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.