck and we're on our way!".

Oh won't you stay, just a little bit longer?

And so, once again, Christmas passes. The season of warmth and compassion and cookies and the glow of anticipation and stare of wonder in the eyes of a child slowly withers as the petals of a rose. Christmas is the time when the cold, calculating, balance sheet minds of Western civilization fold their ledgers and remember that Mankind is their business. It is a time when the memory of home and family and lights and warmth and love are dusted off and held close. It is a time when the memory of the financial triumph is replaced by the memory of the stableboy. It is the time when getting is banished by the joy of giving. What is the part that we remember most? It is not the getting,a moment of unwrapping, a smile, a thank you, a feeling of peace because someone took the time to remember you. It is the giving, the planning, the consideration of the mind or needs of the receiver, the warmth that spreads from the mind to the heart when the final bow is tied and we can tell ourselves "Well done.". We don't remember the packages we opened but we do remember the look on the faces of those we love when they open the package we brought or the meal we cooked. It is the time when Mankind can be proud of itself. It is sad that it comes at the end of the year and marks a short period of our life in that year instead of coming at the beginning of the year and being a harbinger of the entire year to come.
There was a time when I thought the words of a Demi-Prophet were the wisest thing that I had ever heard. I had not experienced much of life at that time but now I have. If he were alive today, I would ask him "Imagine, above us only sky
Imagine, below us only dust
Imagine, where does your heart yearn to be?".
Christmas passes but I have a gift for Mankind. It is not a tangible thing, only an ephemeral, seasonal feeling. "Mankind, I am proud to be one of you today.".
Most of the world marks the year to come with a "Happy", "Happy New Year!". There is a unique place where the unity of mind and heart mark the new year with another "Happy", "Happy Christmas!". We will see which is appropriate for the year to come.

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday. None of us knows what year you were born, never mind what day but this is the day we celebrate your life.
You sat on a hill and set the bar so high that none of us could ever reach it. We had a hard enough time with the first ten rules and spent our lives looking for an asbestos suit to wear to our funerals. Then you negated the ten and said there is only one. Love one another, that's the One. Suddenly the rules from the hill became easy, just follow the One. You did away with justice and installed mercy. Justice is for the deserving and the innocent. Mercy is for the undeserving and the guilty. There is little need for justice, the world cried out for mercy.
Happy Birthday! May this be the best day of your life, it is ours.

History

And it came to pass that on Christmas Eve of 1917 in Moscow, one of the founders of communism in Russia, Rudolph Kemenev, and his wife were sitting in their dacha by the fire. Rudolph's wife, Emma, said "OOH I think that I hear the sound of Santa's sleigh on the roof. I can hear the pitter patter.".
Rudolph said "Don't be ridiculous Dear, there is no such person as Santa Claus. That is simply rain that you hear on the roof.".
Emma said " Don't you be ridiculous. This is Moscow in December. It can't possibly be raining outside. Snow maybe but the pitter patter can't be rain because it can't be raining.".
Rudolph went to the window and opened it and stuck his hand outside. When he brought his hand back in it was soaking wet.
Emma said "I'm sorry, I should have never doubted you.".
Her husband replied "Of course because as everyone knows, Rudolph the Red knows rain Dear!".

Two revelations

It is not often that I get two revelations in one day. Last night I read two. They were written by different authors but in the same tone. Who would have ever guessed that Robert Frost and Garrison Keillor had anything in common? Why two? I always have three or four books partially read lying open beside the bed. Before I go to sleep and if I awake during the night, I read what strikes me at the moment. Frost's poem was "The Masque of Reason". It is about Job and God and I am sure it could be on Prairie Home Companion if they could get Gloria Steinem to narrate it. The Keillor book is "Liberty" and I recommend it to any man over sixty. It has the same theme as "Ethan Frome" but is in a lighter and more contemporary vein. Both reveal how life is what happens while you are making other plans. Things will work out somehow, there is just no rhyme or reason to what happens in life. Just don't mess with a diety with an agenda or a woman with a revolver.

An old friend

I awoke early this morning and looked outside to see that the snow had stopped falling. The sky was clear and dark but the stars seemed to have used this time to recharge their batteries.
Yesterday a question from one of my daughters led me to the volume of Robert Frost's poems. That volume was a birthday gift from my eldest daughter in 1999. I spent some time looking for the answer to the question and eventually found it. There I was with much to do and the volume of Frost in my hand. The to do is still to be done and I spent the day reading the thoughts of an old friend. I chuckled when I noticed that I again skipped over "Death of the Hired Hand" as I have done since I read it in high school. There is just to much to consider in that poem. I remember the darkness that I felt when I first read it. That was when I was young and wanted no part of such thoughts. Now that I am older, there are kinder facets to its theme and life has shown the relevance of how the harshness of expediency can be tempered by tenderness and human compassion. I will have to re-read it as I probably don't remember all of its message. The wall of pseudo-knowledge that I have built up around me must come down. There is more to life than tidbits of esoteric knowledge. There is something about a wall. As the new year begins today, perhaps a new outlook on living will come also. There is hope (when I addressed the wall I almost started off on a tangent about the Minoans but I stopped and thought about what I had just said and I didn't.). The Minoans will remain my own personal pleasure but that volume of Frost that came from a heart that truly understands what is important to me, will remain my own personal treasure!

Blanket of Peace

Yesterday was very peaceful. I went walking in the snow twice. The first time was so moving that I went again. There was close to a foot of snow on the ground and the snow was still falling and the wind was tolerable. It is so peaceful when it is snowing. The brown leaves and the dog waste are all covered up and it is very quiet.

This is the time that defines New England, the time of rest and reflection. If you spend time looking out of the window in the other seasons, all you see are things that have to be done. Mow the grass, trim the bushes, wash the car, or fire up the grill. If you spend time looking out of the window at the snow falling, all that you see is peace. All that you hear is peace. No dogs barking, no radios blaring, just the whisper of the snow as it settles itself in for a long Winter's nap. It is an alluring peace that holds your attention for quite some time until you start thinking of cocoa and baking and roasting. That is New England to me. A place and a people that are beautiful and peaceful. A place and a people that take the time to reflect on and value what is important. Peaceful, pensive, and pot roasty. The cities of New England are not all like that but the back roads and small towns are repositories of peace and quiet and people that don't speak unless they have something to say. Where else would someone write a poem about birches or write a diary about growing peas and cracking ice and walking beside the ocean? Watching peas and watching waves and appreciating them doesn't just happen. One has to learn to silence the cacaphony that is conversation and listen to the symphony of one's own mind. That rare skill is endemic to New England and learned by watching snow fall. That same snow falls on Chicago, hog butcher to the world, falls on the Northwest, where survivalists have guns as clean as their minds are clear of rational thought or thoughts of peace. When that snow falls on New England it finds peace. The west coast has surfers and Hollywood, the south west has Las Vegas, the South has Nascar and country music, the mid-atlantic states have the hustle and bustle of New York and the joy of Washington D.C. where northern hospitality is combined with Southern efficiency. New England has maple syrup and baked beans and fried clams and scallops and lobster and SNOW! A time to rest and reflect on what is really important. We don't have spaceports and mega-amusement parks and huge military bases and gold mines and copper mines and coal seams and oil fields. We do have beaches and parks and colleges and hospitals and museums and Fenway Park. The snow falls on all of them. We are poor in many things. There is a serious lack of failed banks and of failed financial organizations and government scandals and riots and natural disasters. The major historical disaster in New England was the Molasses Flood. We do have Fenway Park and snow. We also have a building with a light on top that forecast rain and snow and the state of the schedule for Fenway Park and our State House has a statue of a hooker in front and a model of the Sacred Codfish inside. We also have snow.

Macaroni and cheese

This recipe is from Cook's Illustrated. It serves six to eight as a main course and ten to twelve as a side dish. The recipe can be halved.

BREAD CRUMBS
6 slices whitw bread torn into pieces
3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into 6 pieces

PASTA AND CHEESE

1 pound elbow macaroni (cook until just past al dente, it is better to overcook than undercook)
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 and 1/2 teaspoons powdered mustard
1/4 teaspoon cayenne (optional)
5 cups milk
8 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, shredded (2 cups)
8 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded (2 cups)

1. Pulse bread and butter in food processor until crumbs are no larger than 1/8 inch, ten to fifteen one second pulses. Set aside.

2.Bring 4 quarts of water to boil in Dutch oven over high heat. Add macaroni and 1 tablespoon of salt; cook until TENDER; Drain pasta and set aside in colander.

3. In now empty Dutch oven, heat butter over medium high heat until foaming. Add flour, mustard, and cayenne and whisk well to combine. Continue whisking until mixture becomes fragrant and deepens in color, about 1 minute. Gradually whisk in milk; bring mixture to a boil, whisking constantly ( mixture must reach a full boil to fully thicken). Reduce heat to medium and simmer, whisking occasionally, until thickened to the consistancy of heavy cream, about 5 minutes. OFF HEAT, whisk in cheeses and 1 teaspoon salt until cheeses are fully melted. Add pasta and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until mixture is steaming and heated through, about 6 minutes.

4. Adjust oven rack to lower middle position and heat broiler.
Transfer mixture to BROILER-SAFE 9 by 13 inch baking dish and sprinkle evenly with bread crumbs. Broil until crumbs are a deep golden brown, 3 to 5 minutes, rotating pan if necessary for even browning. Cool about 5 minutes, then serve.

I like to put thinly sliced tomato and onion beneath bread crumbs. I haven't tried making this with Wondra instead of all-purpose flour but I bet it would simplify the roux. The secret to this recipe is the two cheeses. Any dish that contains pasta cannot be left overnight with the pasta in it or it gets very thick as the pasta absorbs the liquid. I recently turned turkey soup into turkey Jello.

Something I enjoy not understanding

I just spent eight hours reading about nous and logos. I will not pretend to understand the two terms but it was quite a revelation to find all of the history that has contributed to the thoughts on nous and logos. It was like finding the solution to unified field. All of the thoughts and ideas that I have been reading about for years seemed to come together at one point. It is as if all of the religions and schools of philosophy decided to publish a compilation of everything that is most important and common to them all. Nothing about heaven or hell or the sacred knucklebones of Saint Sagebrush, just who and what are we. It all started when I started reading about Mt. Athos. There is more to us than just living creatures, we are beings.

Identification

Due to a recent post and a comment by one of my precious daughters, I feel it is necessary to explain the difference between Italian meatballs and Swedish meatballs.
Italian meatballs have moustaches and smell like garlic and wine. If you drop them on a foreign shore, they immediately find a job, work hard, buy a home, and raise a family.
Swedish meatballs have big square heads, smell like herring and aqua vitae, and if you drop them on the floor they go "Dinka donka dinka donka!".

Tired

I have been talking to my neighbors and peers. They all seem to have one common feeling. They are tired. The optimism and joy of living and loving that my generation held on to for so long is gone. There is a malaise in America. People are tired of wars and corruption and layoffs and disease in the food supply and spiraling medical costs and economic melt downs and bailouts. I have my own feeling. There was a time when Americans took on all adversity with a smile. They no longer do. They are not tired, they are Bushed!

Crisis averted

Yesterday's crisis was averted. While rummaging around in the freezer, looking for chicken stock, I found several quarts of tomato sauce way in the back. Into the pot with the meatballs went one and the balance between meatballs and sauce has been restored. There will be no problem with menu planning for the next several days. Life is good if the only problem one has is too many meatballs. I can remember when the problem was no meatballs and not much of anything else. I can't wait for the meatballs to be gone as I am planning turkey tetrazini. I have everything that I will need for it and I am looking forward to making the noodles. Mmmm, turkey, onion, garlic, butter, flour, cream, green pepper, and fresh noodles. Life is good.

A plethora of meatballs

Once more I face my nemesis, the closed loop system of tomato sauce and meatballs. Several days ago I made spaghetti and meatballs. To say that I am a little bit anal about the sauce and meatballs is similar to saying that King Kong was a little bit monkey!

1. I crush the tomatoes myself, as I only use whole plum tomatoes packed in juice not puree or sauce, and they are the only product that does not have the calcium in them to promote crunchiness.
2. I make my own bread crumbs as I always have at least one loaf of day old French or Italian bread on hand.
3. I grind my own hamburger from a small roast beef and some pork. Hamburger from the market scares me and by making my own I can add a teaspoon of unflavored gelatin to the egg and therefore not have to add veal.
4. This results in a lot of meatballs therefore I make about a gallon of tomato sauce. Tomatoes, onion, basil, some crushed red pepper flakes, olive oil, salt, about a cup of minced garlic, and some tomato paste and sugar get everything rolling. One half cup of Chianti, reduced in a sauce pan first, and then the entire thing simmers for about four hours. The meatballs go in during the last thirty minutes as they have already been browned in a skillet. For hours to wait and sit in the kitchen reading. Hmmm, is that an almost full bottle of Chianti sitting over there? Don't be lonely, come over here and sit by me.
Now the problem starts. I eat spaghetti and meatballs for about three days. At this point I have quite a few meatballs left and very little sauce. The solution is easy, make more sauce. Now I have a lot of sauce and not many meatballs left. The solution is easy, make more meatballs. Now I have____________!
I have another theory, I have a lot of them, in Italy, at Christmas time, they must give meatballs instead of fruitcake. I am sure that there must be meatballs circulating out there that graced the plate of Caesar. No, that can't be right as they did not have tomatoes in Caesar's day and no person in their right mind would make a gallon of garum masala. It would be better to purchase a jar of Nuoc Mam instead. Of course to do that they would have had to journey to Vietnam, introduce christianity, set up a western style system of government, pacify the countryside, and even the Romans would see the folly in that! The Romans were well aware of the danger of meatballs. They were also aware of the dangers of HAVING A MEATBALL IN CHARGE! Those who do not read history are doomed to repeat it.
The Romans also had a unique way of dealing with their Republicans, they killed them all and went on to enjoy the Pax Romana, a thousand years of relative peace. I read that.

Cleansing

The first snow of the season, that I can remember, is falling gently outside. The land is covered with a thin white blanket that grows thicker by the hour. We are now in the last portion of the year. It seems appropriate that the baptism of the year occur now. It has been an eventful year, filled with promise and birth and growth and disappointment and foreboding and war and pestilence and famine. It is as if the sky is saying "Go in peace 2008, your sins are forgiven and you will be remembered as just an ordinary year. There is a new white quire ready for 2009. Go in peace and sin no more.". Now all we have to do is make it through this month. Sixty-seven years ago we were in the same condition. Two thousand years ago a man of peace was born. Ninety years ago the war to end all wars was fought. That war had one day of peace right in the middle. On a certain Christmas Day the German and English soldiers refused to fight each other and had a soccer match instead. That day has troubled the sleep of generals ever since. Sixty-seven years ago another war to end all wars was born. Two thousand years and still no peace, sixty-seven years and new wars have been born and borne. We commemorate the birth of that peaceful man with a song about playing a drum for him. We march off to war to the sound of that drum. Perhaps it would be more fitting to have a soccer match to celebrate that day when the light of peace and brotherhood first glimmered forth from a humble stable in a long ravaged land. Eisenhower "The people of the world want peace and some day their governments are going to have to step aside and let them have it.". Two thousand years is a long time to learn a lesson. I just hope that we can make it through this month and start the new year with a clean slate, a clean conscience, and clean hands. The man of peace said "Turn the other cheek.", not "Lock and Load.". The CEOs of this country should be more worried about the eye of a needle than the balance sheet. The snow will melt soon, will the year 2009 be a year of a clean sheet? I hope so!

Dreams

I awoke this morning with the pleasant memory of a dream I had last night flitting through my mind. I started pondering the difference between dreams and wakefullness.
The awakened time seems to be dominated by logic and linear progression. "What is the reason that the sink is backing up and how do I resolve it? How many cups of garlic go into the spaghetti sauce? What would I do if?".
The dream times seem to be dominated by emotion and empathy. There are no insolvable crisises. Strangely enough there is no cooking or reading in the dreams. Complications from the past are resolved through understanding and cooperation.
Dreams seem fairer and I like myself better in dreams than in reality. The boy, with his sense of fairness and hope is alive in the dreams but has died in the awake world. I like the boy better than I like the man. The boy, who gloried in running up a hill or jumping a fence, had more life in him than the old man, sitting and reading and cooking, has in him.
I am surprised that there were no dark dreams because I spent yesterday reading Euripides. His plays appeal to a boy whose ancestors came from the land of Ibsen. Times have changed so much. Mankind has come from the days of Jason and Medea to the days of Alan Harper and Judith. So the wheel of life continues to turn. All will be well as long as the wheel never reverses itself. You can never recapture a rapture.

Balmy

Yesterday was a wonderfully balmy day. I went for a long walk in the gentle breezes, sunlight, and tepid temperature. It is unusual for such a day to occur in December in this part of the country so it must be savored immediately. I have a right to declare it balmy because if you look up balmy in the dictionary, you will find my picture. I am the poster boy for balmy!
Speaking of dictionaries, who would have thought that the making of the Oxford English Dictionary could be such fascinating reading? A good read, full of mystery and murder and tenderness and pathos. When I was in elementary school, I used to go to the library and read the big dictionary that they had on a lecturn but I never thought that I would enjoy a book about the making of a dictionary.
The English language, the lingua franca of mankind. Such a beautiful thing it is. So reflective of the English themselves. Tender, moving, ribald, thought provoking, and unorganized, it is so much English. Many years ago I wrote a paper on language and how it affects the people that speak it. There was a dual perspective to the paper. The first was the supposition that the language affects the conduct of the people. The Germans don't just open a door, they knock open the door. The second was that the people effect the language. The French, with their gentle ways and incisive intellect, can call you a dirty bum and a miscreant in ways that will make you think that they are giving you an award. A long time has passed since they were considered the most feared warriors of Europe. Even their name is a derivative of their most feared weapon.
I have spent much time studying languages, how they are different and how they are related. There are many mysteries of history hidden in those relationships. There are so many questions that arise from those topics. How can the Finns and the Basques have a common languge bond? DNA research has proven that mankind came out of Africa and settled the world but language seems to have originated somewhere near India and spread from there, in an Indo-european centered context. Mankind coming from a land of fangs and massacres and disease and language coming from a land of peace and thought and structure. This is a massive generalization but it is worth some thought. What would Linear A tell us of a people that had no walls, depended on trade and their brains to get along. People with very little resources in their native land but able to build a society that valued personal accomplishment and realized that religion was no business of men and found a way to let men rule the secular environment and women rule the ecclesiastical. Each had a value and there was no schism between the two. There is not much of them in Linear B, which was a gift of the Dorians when they came knocking on the door.
Those same Dorians became the Greeks with their incredible concept of xenia. Then the Romans with Latin and its love of order and the Romance languages with their hodge podge of thought, and English which encourages a long haired, sleeping gnome to sit up in the late hours of the night and ponder such arcane concepts. What a different world we would live in if xenia had suvived the transitions.
All of this compost heap of thought has come from the fact that I am finally reading Euripides.
That is all the news from Sesquipedalia. (Oooh, the OED is such a joy and any Scrabble player would love to lay down the last word in the OED and might finish the game with the first). Now Johanna, try to deny that my self evaluation was correct. The proof is before you!

Bliss

Yesterday was bliss. I didn't go out at all. I spent the day making turkey stock. In my life, making stock is second only to making tomato sauce. I had to use two pots as my stock pot is very small and not really a stock pot. My sister-in-law gave me a book about the Oxford English Dictionary and I had a very good bottle of wine so I simmered the stock for six hours. Six quarts of turkey stock are now in the freezer and the memory of such a blissful day is still with me.

Mangia

Yesterday my brother and my sister-in-law came over for a belated thanksgiving dinner. I was so happy to see them and thrilled to feed them. I took out all of the stops, used all of the nefarious gadgets that I have for cooking, and we had a nice pleasant uneventful day. It was raining when they left and I felt it would be a good time for a nap. As I was walking down the hall I noticed how much that I was looking forward to the nap. Good company, good food, full belly, no pressing deed to accomplish, and nap headed my way, does life get any better than that? It feels so good to have people to feed and then just ease into the rest of the day. Beaujolais Nouveau goes very well with Turkey, not so well with Stilton or chocolate cake. I hope that they will come for Christmas dinner, I see roasted stuffed goose in the future.

Peace

Last night was a peaceful night. A worry that has been gnawing at me for several days has disappeared. Someone that has been wandering for nineteen years has found a place to rest. I remember when I went through a time of wandering from place to place, that my Father told me "Hey, even a bird has to nest!". Also, my ever ongoing dealings with the government have been resolved. They are not settled but they have been resolved.
A time of thankfullness is here. Even if you don't immediately see something to be thankful for, find something! It just feels so damn good to be thankful.
One disturbing thought comes to mind.gogue. A place of beauty and peace to the eye and a place of peace to the soul are blessed with Nobel's legacy. Is any place on Earth safe from the narrowness of the minds that harbor religious and racial hatred? Whitman chose the only sane path. India, the home of Ghandi, the man that chose to be a stretcher bearer for the very people that held his own people in virtual slavery. Perhaps Switzerland is civilized. If it isn't, there would be still the consolation of good cheese and chocolate.

?

Has anyone heard from Johanna?

Continuity

News is slowly seeping from President-elect Obama's organization. The rich will not be taxed at a more equitable level but rather their tax cuts will be allowed to expire. The economic problems of the middle class and the poor will be solved by building bridges and roads. Perhaps the auto industry will build more efficient cars and trucks to use these roads. Of course they won't have to for a while, because these whiny children are due to get their allowance. There will be no changing of the Old Guard as many of his appointees are already in Washington. This will alleviate the oil crisis as they won't have to hire a truck to move. The major economic growth sector will be the Federal Deficit. You remember the Federal Deficit, the thing that didn't exist when William Jefferson Clinton was President. Speaking of the Clintons, Mrs Clinton has always been a proponent of national health but she won't be in charge of Human Services. She will become Secretary of State. This should make the doctors and the drug companies happy. I'm not saying that she will be relegated to obscurity but can you name the present Secretary of State? As a reward to the women of America for their support during his campaign, he will turn a Wellesley graduate into a secretary.
I see great things for America. The Preident-elect has not even taken office yet but I can see that soon in his future he will be able to proclaim "Mission Accomplished!".
I have seen no mention of helping out the alternative energy programs but, of course, they would probably waste the money by hiring new employees. The bleeding of American resources to OPEC will continue.
Mencken "No one ever failed by underestimating the intelligence of the American people.". We must get used to change because, in the very near future, that is all we are going to have in our pockets.

How can I thank you? Let me count the ways.

The time of thanking approaches. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. There is no stress, the turkey is always the right size, the right color, the most up to date model, and you don't have to save the tags. Yes it does require getting up very early to start cooking but that is not a burden, it is a joy. The day flows seamlessly from one task to another, I get to use all of the mysterious cooking tools that I have accumulated and the ultimate reward, watching people that you love eat food that you have prepared, is soon followed by a nice nap.
There are so many things to be thankful for. I have a place to live, freedom from pain, a full belly, a warm place to sleep, and peace in my heart. The town that I live in is a simple place, populated with unpretentious people, with timeless values. There is a gentle acceptance of everything that permeates the town and the people. Maybe it is something in the water. The town is a collage of different opinions and ethnicities that produce a roux of peace, with no strident views or prejudices curdling the sauce.
As I lay in bed last night, I tried to make a list of all of the things that I am thankful for. The list grew larger and larger and suddenly I found the thing to be most thankful for. The answer to my years long striving with the concept of God. Pascal defined the issue and the question and possible outcomes of belief or denial.
I was thanking for the things in my life when a realization came over me with warmth and reassurance. This is my God. I don't want to share, for in the end there will be only two, facing each other. This is not God 4.0 with all of the bells and whistles and options that the concept has accumulated. This is the same God born of sitting by a fire at the mouth of a cave, staring at the malevolent eyes shining in the dark, and being overwhelmed by the beauty and majesty of the stars. This is the same God that brought such hope and reassurance when the Sun began to rise earlier each day. I will not preach in the street to bring others to my view. I do not want them here. I will walk with the Diety by my side, talk to the diety, and we will be like Elwood and Harvey.
My life is so full. I have the love of four people accompanying me everywhere, and I have the answer to a question that has long vexed me. I don't know if God exists or not but I know one thing. God exists for me because I want God to exist. The feeling that I get each evening when I lie down and give thanks is unmatchable. I don't pray or worship, I just give thanks. T'is the season for such.

Latin failure

Yesterday I made another attempt to make chili. It was a dismal failure, as usual. I can cook anything from anywhere but I have never been able to master any Mexican dish. I love cheese, beef, and onion enchiladas but I have never been able to produce any that are anything like the ones I remember from Texas. It can't just be the location that produces wonderful Mexican dishes because the best enchiladas that I ever had were from a little place in Pittsburgh of all places. I don't have a problem with dishes from Spain or Italy or France or Germany or Sweden or England. Mexico and Ireland are the only exceptions. Beef stew and chili, what could be the magic is hidden in such simple dishes? Perhaps I need a cauldron.
My brother tried the chili and made his usual comment about the beans. I was surprised that he ate some as he usually avoids my chili like the plague. He must have been very hungry. He didn't finish the whole portion so I took his bowl and spoon and finished it. I would never share a bowl and spoon with anyone else but hey, we slept in the same bed together when we were very young. He is the last link to the family I grew up in. I hope that he knows how close I feel to him and how much I admire him. I will have to tell him some day. I hope that I do but I probably never will. I am not very good with resolutions.

H.I.S., lovingly

Here I Sit, up before dawn, thinking peaceful thoughts. My mind wanders to my daughters. A lovely bouquet for my mind to treasure. Three individual flowers, each with its own unique loveliness and tenderness, each with its own beauty and wisdom beaming out for all to see. Together they form a bouquet unmatched in the world. A sense of peace washes over me, a Father knowing that all will be well with his children. It is a warm reassurance to know that whatever may happen, they will be able to handle it. They are not just individually strong. Together the strength of their stems form a bulwark against the vagaries of life. The strife that sometimes surfaced as sibling civil war when they were younger has disappeared and they are a unit. A unit separated by distance and choices but melded together by respect and love. The warmth and the peace of these thoughts overwhelms any worry about the future. Blessed is the Father of daughters.
I think of my Father, The Father of two sons. He slept with his car keys in his hand under the pillow. I once asked him "Dad, Paul and I would stay out until two in the morning and drag ourselves up in the morning and you never asked us what we were up to. Why?". He replied "I didn't want to make you lie to me.". He was a gentle and wise man. He deserved daughters but never got them. He got sons and deserved better.

Pondering

I went for a walk this morning and, while I was walking, some thoughts came to me. Lately I have been reading about the doom and gloom that is infesting America. What can be wrong? Thos country has been blessed with so many resources and resourceful people. It hurts to see what is happening. I love my country, I love America. We are a country, not a nation. We are composed of the bits of many nations, for a nation is a social group and a country is geography. I love America but I am not that fond of Americans. They are a stiff necked people.
As I was walking, I thought of a program I watched several days ago on the television. It was about Bald Eagles. The symbol of America, a stately and self reliant bird. A creature that builds a home, finds a mate, and raises its young, remaining faithful to all throughout its life. The bird lives in the wild, endures mosquitos and snow and rain and heat and remains fathful to its purpose, raising its young.
The young of the Bald Eagle are another story. When the parent returns to the nest with food, all of the nestlings jump up and down screeching "Feed Me, Feed Me!". The strongest usually gets most of the food and usually pushes the others out of the nest to die.
America seems to be like that today. We are not one nation, we are a conglomeration of specific interest groups all screaming to the government "Feed Me, Feed Me! Never mind those others, they are weak and don't deserve to be fed. They are sick and hungry and don't deserve to be fed.". The male is solely responsible for the nest. He makes sure that the integrity of the whole is maintained. He does this year after year.
Back to America. 700 billion dollars to Wall Street and the banks. Probably 50 billion to the car companies. A bailout a few years ago to reimburse people that had more than ten thousand dollars in their checking accounts when some banks failed. The banks failed because they invested in derivatives and loans to other countries and gave mortgages to people with few resources and tacked on predatory interest agreements. Whatever happened to the Bailey Savings and Loan? Give loans to people to build homes, loans that they can pay back, and keep the loans in the community so the community will prosper. I have known some bankers and very few of them even understood banking, nevermind bundled mortgages and international finance and options. They got into international finance and it was like a minnow diving into a pool full of sharks. And now the brokers and bankers and auto executives are crying "Feed Me, Feed Me! Never mind unemployment benefits for the poor or national health or making sure that the weak will get a pension, Feed the strong, let us make loans that bleed people or go on making cars that no one wants to buy. Feed Me, Feed Me!.
The President is supposed to take care of America, not some special interest group but the whole nest. What has happened? I guess that's what happens when you put a nestling in charge. The weak get left to die and the strong gorge on all of the resources. William Jefferson Clinton, I miss you and President Carter very much. I haven't checked lately but the eagle may be blushing.

Peamony

Here I am, up at one o'clock in the morning after a full nights sleep. I went to bed early to read and dozed off almost immediately. The cycle of pleasant dreams, awakening, and going back to sleep and dreaming pleasantly again repeated itself. The first dream was one of peace and companionship. The second was one of peace and harmony with the world around me. I awoke with such a good feeling that I lay in bed for a while, warmed by the rosy glow of contentment. The second dream was about animals and the love they seem to radiate. Reason tells me that we don't know if animals really give love. It may just be a response to food and warmth and petting. I don't care what it is, it just feels so good. Animals are very similar to people. They respond to love and they respond to aggression or meaness. There are times however, when they initiate contact so it can't be all response.
Animals also change their behavior as they age. The adorable clumsyness and questing of a kitten is complimented by the dignity and conservation of motion of an old cat. The yapping bounciness and cuddling of a puppy will be followed by the patience and warmth of an old dog. I don't know about cows but I have always had an affinity for those gentle creatures with their moist noses and mesmerizing eyes and the restrained strength of their huge bodies. That goes for cows, not bulls. I had an experience with a bull once and I don't think that there is a stronger, more fearless, more courageous creature on this planet. Worship of bulls was a common thing in older days, when mankind paid more attention to the world around them because the CRT had not been invented. The Minoans and the Egyptians were both isolated from aggression by geography but worshipped the strength and composure of the bull.
Today we have fashion designers and movie stars and singers and Congress and financial wizards on Wall Street. We have come a long way, from worshipping bulls to worshipping bullshit. A little bit of the peace and harmony just made its way back to peace and harmony land, as the banked coals of my ire just spread some of their resurgent heat through my thoughts. Where are the Persons from Porlock when you need them?

Encore

Once again I tried to recapture a dream. I went back to sleep and was rewarded with other pleasant dreams. Can this be an omen signifying that such a thing is possible in the waking world? Once before in my life, an attempt to recapture a state of bliss led to an extremely different situation but one filled with joy and peace. What was amazing was that I realized how good things were at the time. To have joy and peace and realize it at the time, a rare event in life. Usually joy and peace are viewed only through hindsight. Sometimes I labor through what seems to be dark times only to realize later that those were the good old days. This omen may signify that the albatross I have tied around my neck may soon turn into a phoenix. A brand new phoenix, not one with soot on its feet, but that would portent ashes in the future. Ashes, the ultimate fate of mankind. I prefer dust to ashes.

Island Man

I have been awake since three A.M.. I am not happy about it. Lately I have been having wonderful dreams and feel cheated when I awaken from them and try to get back to sleep and back into the dream. It doesn't happen. I have learned that the same thing is true of the wakeful world. A very wise man once told me "You can never recapture a rapture.".
Caffeine, nicotine, and moonlight seem to put me into a pensive mood. I was reading the blog of my eldest daughter and I started to analyze myself, (funny how the first four letters of that process seem to define it). Why am I so comfortable being alone? It can't be genetic, although my Father was the same way. My Father was idolized by his peers and regarded as a genuine hero by the community but was always more comfortable with his family and avoided groups. My youngest daughter will probably explain my solo approach to life as "That way you can watch Jeopardy and be the only one in the room with the answer.". My brother once made me leave the room when Jeopardy was on.
It is not that I don't like people, it is just that I am more comfortable with myself. I like to sit and read. I like to sit and think. When will someone invent a stove whose top is low enough so that I can sit and cook? Hmmm, I think I see a pattern evolving here. No wonder I am so fond of cooking over a campfire. I had a Dutch oven once, the old fashioned kind with the ridge around the lid to put coals on, but someone who thought that the smoke alarm was a timer evidently needed it more than I did. I still think of the sourdough bread and stews that it could make.
Since 1972 I have had a dream. The dream is no longer relevant but tendrils of the dream still occasionally waft through my mind. It is the same dream that every new Father has. Buy a farm, move your family in, fill the cellar full of food, plow up the driveway, and keep your family from the perils of the world. The problem would be that farmers never sit. In farming, the work is not hard, it just never stops.
Most people have as heir heroes John Wayne or Chance Vought Jr. or David Beckham. My hero is Walt Whitman. Despite his gender confusion, I admire the way he lived his life. He had mastery over words and used them as Michaelangelo used a chisel. He lived alone on the prairie with his words. He composed no soliliquies to peas but was of a similar frame of mind. He broke down in tears over the death of Lincoln and resolved to get away from a world that would do that to such a man. He could use words to convey a thought and deliver another thought under those words. I still remember one of his dual messages. "There once was a man that lived alone, with his wife.".
In answer to a comment posted by the family seer of reality, I don't stand on the town common with a sign. I did that in 1967 on the town common in Orangeburg, South Carolina, protesting the way that some of my fellow Americans were being treated. I came very close to death that day and vowed to keep those feelings for display in Massachusetts only. I am ashamed of that vow but that was one of the few times in my life when I can remember being afraid.
I am at peace with myself. The tensions and self criticism of youth and parenthood are behind me. I will sit by the side of the road and........ I have come to like myself. No one else does but I have never been part of a group.

P.S. I really liked Whitman's hat.

Pomposity

I have been reading the older posts that I made here. I have become a pompous ass. When this happened I don't know but I have a feeling that it was a long time ago. There will be no more of this. Once again Nils has made a resolution. We all know how those turn out but it is good practice for the end of the year, the time of a deluge of resolutions that last about two minutes.

Sleeping dogs

Here it is one o'clock in the morning and I am up. Yesterday, like a fool, I went for a long walk in the cool and damp. I developed a rather large stiff neck. Rather than deal with it, I went to bed and read. After reading for a while I decided to go to sleep. Nice try! Yesterday I awakened my long sleeping bugaboo of predestination. That was a bad move, sort of like kicking a sleeping Rotweiler in the nose. So the thoughts came rolling in.
Each night, when I try to go to sleep, I have to deal with the wheels. The wheels are always turning. I have learned to concentrate on one happy thought and somehow peace and tranquillity arrive. The Jains would understand this.
Last night the wheels were red lined. The words of Sister Mary Mercilous and Aristotle and Pascal and Hawking roiled through my mind. Abelard sat in the background smiling and Merton watched my approach to the abyss. As a fitting aperitif, the words of Napoleon, that there can be no order or peace in a society without religion, were the last things I read before attempting sleep.
PREDESTINATION, slowly I turned, step by step....... inch by inch..... towards the abyss.
Hawking will go to the beginning, to the Big Bang, but no further, heeding the advice of Pascal. String Theory takes over from there, how did the Jains figure that out? Quantum takes over from there. Bohr leads to Aristotle, Newton's attractive ideas follow from there, Frick and Watson from there. So if the strings were in the beginning and we are correctly interpreting their function, everything is preordained. I learned, from what I did in the Army, that there is no such thing as randomness. So everything that has ever happened, everything that happens, and everything that will ever happen is preordained by that pattern of the strings.
Now we come to the CREATOR, excuse me Jains the concept is hard to deny. If the Creator determined that pattern and the Creator is infallible, then the Pope, as part of the Creator's pattern. is infallible. Every human being that ever lived is part of the Creator's infallible pattern. Then how is sin possible if we are only doing what the Creator predetermined? What can be more irrational than prayer? "Please Creator, change your divine pattern to suit me!".
I have changed my nightly routine. I no longer pray for things, I just give thanks.

I am sitting here in a very upright posture as even bending my head slightly reminds me of the stiff neck. I have always been good at posturing. The concept of dark universes slowly drawing us away from the Creator towards Gehenna is tickling my mind with its tendrils. I have either read my way into heresy or salvation. The Creator will understand, he is used to dealing with stiff-necked people.

Gramp

Today is a gramp day, gray and damp. It is kind of like an old man's underpants. The day is cool outside. It is my favorite type of day, grampy. I sit with a welcome cup of coffee, luxuriating in its warmth and stimulation. I used to drink black coffee but now I take that dark, bitter, drink and add cream to lighten it and sugar to sweeten it and have the nerve to say it tates like real coffee. No it doesn't, it is a man-made concoction. Why can't coffee taste as good coming out of the pot as it smells before it goes into the pot?
I am up very early. Last night I didn't go to bed until one o'clock in the morning. I stayed up watching television. Yes, I succumbed to my age-old addiction. I can't remember what was on too well ( 7 of 9 was on two and a half men) and when I went to bed I didn't read, I just turned out the light and now have to face the shame of being a tvier. What a waste of consciousness. There are eighteen channels and I just flip from one to the other. I have Will and Ariel Durant's volume on the Age of Napoleon, the last that they wrote, and when I finish that I will have read the entire series. I started reading that series thirty years ago and feel that the first volume, Our Oriental Heritage, should be required reading for anyone that wants to know where the human race has been and how similar the backgrounds of all of the cultures and clans and moieties of mankind are and how much they owe to each other. That book should be handed out free in the lobby of the U.N.. Maybe that would add some relevance to a faded organization that was born amid so much hope.
I think back now on the hope that the first volume gave me when I first read it. I was raised with the concept of predestination and the seemingly unfair road that it offered. How could I be held accountable for actions over which I had absolutely no control? To find that other cultures had much different ideas was the beginning of my distaste for Religion and my concept of faith. To discover the minds of the Indus valley and that sub-continent was a ray of hope. To then discover the brilliance and purity of the minds and tolerance of the Arabs was an awakening. The minds of the Greeks would be lost to us if the Arabs had not preserved it from the cauterizing of literature and wisdom that the Western world seems to revel in at periods of time. From that volume came my appreciation of the Jains. I admire them very much but I don't think that I could live without meat. I definitely wouldn't want to go without onions and garlic. I would have to burn all of my cookbooks, the occidental answer to any dissenting opinion or dissenter.
Too much reflection. Today I will turn on the heat and make bread and spend most of the day exploring the new website I have found. It translates any English phrase submitted into heiroglyphics. When I first learned of the fictional character of Daniel Jackson I thought "the luckiest man alive.". To have a knowledge of heiroglyphics and cuniform and Sumerian and Luwian and Hittite and Phoenician, the luckiest man alive. Now the thought comes about the roots of the word phonetics. "It's going to be a good day Tater.". So many places that start with el and so little time to find out the connections.

Change Feet

I was very fortunate as a child. I had the resource of my Father and the resouce of my Mother. My Father was the epitamy of Gravitas. My Mother was brittle on the outside but soft and tender on the inside. There were family conflicts but the children were never involved. It was only when I was much older that I learned that they even occurred. Imagine, an Irish Catholic marries a Swedish Protestant. Imagine, when my Irish Catholic Grandmother learned that my middle name (Martin) came from my Father and he was named after Martin Luther.

The Irish portion of the family always seemed to be in some sort of turmoil. Their motto seemed to be "If you can't say something nice about someone. come over here and sit by me.". They would be eternal enemies one day and busom friends the next day.
Thr Swedes were much different. They would come over, sit at the kitchen table, and drink until the drink was all gone. They spoke little, only when there was something to say. I can remember disagreements but never arguments. I remember times when a huge fist would strike a near nose and then the fist would pick up the nose and attached body and pour the nose another beer.
The Irish would say "I'm going to do this and I'm going to do that!" in a threatening way. The Swedish motto was "Revenge is a dish best served cold.". The Irish are always ready to forgive and forget. I learned much later in life that underneath the cold and calm of the Swede's outward appearance. lies a magma chamber of inherent violence that they have all learned to control and avoid. A Swede with a grievance makes a Sicilian look like an Alzheimers patient.
When I was in the first year of high school, and had discovered the joys of female companionship, my Father offered me some advice. He didn't give advice very often, he displayed his advice through the way he lived. He was a tower of strength but never applied it to his family. When he gave advice you had better listen because he would only give it when he saw a personal train wreck coming. He had a personal moral and ethical code that was a strong as Swedish steel. He never went against that code just because it was convenient.

His advice:

1. Nils, the only time you should open your mouth is to change feet.
2. Your Mother is your best friend and will always be.
3. You can't hit children, you can't hit women, and you can't hit little guys. (But Dad, that only leaves big guys.). (You will learn to do that before they hit you.).
4. I wouldn't buy that car if I were you. (Boy was he right on that one.).
5. Some day you are going to have a home and a family. remember two things:
A. Never cash your paycheck. Bring it home and give it to your wife and then spend the rest of the week trying to get some of it back. That way you will both know how much is in the pot and no one will make unreasonable demands. Don't bother signing it, she will take care of that.
B. Your home will have four walls. Outside of those walls you are responsible for things that effect your family. If something out there threatens your family, you are responsible for dealing with it even if you have to die trying. Inside those walls you advise and consent. You are the king of your castle as long as you are outside the castle. Inside the castle, keep your mouth shut and do what you are told.
6. Your brother will always be your brother. Make sure that he can depend on you and don't burden him with depending on him constantly

7. ________________________________________________.This advice is related to the advice he gave to me in high school and is blank because I try very hard to adhere to Advice @1.

8. The last thing he said to me: " I don't believe in life after death. I think that people who do are just afraid to die.".

His definition of a man: "A man doesn't lie. A man doesn't steal. A man isn't mean. A man doesn't make himself a fool for anyone. ( This last one was his explanation about staying away from drugs. "Someday someone will offer you drugs. They are not doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, They simply want to initiate you into the society of fools. You will eventually become the tool of a fool.".).

Sources

The mystery is solved. My Brother came over yesterday to add many new options to the computer. Hr was over here about five days ago but has been sick at home for three days with a severe sore throat. I think that it is wonderful when brothers share things. I harbor no ill feelings. He is the person I most admire in the world and without him I would have floundered in the quicksand that I have created in life. I am not a very sociable person and he is my only friend in the world. The quality of that friendship more than compensates for my lack of quantity of friendships.

My brother was supposed to bring over some Listerine for gargling but instead he brought his own remedy for a sore throat. Munich Made seems to have alleviated most of the soreness and things are better today. I made chicken soup yesterday and I think that that helped a lot also. I put a tad too much red pepper in it but it was not objectionable and the amount of schmaltz I used was a little heavy handed. I used potatoes instead of macaroni and that made a big difference. I didn't need a knife to eat the soup as usually happens with macaroni.

Today I will sit with my warm fuzzy blanket wrapped around me and I have apple and tomatoe and orange juice. There is some soup left and that will be lunch. Maybe meatballs will be made and added to the quantity of tomatoe sauce that is in the freezer. I have to learn to cook for one as I usually make enough to feed the Chinese Army. It results in having the same dish for three days. I need to make more chicken stock as I have several carcasses in the refrigerator and they will not remain acceptible forever. Blanket, cooking, no need to go out, reading, "It's going to be a good day Tater!".

Dreary

Here I am, up in the middle of the night, feeling sorry for myself. As usual, anything negative that happens to me is my own fault. Earlier this week I got a flu shot. I have not been sick in over a year. I don't have much contact with people and, anytime that I go out, the first thing that I do when I get home is go into the bathroom and wash my hands for twenty seconds at least. I awakened shortly after midnight and realized that I have a very sore throat. I tried to get back to sleep but was unable to. No contact with people, wash my hands scrupulously, where did I get a sore throat? Not only did I get a flu shot but I was there in a room with a hundred old people, all sniffling and coughing and barking. I didn't get the flu from the flu shot, I got the flu while getting the flu shot.
Today I will make chicken stock and try to drown the guilty organisms with chicken soup! With all of the crap that I throw down my throat, how can anything live there? Nothing is so pitiful as a man with a cold. Sitting with a pile of tissues, wrapped in a blanket, lamenting the fact that his Mother is not on the way with chicken soup and popsicles. I do have a large container of Ernesto and Julio's cold remedy and, if the soup doesn't work, there is always that.

Hope

Once again Pandora has loosed her precious remnant to the world. The last great president we had came from Hope. Once again America has turned to its heartland for succor. Turned to a son that made it on his own. A child of rural Alabama does not get to be a Rhodes Scholar and the son of an African does not get into Harvard Law School, by riding on the coattails of an illustrious father. Once again America turns to its strength, those that brought us to where we are with the strength of their backs, they put their faith in their children and put their dreams for themselves aside. They lived up over a tiny store and made sure that their children would have an education, would have enough to eat, and would never know the terror of a pogrom. These are not the genetic remnants of the eastern Protestant elite. And the newest hope has come from Chicago, that meatgrinder of humanity. A worthy heir of that city where the Poles of Eastern Europe put their broad shoulders to the wheels of industry, where the always recalcitrant Irish said "We will not have the old ways.", where the Italians threw off the yoke of centuries and said "We will go to church but we will not spend our lives there waiting for tomorrow, we will make tomorrow with our loins and our hands.". America's strength has always been the immigrants that came here looking for a better way. We cannot fence in the gene pool for it would become diluted and wither. The broad backs of the Mexican immigrants, the sharp minds and perseverance of the Asians, the centuries old wisdom and respect for family and elders of the Native Americans, are all coupled with fecund loins. These are resources and issues that must be addressed. Food, education, and hope for the newest generation are our only hope. President Obama will have to deal with a myriad of inherited problems but I think that he is the man to deal with the future. We fared well under the leadership of the man from Hope, we will fare well under the leadership of the man of hope. If we keep on the path we are on now, there will be fences along the Mexican and Canadian borders but they will not have been put there to keep them out, they will have been put there to keep us out. Thomas Hart Benton never got the chance to paint a presidential portrait but I'm sure he would have been proud of the scene we have now.

New things

I have lived a long time. I have seen many things that were once deemed impossible. I seen a peanut stand, I seen a board walk, I seen a horse fly, I seen the Red Sox win the World Series, I seen a black man elected president of the United States, in the words of Howard Carter "I see wonderful things.".
I guess that there are only two things left to see. I will see world peace and I will see a Scotsman win at Wimbledon.

Ressurected

I am back on line. Somehow my brother was able to find the problem with the computer and fix it. He is a marvel at that. He found one tiny blemish in a connecting cable that was confusing the main program and telling it that the hard drive wasn't any good. How he ever found it is beyond my comprehension but once he has a problem, he will not let it go until he has solved it. He also added a cd writer and photo shop, whatever that is. I was properly chastised for overloading the desk top as this is the reason that I was constantly overfilling the memory. It turns out that all the things that you have on the desk top are constantly running and that is the reason for the memory problem. So now I can have my morning dose of Wikipedia! Mornings have been dulll without it. He also took me to Salvation Army where I was able to get a tart pan for $2.00. I have wanted a tart pan for a long time. He also took me to get a flu shot. That is a good thing as nothing is as unbearable and whiney as a man with the sniffles.

Boys of November?

The fifteen levels of playoffs have gone too far. I don't mind that they are in basketball (also known as running ping pong) or football ( also known as crunch, crunch, bang, bang, who really gives a crap?) or the Olympics (which should really be sponsored by Pfizer) but to be playing the World Series this late in the year is ridiculous. It may snow in Philadelphia tonight. I intend to stay up and watch the game. I took a long nap after my walk today so that I don't fall asleep. So much for the no television resolution but it is the WORLD SERIES! Shame on the fool that allowed things to go this far! This is BASEBALL, the national pastime.
It used to be so nice to go to a ball game. A cold beer, several hot dogs, popcorn, sausages and peppers were an addition that was acceptible, and a slight sunburn made the day perfect.
Now it looks like hot cocoa and nachos with ski parkas and gloves. No more "Kill the Umpire!", now it will be REPLAY, REPLAY, REPLAY! This is baseball, not synchronized swimming. We need a little more John McEnroe and a lot less Frosty the Snowman. This is the sport where you can jump to your feet when a human being lofts a ball, that is going over a hundred miles an hour, over the Green Monster. Do you get the same feeling when when an oversized monster makes a slam dunk or a Bambi-like receiver catchs a ball in the end zone? This is the sport of Lou Gherig and Joe DiMAGGIO and TED WILLIAMS and Kirk Gibson (will I ever forget that moment?). The world has changed. Not all change is good (are you listening Obama?) There is no smoking in the Cask and Flagon. There are no more nickel Cokes. You have to pay to get your telephone fixed. There are no more Carmellow Bars. THERE WILL BE PEOPLE DRINKING LATTES AT THE WORLD SERIES! Do you think that the Bambino would have had several Lattes and Nachos before each game. He would have had to leave the park to smoke his cigar.
I have heard that the problem with America today is that there are no more heroes. I think the problem is that there are too many sissies! We need a ball park where the beer taps flow, the hot dog rolls are graced with butter,and the vendors walk up and down the steps with ice cream sandwiches and chocolate covereds. IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME! Where have you gone Jolting Joe?

"And rain on me.".

Yesterday, just barely yesterday as I am up so early having already gotten eight hours sleep, was spaghetti sauce and sausages. The sauce came out fine even though I forgot to put the anchovies in it. A full head of garlic and some red wine ensured that the taste was pleasing. The parmesan rinds provide enough MSG to compensate for the lack of anchovies.
It was raining while I was assembling the sauce but it had stopped by the time that the simmering had started. As the sauce has to simmer for six hours, it looked like a good time for a walk. So the umbrella and I went for a stroll. The weather was cool but not uncomfortably so. When I decided that I had walked far enough, I headed back to where I live. The rain tried to start again but resolved itself into an almost liquid mist. I was going to put up the umbrella but the mist felt so pleasant that I just kept walking. It was like being at the seashore in the very early morning. When I got home I was DAMP! Change to dry clothes, put on warm socks and slippers, fry up the sausages, and wait three hours for the sauce. HMMM, what's that over on the counter? A very large bottle of Burgundy that has already been opened! Out came Stephen Hawking's book, out came a wine glass, and out came the sniffles. I guess that I am past the age where I can go walking in the rain with no side effects. So from now on it will have to be rain on the street, rain on the tree, rain on the sea but no rain on me.
A big dish of bucatini and sauce and sausages later, it was time for a nap. The nap lasted until one o'clock this morning. The good news is that it was another day of no T.V..
Outside there are rumblings of thunder and it will be a long while until daybreak. When it gets light I will go walking. It is too enjoyable to be forestalled by a few sniffles. I still have five quarts of sauce to revel in. Perhaps I will need some more Burgundy. Port may be a better choice for such a day but port has proven itself stronger than I am. Port and peaches yes, port and spaghetti, a sacrilege.
Sacrilege, the word reminds me of an old Catholic adage. "Abortion is a sacrilege. If men had the babies, abortion would be a sacrement.".

Another wonderful day

Today was much like yesterday. The Sun was shining, the birds were singing (really only one crow and the sound was much like the sound that I make when I try to sing), and the leaves were everywhere. I am becoming fond of asparagus, the pencil thick ones not the thumb thick ones. I have plans for my infamous ten gallon spaghetti sauce tomorrow.
Two days without television, I am so proud of myself! I am not usually awake at this time of night but I got a call from a telemarketer about seven P.M. and have been unable to get back to sleep. I mentioned to the lady that there are restrictions on the time that they can call but she told me that it is several hours earlier where she is.
Tomorrow will be cooking and another walk. I shouldn't call what I do a walk. It is an amble. It is so nice to have the time to slowly move along, noticing the small things that enrich this world. I saw a wooly bear caterpillar with a stripe so wide that it reached to the end. BRRRRR! I must find my wool hat and long underwear, I will probably be needing them soon. I tried the heat and it came on. I shut it back off but I am looking forward to the days of sitting in a warm place watching the snow fall outside the window. Snow, what a joy it is. It covers the blemishes of the Earth and seems to say "All is well, errors are forgotten, let's start over.". It tickles the nose and bites the toes and justifies hot cocoa. It is as much a part of New England as the granite and the beans and the maple syrup and the codfish cakes. Would the symphony of Spring be so grand without the prelude of Winter? Will this global warming thing banish snow angels from our lives? It would seem to be an empty world without them.

The colors of life

Yesterday was a refreshing long overdue. I went for a walk and once again was heartened by the colors of Fall. I cooked a nice meal and didn't watch television, congratulating myself on achieving a goal I often set but seldom achieve. I went to bed while it was still light out but during the night I kept waking up, realizing that I was having dreams about things that happened when I was very young.
Finally I lay awake thinking. I realized that the melancholy of the past few days had passed. I have come to accept what I am, not what I should have been. I didn't do what I should have or was capable of, I just DID. Then a pleasing thought came to me. Why isn't there a color called melancholy? There is cerulean blue and burnt sienna, why can't Crayola make a melancholy? I imagine it would be sort of a lightish purple. Not the deep blackness of despair or the fiery orange of anger or the heartstopping greeness of some dark haired women's eyes but a gentle purple that says I am not a merry sunshine but I am going to be O.K.. The common phrase is "I am blue.". That doesn't begin to describe the feeling of melancholy. The sky can be a brilliant blue and gladden the heart, the sea can be a blue that twinkles in the Sun and lifts the spirit. Blue is not an acceptible definition. A nice gentle purple, not the deep dark of beet water or the foreboding purple of venous bleeding or the permanence of the stain that comes from those purple berries that grow by the side of the road on upright stalks. I was young and wore my new school clothes outside before school began and got into those berries. The carmine fire that shot from my Mother's eyes soon faded as she attempted to remove the stains. Somewhere, in a landfill far away there, there is a pair of chinos that look like they were at a Grateful Dead concert. Somewhere, in a landfill in Texas, there is a pair of white sandals with the red mud of the Red River muting their alabaster newness. That was one of my proudest moments, a time when I did do the right thing. The tears of a child should never be allowed to multiply, they are an anathema to the world.

FIX-IT
Yesterday was a wonderful day for walking. The Sun was shining, the air was the same temperature as me, and the leaves accented each footstep with a pleasing crunch. The palette of the maples, with its reds and oranges and purples and greens and yellows and browns sang of the glory of New England in the Fall. I stopped by the waterfall to feel the moisture in its breath and listen to the laughter in its voice.
Unfortunately it was also a good time for thinking. The other night I watched a comedy show that had a man that was supposed to be a financial expert. He was asked what he thought that the government should do about the financial crisis. He said "FIX IT, FIX IT, FIX IT!".
I started thinking about fix-it. Ever since I was eighteen, I have been involved with FIX-IT. As an electrician, as an electronics repairman, as a telephone technician, as a roofer, as a homeowner, as a Father, and as a husband, the demand has always been FIX-IT! I feel that I succeeded in all except the last. At the waterfall the thought exploded in my mind "How can I fix it when I am the one that broke it?". The one that broke something is not the resource to go to when it is time to fix something. Perhaps it is time for the Democrats to take over. A change of captains and venue is sometimes the only answer. It has been in my experience.
So much for the regrets of the past. Today will be roast chicken, mashed potatoes, string beans, and squash. There is also the friendliest bottle of Sauvigon Blanc out there for the sauce. It is a very large bottle and I only need about one half cup for the sauce. I wonder what will happen to the rest during the two and one half hours that I am waiting for the chicken to cook. HMMMM? I like cooking with wine very much, I like wining with cooking even more.

This morning I read the blog of one of my daughters concerning raising orphaned or abandoned kittens. My heart filled with pride over the tender and sweet person she has become. She has an infinite supply of love for living things, excepting spiders, and to achieve such a level of empathy is the highest state a human being can aspire to.
I tried to leave a comment but was unable to. Yesterday my Brother brought me a new computer. It has all of the bells and whistles of the new age of computers. It can go from zero to sixty in a flash, stop on a dime and give you nine cents change. He spotted it in someone's trash and took it home and brought it back to life. He is amazing with anything that has moving parts. NASA could get the Hubble telescope fixed if they could only find a spacesuit big enough to fit him. The only problem would be that they would have to let him drive.
The groceries for the month of November are all in and I am looking forward to the cold weather, cooking, and reading under a nice warm blankie while watching the snow fall outside. Some cocoa and grahamn crackers will set the tone. So here in New England we are hunkering down for the seasons of rest and recharging. Soon up on the roof there will arise such a clatter!

To be a Red Sox fan is not for the faint of heart. They can take you from the depths of despair to the heights of exultation in a moment. Some say no one can ever match Kirk Gibson's moment in the World Series. That may be true but watching Carl Yastremski bat in a losing cause in the ninth inning of the last game, refusing to go down on a called strike or watching Ted Williams hit a home run with the last swing of the bat in his career comes close. All those years of disappointment were not disappointing, They were full of drama and hope and pride. I have been listening to people lament over the trading of Manny Ramirez. Where does that compare to the trading of Babe Ruth? What a town for baseball! Who else has anything to compare with Fenway Park? What other city has a skyscaper that announces the state of the game? Thank you Red Sox. You have added admirably to the joy of living. You have pretty good sausages and peppers also.

I am up before Dawn. I still get up at the same time each morning. A lifetime of arising at five A.M. is hard to overcome but the Dawn is later and later each day as the season progresses. The lateness of the Dawn is thanks to the axial tilt of the Earth. The up at five is thanks to the U.S. Army and the telephone company. It is a peaceful time, before the daily rush of commuters and motorcycles pushes the peace aside. Each morning a freight train comes through in the dark, wailing its mournful groan as it passes through the town. It always reminds me of when I was working in the Mid-West. A young man, far from home, stuck in a dead-end job but refusing to admit a mistake and staying with it. Out in the flat green pool table of America, long freight trains pierce the dark with their lonely lament. The perfect accompaniment for a brooding Swede sitting in the dark thinking "Things wouldn't be this bad if you only worked harder.". And so I wait for Eos's golden tresses to wreath the trees. The maple in the back yard was overpowering yesterday. The oranges and reds and yellows and still some greens were interrupted by only a few browns. I am looking forward to seeing it this morning.
So I sit here at the keyboard with one troublesome thought dashing in and out of my mind. Before I go to sleep each night I have been reading a book by Stephen Hawking. I took several Astronomy courses when I was younger, so parts of it are familiar but last night he put forth the concept of anti-time. As a way of simplifying the concept he used "i" and compared it to the square root of -1. I can't seem to get my mind around either concept. Then he offers a diagram that shows the beginning of the Universe at 0, expanding and then contracting to -0. Reading Stephen Hawking to put your mind at rest before going to sleep is like asking Stephen King to tell you a bedtime story.
The sky is beginning to lighten but there is a heavy layer of grey clouds that are obscuring even the moon, so the tree might have to wait another day. But trees are patient. They have learned to wait. I have learned to wait also. Wait for what? The song of the train.

What a glorious morning. The air is cool and dry, the mosquitos are nowhere to be found, and the coffee is hot and dark. I was up before sunrise and watched the dawning of the new day from the porch. As the light slowly grew I became aware of the treat that was coming and waited in slow anticipation. Then it happened, the first sunbeams broke through and the glory of the maple trees came to life. The colors of the leaves abandoned their muted glow and burst into vibrancy. The awe of the color of the maples and the sweetness that can come from them if one is willing to wait for the season more than compensate for their lack of an overt demonstration of fruit. Like everything in life, "Two outta three ain't bad!". The little helicopters are nice also and the way that you can split them and stick them on your nose.
Before I got up, I lay awake for a time wondering about the difference between hopes and dreams. Dreams are things that are probably never going to happen. Hopes are dreams that we have while we are awake. I have a dream that I have had for many years. It has not happened and did not happen yesterday. I hope that it will happen today. I am physically getting by, I am financially getting by, but my dream has not happened. I hope that it will happen today but "Two outta three ain't bad.".
I thought of the thanks that I offer each night before I go to sleep. "Thank you for freedom from pain. Thank you for a full belly. Thank you for a warm place to sleep.". Three out of three is good too.

Up at five A.M.. Coffee on the porch. It is a balmy morning. Yesterday morning there was ice on the porch, today it is mild and moist. Yesterday I made chicken parmesan again. It was as good as before. I must learn to confine myself to Italian and New England cooking. They are simple, use only the finest ingredients, and actually LOOK good. I have neither the resources nor the skill and patience needed for French cooking but boy do I have the appetite for it.
I watched part of the political debate. Neither candidate seemed to feel that specifics were important. I endured their platitudes and snide remarks until one candidate said that his plan was that he had confidence in the American people to ride out the troubles and build anew. So his plan is a confidence game! I turned off the TV and began to think. Why can't we find able people with no financial taint to vote for. I came up with a dream ticket. Bill Gates for president, Stephen Jobs for vice president, Warren Buffet for Secretary of the treasury, the head of the Marine Corps for Secretary of defense, George Bush Sr. for U.N. representative and head of the CIA, and T. Boone Pickens in charge of Energy. I miss William Jefferson Clinton very much. It is a shame that he can't run again.

Usual day, I awakened at three A.M., made coffee, and began pondering the eternal question "If there is only one M&M left in the bag, is it just an M?". My heart was gladdened by a fiery post.
Each time I meet Kristen's husband I am more and more impressed by him. His quiet dignity and his infinite patience are a wonderful example to the son that obviously adores his Father. The dignity and patience which with his parents treat each other will bear fruit in later years. It has already.

Yesterday was a banner day. One of those unusual times when the actual event is much better than the anticipation of the event. This morning I was reminded that I have been able to pass on something to the next generation. It is my inability to hold my tongue when a thought flits from my mind to my tongue. I have often experienced this in my two younger children but was unaware that the oldest has similar tendencies. It is too bad that my Father passed away so soon. They would have enjoyed hearing him give me the advice he so often gave to me "Nils, the only time you should open your mouth is to change feet.". This is only part of the legacy I have bequeathed to them. Think of all of the sunshine, music, rainbows, and respect for humanity that is in Ibsen's work. That has also been passed on to them.

Where do I stand? I stand corrected. Two days ago I made one of my typical statements from the twilight zone. I was corrected by one of the three persons in this world whose opinion I respect. I began to think about the contents of the correction. I realized that my opinions are simply borrowed from the nightly news and the blurbs of the internet. There is no thinking or reasoning behind them.
Yesterday I was going to go and register to vote. I decided not to. Why should my vote, that of a long haired sleeping gnome that lives in the past, be allowed the potential to negate that of a person who thinks and reasons and is informed about the world as it is now. I may still register if you can vote without choosing a candidate in the national election, as there are two state items on the ballot that need resolution. The first is the elimination of state income tax. The second is the elimination of serious penalties for the possession of less than an ounce of marijuana. I think that the elimination of the state income tax is a bad idea although the reasons given for retaining it are a bunch of baloney. The proponents of retaining the tax say that there will be no money to maintain the roads and bridges. The tax is here and those things are still not being done. The roads and bridges are supposed to be maintained with the excise tax on automobiles but none of that money is used that way. It turns out that that very large amount of money is entirely used up by the infrastructure that collects the tax. The state pension system is unfunded by the state. If you think that the legislature is going to allow their pension to disappear, welcome to my world. The lessening of the penalties for marijuana possession, which has destroyed some young lives, seems structured towards allowing the children of the very well off to escape any permanent record of such an event while putting such a remedy out of the reach of the poor.
One more ridiculous thought, you knew it was coming. The average taxpayer pays 28% income tax. The government lends the money to banks at 2%. The banks lend the money to the average taxpayer at 7%. The banks got a little greedy and cannot keep lending at such a disadvantageous arrangement. They need a big loan from the government. The government will get the money from Santa.
28% in, 2% out, pretty good deal.
7% in, 2% out, pretty good deal.
28% out, not so good.
All this endorsed by a taxpayer that lives in government housing.
It will be a cold day in Hell when you see a politician with his hands in his own pockets!
I don't think that I subscribe to any uterine stereotype, I am just commenting on what I see.

Thinking leads one to strange places. I realized yesterday that I have become too concerned with the national news. There is very little I can do to effect it but I can refuse to participate in the national malaise that is America today. What ever happened to the days when we were the good guys?
This line of thought was predicated by an e-mail message from a loved one suggesting that I visit www.michaelpalinfor president. It generated pleasant memories and pleasant thoughts. It might not be a bad idea.
I have been watching the Washington D.C. Flying Circus for eight years. It is about time that the silliness provide some entertainment rather than world wide apprehension. I nominate Michael Palin's character of the man with two bums for president. We have seen what one a-hole can accomplish in eight years, imagine if we had two in charge! The Ministry of Silly walks could conduct tours of Iraq and Afghanistan.
There is too much going on. My life is simple and very routine. I get up around two A.M. each day. I fritter three or four hours away on the computer. I go for a walk. I cook. I clean. I read and I go to bed. I am tired of all the craziness that is the news.
I was sitting and thinking of a simpler way when an old memory came to light, the Jains. They have had the secret to simplicity for six thousand years. I started thinking about their view of karma. They figured out string theory four thousand years ago.
I went to bed and the usual worries leaped out of the pillow. I lay there in the dark, fretting over various things. My worrying was interrupted by the lonely tolling of the church bell announcing the time. I pondered the simplicity and beauty of the sound of the bell. The worrys went away. I thought of the freshness of the air I was breathing in. I thought of the coolness of the water I drink. I thought of the wholeness of the simple foods that I eat. I dozed off.
When I awoke this morning, I thought about what had happened. I had purged my thoughts of the bad thoughts and concentrated on good, simple thoughts. The bad karma that flocks to bad thoughts had drifted away and the good karma had rushed in to be with the good simple thoughts. I could never be a Jain. I am too much of a carnivore, I would have a hard time living without garlic and onions, and I would have a hard time living in harmony with spiders.
Imagine a world run by the Jains. They are renowned for their honesty, integrity, hard work, and living with the planet not on it. Perhaps Azimov's Gaia would eventually come to pass.
As for me, I will live by the side of the road and be a friend to Man.

Up at five A.M. Coffee on the porch in the dark. It was not really dark. The horizon was lightening in the East, the Moon was so bright that shadows were being cast. I could actually see my breath. Fall has arrived overnight. The air is crisp and clear, there are signs of Halloween in the stores. Something else is happening.
My brain is running in high gear. Memories from long ago and recent times are flooding my thoughts. Seemingly insoluble problems have suddenly been resolved. I look forward to dreaming as many pleasant thoughts are there. I lay awake this morning with one thing coursing through my mind. I have been blessed with three incredible daughters. Not only are all three strikingly brilliant but all three are heartstoppingly beautiful. Most people have to settle for one characteristic or the other in their children but I have both. All three share another thing. They have a tenderness that molds their thoughts and lives. Blessed is this father of daughters. I have often wondered what it would be like to have a son. It couldn't possibly be this good.

Once more it rolls a round. An epic day, filled with pleasant memories. God gave us memory that we might have roses in December. Unfortunately roses have thorns. So this day will be as it has always been, filled with bright memories and dark introspection. You can never recapture a rapture.

To lighten things up:
A man walks into a psychiatrists office.
The psychiatrist says "Mr. Jones, I haven't seen you in many years, since I cured you of thinking that you were a moth. Why have you come to see me today?".
Mr. Jones says "I really wasn't coming to see you. I was walking home from work but your light was on.".

Six o'clock in the morning and I am up and ready for the day. Coffee on the porch was invigorating. The air is crisp, the moon was shining through the mist, and only the church bell accents the quiet of this little town. How lonely the bell sounds as it keeps track of the parade of hours that mark the day.
Time, what a mysterious concept. When you are very young, there are times when time seems to be bathed in molasses. The lazy days of Summer can be the definition of lethargy. Then comes the two weeks before the beginning of school and time seems soaked in adrenaline. There are the teen-age years when time seems to have no direction and be slipping by. These are followed by the years when you are raising a young family and time seems to be an unforgiving task master. Up at five, hustle to work, work till nine in the evening, hurry home, go to bed, up at five, and the question keeps reiterating "What is the point? Will I ever be good enough? If I get sick how am I ever going to feed this family? Why is there never enough time to hold these dear ones close and strengthen the bond that was forged the first moment I saw them? What is the point?". Then comes the time when time no longer holds the lash of endless routine. A time when you can go to bed at three in the afternoon if you feel like it and get up at five in the morning because you choose to. A time when only the lonely church bell marks the passage of the day and then the tolling of bells will mark the end of your days as the solemn ebony procession announces the end of time's mastery, the final victory of entropy over chaos. Oh but what a glorious chaos it was! Full of mobiles and bedtime stories and two wheel bicycles and Girl Scouts and piano lessons and guitar lessons and ballet lessons and prom dresses and driving lessons and SATs and FSAFs and suddenly it is over. Time passes and slowly you realize that you have done well. You didn't know what you were doing, you had no plan, the bustle of the moment and the scurrying to make ends meet left no time for planning but somehow you made it. Time slows down, giving you time to reflect on the passing of that glorious chaos. You made mistakes but they were your mistakes and must be part of your legacy. One more bedtime story would be nice and getting out the tool to remove one more set of training wheels would be nice. Sitting in the passenger seat, beaming with pride, and saying "You're too close, slow down." would be nice. I guess that the only worthwhile advice for living should be "Slow down." but I didn't take it and no one else will. Time is the master of all, unless you have a Tardis and a sonic screwdriver.

It is 6:116 A.M. and the Sun is not up yet. The sky has lightened but the Sun has not yet appeared. It is a sure sign that Winter, glorious Winter, is on the way. I have always preferred the Winter to the Summer. The Summer is just there. You don't notice it, it is just there. Its one saving grace is the garden but I don't think that compensates for the days when your underwear tries to meld with your skin. If the air conditioner stops working, then you notice the Summer, big time.
You cannot ignore the Winter. When your nose starts to tingle and the snow under your feet starts to squeak, you better pay attention! Dealing with Winter is simple. Put on more wool. If the heat goes off, another sweater, long johns, and wool socks, will take you outside and more blankets on the bed combined with a nightcap, either wool or bourbon, combine to make for a pleasant sleep. It is the season of stews and roasts and cookies and cocoa and coffee on the porch where the crisp dry air makes you realize that you are alive. No insects, no knocks on the door asking you if you are interested in salvation. I think that I have found salvation and it comes with an extra I, so it must be directed at the individual.
I was wandering the Internet and I discovered a place on the West Coast, Uli's Sausage. Just looking at their catalogue brings Salivation! It has been some time since I went to Carl's Sausage Kitchen on route one in Saugus and I have no way of getting to DePasquale's in Newton. DePasquale's makes only Italian Sausage but they have been making it in a little storefront in Nonantum for over a hundred years and the carry the full line of Pastene products. That means real percatelli and bucatini and the giant cans of plum tomatoes. It is not like being in the Colonial Market on Atwells Avenue but it is a close second. I don't know how many kinds of sausage Carl makes but there must be close to fifty hanging from the ceiling. Oh the days of bratwurst and knackwurst. There is none of either to be had here. There was a decent knackwurst, Old Neighborhood, but I must have been the only one purchasing it and the local store no longer carries it. I remember when my Father would sit us down to Nepco knackwurst and Franco American macaroni and cheese. Nepco knackwurst, as big around as a half dollar with the juice oozing out when you cut it. How the world has changed. No more Nepco knackwurst, no more Franco American macaroni and cheese, no more Kasanov's Bulkies, no more Welch's Caramallow bars, no more Lowenbrau from Munich, no more Double Diamond, and when is the last time that you saw a half dollar?
The government says they are going to have a problem with Social Security. The money is going to run out because the Baby Boomers are going to live too long. The solution is free sausage for everyone over fifty. There is no need for a solution however, as Apophis is going to wipe the slate clean in 2012, just as the Mayans have been predicting for thousands of years. NASA says that Apophis will pass within a few million miles of Earth and NASA has plans for a mission, directed by noted expert Dr. Murphy, to nudge it into a different path. With no O rings and no heat tiles, what could possibly go wrong? Move over dinosaurs, here we come!

Fall is here at last. I awoke this morning to the grey of Dawn and had coffee on the porch. The air was crisp and a mist was rising over the field. Gone are the days of eighty degrees and the sixties are here. Soon there will be pumpkins and hot spiced apple cider and CINNAMON DOUGHNUTS! Time for sweaters and warm stockings, beef stew and apple pie, snow angels and snowmen. Ahh the sixties, a wonderful temperature and a wonderful time to be alive.

Monthly pilgrimage

Yesterday I made my monthly pilgrimage to the grocery store. I have never been able to explain the quiet, intense, joy that I get from shopping for groceries. We are so fortunate in this country that we have such an abundance and variety of food to choose from. Food is so cheap, although that seems to be slowly changing. I spend about forty dollars a week on food. The only thing that I purchase that is pre-made is B&M beans. I just can't make beans that are as good and they are really inexpensive. I make my own bread and I grind my own hamburger. This week the market had pork loin on sale. Not a small tenderloin but a whole loin. It weighed eight pounds and when I got it home I cut it up into chops and roasts. There are now fifteen beautiful, boneless, pork chops in the freezer and two roasts. I wish that there was a way to have fresh produce and fruit keep for a month. I renew the supply three or four times a month by walking to the grocery store. It is about two miles to the grocery store and I enjoy the walk. I usually walk at least that far each day so I might as well head in a direction that I enjoy.
It is satisfying to see that life has come down to a few simple pleasures. Cooking, cleaning, reading, and napping are what I enjoy. The attempt to stop watching television is going well. I still occasionally turn it on while I am eating but find that it detracts from the enjoyment of the food. A few simple things, cooked with patience, once a day, seem to suffice. I have been slowly losing some weight and that seems like a good thing.
I have been dreaming a lot lately. Dreams about things that happened long ago. It is pleasant to have such memories. It is also pleasant to know that the memories are still there, tucked away in some dusty corner of the brain, instead of wiped away by time. There are also daytime dreams. Dreams of things that I would like to have happen. It would be so nice to have the resources to open up a food kitchen for people that are down on their luck. I could spend the whole day cooking for people and watching their faces as they eat. This would also justify going to the grocery store every day!!!!! Dreams, what pleasant, insubstantial things they are. They are sort of like cotton candy. Wisps of fluff, spun out of sweetness, that give so much pleasure. Sort of like memories.

Unflocking believeable

It worked and suddenly there are all sorts of windows opening up and the computer has stopped disconnecting repeatedly. Of course this means that Becker's Elastic is stretched to quivering and soon I will be smacked on the back of the head by something.

Flock

I have just downloaded Flock and I am trying to see if it resolves the posting problem I have had.

Arrival

Plenty o people

Same old, same old

Well rinsed

W

Changes

Creature of the Night

Voltaire

Dear Boo

The fog may be clearing

Rain

New Tricks

Eos

Old new friends

Out of the kitchen

Massachusetts

Divedends

Stirring

Bully

Acadian Dreams

Breathe out

Justification

Hermits

If things work out.

Alarming

Lear

Arthur has come out of the cellar and deleted one of his rantings

Lair of the Demon

Dad's Motto

Walkus procrastinatus

Five sweet miles on the Blackstone Canal

What about a pointed stick?

Lighten Up

See comments, I can only post titles

Bad day

Attempt to post

Just an attempt to post to see if somehow it has fixed itself.

Big Plans

I have big plans for today, big for me at least. I awakened at 2am and could not get back to sleep. Today I will clean. It is a little cool and misty outside and I have no reason to go out. Yesterday's walk was much longer than usual so I will pass on that. I feel like making bread and lasagna. I haven't made pasta in quite some time and I still have the machine. I haven't got any semolina flour but all purpose works fine. I resolve to not watch television today. It has been several days since the last time but it is difficult to ignore the couch's siren song. I am infested with ladybugs. I know they lost their house in the fire but couldn't some of them find another place to stay? They are only in the bedroom, where they spend the day crawling up and down the window until they expire. Maybe I should change my socks, it's close enough to May. So much to do and so little time, the days are just packed.

Taskless

Yesterday was a days full of enigmas. I went for a walk with no intended destination. I haven't done that since I lived in Winthrop. I felt an urge to have bacon and eggs for breakfast so I cooked them. It is a breakfast I have not had in quite some time. I did not watch the cooking shows on PBS. Foodies are in danger of becoming like wine aficianados. It has always amused me when I read that a certain wine is wonderful because it has hints of flint, tobacco, and oak. Yum Yum! So does gunpowder.
I decided to try meditating. I guess the idea is to try to concentrate on one thing. How can that happen? Every time I try, my mind is racing with myriad thoughts and memories. The wheels are always turning. The only time I ever remember being able to do that was when I was learning real time editing. Extraneous thoughts would lead to a loss of concentration and had to be eliminated.
I awoke in the middle of the night and, to my surprise, the answer to the question of the last two days was not there. I seem to remember that refugees were carrying their idol because it could not walk on its feet of clay. Mixed in are flashes of feet of clay and jewels all smashed up. I looked in the Book and found references to the refugees. The other reference comes from Daniel. The mental RPMs redlined. The Babylonians called their idol Bel, which became Marduk. Early Canaanites and maybe Hebrews reference El. Could that have become Elohim? B is hard to carve in stone so just the E and the L may have sufficed. It did for Scandinavian runes. That lead to further rumblings of gray matter. Sanskrit Deus to Zeus to Deux. Back came the memory of an Arthur C. Clarke story about the names of God, a Tibetan monastery, and a computer. Up in the night sky the stars were slowly winking out. Concentrate on one thing? SUUURE!
So I got up this morning and awoke my dear companion Netscape. There it was "Moses was on drugs on Mount Sinai!". I have read a lot about Moses and feel that Moses is the most pitiable figure in the Book. He goes up on one mountain and meets the most powerful force in the universe, omnipotent and incapable of failure. He takes on a task that he feels is doomed to failure. On his way to Egypt, that homicidal deity tries to kill him and fails. How would you feel if you were the only one that was a witness to to that failure? He leads his people out of Egypt but not before they manage to get a whole lot of stuff from the Egyptians. "Where did you get that stuff?". "Someone gave it to me.". Why did the Egyptians chase them? Maybe they wanted their stuff back. Then his brother and his sister start trying to grab some of his job. He goes up on another mountain, sounds like a nice way to get away from squabbling siblings and stiff necked looters. He comes down with stone tablets, he and his brother the stone carver. Is there a B in Aramaic? He has to wear a veil all the time and the rules seem to have a lot of references to how leprosy will be handled. He finally gets close to where he is going and he is not allowed to go there. Forty years of tramping through the landscape and no respite. One last thing comes to mind. What would the world be like now if instead of saying "Take off your shoes!", the deity had said "Recite!"?
Sure Nils, all you have to do is concentrate on one thing. Is a lobotomy covered by my medical plan?