Beeswax

With Apologies to Gene Roddenberry

2012-02-10T19:27:00.000-08:00

In an episode of the original Star Trek series, a character named Garth confronts an Orion slave girl who claims to have authored a poem she has read to Captain Kirk. That poem, Garth says, was written by an Earth man named Shakespeare a long time ago. That does not alter the fact, the green woman replies, that I wrote it again this morning.

I was reminded of that particular exchange recently when I invented the Dutch apple crumb pie, and again today when I invented the Berry crumb pie.

These pies are very like the Orion girls as described in that episode by Commodore Mendez: they're vicious and seductive...they say no human male can resist them. In fact, I think I will call these pies the Orion apple crumb and the Roddenberryberry crumb pies.

Retirement -- bravely eating what no man has et before.

Just sayin'.

Berlin Underground

2012-02-08T19:09:00.000-08:00

I was slithering about on the web today and found myself unexpectedly under the streets of Berlin, Germany. Like most cities, Berlin has a lot of stuff underground -- subways, utility tunnels, and an extensive network of underground bunkers and connecting tunnels built by the Nazi's in WWII. Well, perhaps not many other cities have this last feature, or at least not to the extent that Berlin has.

There is a general fascination with all this underground stuff, and somehow evolving out of this has quite naturally come a restaurant with a unique dining experience. Nocti Vagus is a restaurant where you eat in total darkness, waited on by blind waiters/waitresses. It is one of Berlin's most popular spots. I've not personally been there, but accounts I've read confirm that it is dark -- can't see your hand in front of your face dark. It seems that part of the motivation behind this is to simulate the experience that a blind person might have dining out.

"It is an incredible experience to eat in the dark, to open your mind to a different way of eating," says the Road Junky website. "But more astounding is the feeling of liberation of not having to watch your behaviour, or to watch the people, or feel watched. You can eat with your hands, and get your face covered with food. That alone makes it an amazing eating experience."

To go with the dining experience, there is a full range of entertainment from music to theater, including evenings dedicated to the reading of erotic stories and sensual music, "erotic snack included."

It all kind of reminds me of the party games when I was a kid where you blindfolded someone and then made them reach their hand into a bowl of cold spaghetti-o's.

I wonder if spaghetti-o's are on the menu?

Movie Review: Chronicle

2012-02-07T10:14:00.000-08:00

If you have even the slightest interest in my review of the new movie Chronicle, you can find it here in this week's edition of the Piker Press.

Just sayin'.

Pizza! Pizza!

2012-02-04T22:12:00.000-08:00

The doughnuts I made the other day were a moderate success -- not quite up to my expectations but very edible. Undaunted, I threw myself into to pizza making. Pizza is not conceptually difficult. There's the dough, the sauce, and the toppings.

The toppings are pretty much a no-brainer. In my case, I wanted it simple, so it was just mozzarella cheese and pepperoni. (Yes, there are pepperoni on there. I put them down first and then put the cheese on top. Probably should have done it the other way round for the visual effect.)

The sauce is a little trickier. I modeled my sauce after one that Sand makes, a lightly spiced tomato sauce for a nice fresh taste. I just about got it, although next time I will cut back a bit on the salt.

The dough is really critical in a pizza. I used a recipe I found on line -- just flour, water, yeast and and a little tiny bit of sugar. Seemed simple enough, but once again as with the doughnuts, the dough turned out to be very difficult to work with. Unlike doughnuts, fortunately, shape is of less importance and I was able to wrestle it down onto a sheet, roughly shape it, top it and get it into the oven.

The result? A respectable pizza pie. Next time I think I want to go a little thinner on the crust. But you know, the real test of whether a pizza is good is how it tastes cold the next morning. There was a little bit left over from this one, so it went into a baggie and spent the night in the fridge. Next morning, after I poured my coffee (in my youth it would have been a Pepsi, but I can't do that to myself now a days), I pulled out a slice and tried it. Mmmm, it passed the test. There will be no wasted pizza with this recipe.

It can stand a little tweaking, but it's a keeper.

Life Will Find A Way -- Update

2012-02-03T18:11:00.000-08:00

A little while ago I mentioned that while cleaning the pond out front, I happened upon a baby fish. I thought that this was cool since it indicated that my adult fish were comfortable enough to have spent some time after one of their parties committing to settling down and talking about the future. Well, more than talking actually.

It's been a long journey for these fish. The initial members of the pond were definitely aquarium fish, and they were not exceptionally wise in the ways of nature. They would come to the surface when we fed them, and would swim about in the open humming little fish songs. As a result, a fair number of them were eaten by predators. I had to rescue one little guy from the roots of one of the pond plants. I have no idea how he had gotten himself in there, but I had to pull the plant out of the water to free him.

But it appears that they have adapted. They are more wary now and lurk amongst the plant leaves, spending much more of their time near the bottom of the pond under a protective covering of three and a half feet of water. When we feed them, which is not often since they are able to live nicely off the environment, they will dart to the surface, gulp and dive back to the bottom. So during the day, it's hard to determine who is in there.

At night however they swim about much more freely. With flashlight in hand, we went fish spotting. To my delight, we spotted no less then EIGHT little fry squirting about. There may be more since, even with a flashlight, we can not really see the deepest recesses of the pond. But I am happy. Life will find a way. And I'm sure that mom and dad have already said to the kids, "look, we don't know everything, but we know this: keep your head down!"

Reinventing The (Doughnut) Wheel

2012-02-01T21:54:00.000-08:00

Emboldened by my recent success with pretzels and with the fabulously successful Monkey Bread, I set out to try my hand at another tasty treat -- raised doughnuts. I set my sights high on this one. Since my mother loved doughnuts, and since we had some really good bakeries back in the old neighborhood, I have been eating doughnuts since I can remember. And although not all doughnut shops can crank out really good ones, there are enough doughnut shops in this country that the odds are you can find a good one no matter where you live. I have had a few really, really good sources of doughnuts in my life. The bakery at the Giant Supermarket in Lewistown, Pa. was one of these. This is the old store down on Dorcas St., not the new one in Burnham. Whoever baked at that store had a special relationship with raised doughnuts. They were so good that they got a mention in a book I read, one of the author's fond memories of growing up in that area. There is another shop out here in California. It's in Livermore, and was dangerously on my route home (if I went just a wee bit out of my way) from work. Since I got off of work at 2 or 3 a.m., I could get to the doughnut shop just as all the drunks got out of the bars and headed there for a cup of coffee, but more importantly, just as the bakers were working on the day's supply of the tasty morsels. The doughnuts would be so soft, so fresh, they would collapse in upon themselves as you bit into them.

That's what I had in mind when I made mine, and, well, I didn't quite get there. I had some difficulty with the texture of the dough that made it hard to work with, and while Sand was able to rescue me, neither of us figured out a good way to get the nice raised, puffy dough-nuts of the sheet and into the hot oil without some major falling of the dough and distortion of the shapes. Still, we got doughnuts, but not exactly pretty ones. There was also some issue with the texture of the finished product. Instead of airy, fluffy, melt in your mouth delicacies, these doughnuts had more the feel of funnel cake -- a texture somewhere between a cake doughnut and a proper raised doughnut.

Understand, I would and did eat these, and would do so again, especially when they are still fresh and warm, but they did not quite match up to my lofty expectations.

This is why you retire -- to have the time to reinvent the wheel, to master new skills. Important skills. Survival skills.

So, I Was Just Thinking....

2012-01-28T10:44:00.000-08:00

This is an actual photograph of me. Those of you who know me will recognize me immediately. I'm smiling in this photograph because, darn it, I'm pretty happy. Things are going pretty darn well, and I have the absolute good fortune to realize how well things are going.

I have personal experience of living in households where things were going pretty darn well but you'd never have guessed it from the people there. There was always something that was wanting, always discontent. It could be argued that it is precisely this constant unrest that made this country great -- more, bigger, and better are three words that are at the foundation of our great economic engine.

Did you ever wonder what makes really rich people continue to work so hard at making money? If the rent is due next week and you don't have any money, I see the need to go out there hustle. And it's prudent to try to get ahead a bit. A common financial rule of thumb is to have six months of living expenses in the savings account just in case. So what if you had six months? Is that enough? How about twelve months?

Since I have been unemployed/retired, I've had a lot of time to think and am now more convinced than ever that God is Good.

I saw a program on one of the cable channels about a scientist that believes that certain rock formations on the bottom of one of the Great Lakes indicate that the area was dry land in the past and humans lived there. In his diving expeditions, he hopes to recover some evidence to support his claim. At one point, he holds up a small chard of rock, holding it on the tip of a finger, and excitedly explains that this piece of rock is probably evidence of stone tool making, and if so would confirm his theories. He may well be right.

It is interesting that such a small bit of evidence can indicate that man was present someplace, while at the same time, the evolution of intelligent life on earth in an otherwise barren and lifeless universe is dismissed as evidence of the existence of a creator.

I've got more than a few rock chips in my life that indicate to me that God has been active there. And so I am happy.

Life Will Find A Way

2012-01-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

It was a very pleasant afternoon here today, so
I took advantage of the weather to clean out the front pond. Part of the process is to muck out the accumulated gunk on the bottom. I do this by taking a good sized net and sweeping along the bottom, pulling out all manner of stuff that has been blown or dropped in by wind and neighborhood kids.

I carefully pile what I bring up on a couple sheets of paper so that I can examine it. You never know what might have taken up residence there. We have in the past had dragonfly nymphs, and it is not unusual for the fish to run the wrong way and get caught up in the net.

Today I was glad that I taken the time to look at what I was pulling out, because much to my delight, we have babies. Flopping around on the pile of gunk was a dime sized cutie of indeterminate breed. I say indeterminate because the fish in the pond have to this point all been goldfish. This fish did not look like a goldfish -- it was the wrong shape. Could be something one of the neighborhood kids dumped in. We have a pretty liberal policy of accepting drop-offs. We took a turtle once, but he only stuck around for about two days before he fled or was eaten.

Nonetheless, I am pleased to see baby somethings in the pond. It is a validation that the little ecosystem is flourishing.

Tricks of the Mind

2012-01-23T23:41:00.000-08:00

I hate it when you have a dream in which you get angry or depressed or frustrated and then wake up only to have that emotion spill over into your morning, hanging around and coloring your day. Last week I had a dream in which I was back in school, had a test coming up, and not only hadn't studied, but as far as I knew had never been to class or even had a textbook. For the entire morning I walked around feeling like there were things I needed to be doing, but of course I didn't know what they were. Last night, I was mad at somebody in my dream. I can't remember what they did, but I was feeling mighty offended and betrayed. It was fortunate that when I awoke the family had pretty much scattered and were off doing whatever they had to do. I didn't have to deal with anybody while I was still smoldering over the stupid dream.

I don't know why the mind teases you like that. Life has enough distractions of its own. There is no need to add the clutter of extraneous, completely bogus emotions.

I got a cup of coffee and went outside to sit by the pond. It took a while, but I was able to lose myself in the rain drops on the pond, and the seeming serenity of the fish drained away the irritation.

Tonight, I want to dream that I am happy and content. That would be nice to wake up to.

Tri-tip, Ranch Dressing, and Monkey Bread

2012-01-20T20:55:00.000-08:00

Okay. Today I think we crossed some kind of goodness threshold. For lunch, Sand made a tri-tip, baked potatoes, and sauteed asparagus and mushrooms. There was a salad also, with ranch dressing that she made yesterday from the buttermiilk that was the byproduct of having made butter from cream.

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of Sand's tri-tip, allow me to assure you that there is no place you can go to get a finer meal. Her preparation of this much maligned cut of meat has it tasting very close to prime rib. In fact, I have had prime rib in "good" restaurants that I did not enjoy as much. Of course I've had prime rib that was better than Sand's tri-tip, but it's supposed to be better, isn't it? I know none of you has had Sand's ranch dressing, because this is the first time she's made it. I have never, ever, had ranch dressing this good.

Then, not to outdone, I made monkey bread. I had never heard of monkey bread before I saw a recipe for it in a magazine that we picked up at the store sometime this past year. This is the second recipe I've tried from this mag, the first being the devastatingly tasty soft pretzels. (The magazine is still available here.) This is not the pull-apart thingie made with refrigerator rolls. This is a made-from-scratch-monkey-bread made with the real monkey. This is real cooking, but the recipes are very clear and easy to follow.

Bottom line, this dessert was as good as Sand's over-the-top meal was.

All this watching of Chopped and The Next Iron Chef is really starting to rub off.

Getting It Right

2012-01-16T16:36:00.000-08:00

Today was just one of those days, the good kind when you have a sense that maybe you're doing something right.

It was a peaceful day with the entire family off doing stuff they wanted to do, and gathering together to prepare, eat, and clean up after meals.

Everything was just the way it is supposed to be. I am extremely blessed to have a family like this. I've tried multigenerational family living before under different circumstances. Ultimately a great deal of good came out that experiment, but you had to take the long view, the really long view to see how it worked out, and the process was messy.

This time around, there is an ease and a peace that is truly remarkable to me. A lot of credit for that goes to Sand who always seems to know the correct thing to do, but an equal amount of credit must go to

John who displays an enormous amount of patience and kindness towards everyone in the family, day in and day out despite the fact that I know there are days when he is in considerable pain.

There is the distinct possibility that the whole family is simply under the control of Howie's telepathic suggestion, and like worker bees, we are all here simply to do his bidding. I thought about that, but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. I went and got a dog cookie and took it to Howie just to demonstrate that I could think for myself.

Politics and Culinary Excellence

2012-01-14T16:46:00.000-08:00

I had a doughnut recently that was decorated with sprinkles. There were number of white sprinkles mixed throughout that upon closer examination showed themselves to be tiny snowmen.

I tell you, that's why President Mudajiberan of Iran fears us. While he struggles to get his country try to build themselves a bomb, we have the technological prowess to be able to churn out tiny sugar sculptures so prolifically that we can eat them for breakfast.

And that's not the half of it.

What Hamorjellybun doesn't know is that we are now in possession of a perhaps the greatest breakfast sandwich ever made. As seen in this photo taken at a clandestine kitchen facility in California, this is a sausage and cheese bagel. The secret here is the homemade pork sausage -- ground pork butt seasoned with salt, pepper and garlic. The simplicity of the seasoning allows the pork flavors to dominate instead of the spices. Add a slice of cheese, a little mayo, and a touch of bbq sauce, and you've got a sandwich which could make a petty dictator drool on his tie -- if only he owned one.

Eat your heart out President Dumbaspostorbob!

Leading With My Head

2012-01-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

In matters of spirituality, I lead with my head and not my heart. In fact, in matters of the heart I lead with my head. I am most engaged with an issue when I can see the patterns in it.

The manufacturing world was like that for me. Getting an organization to cost effectively make a product and deliver it on time without killing people in the process was as good a puzzle as you could get, and it held my interest for nearly thirty years.

Spiritually, I have been skeptical every step of the way. Watching newsreels of Auschwitz when I was a kid left me with a very deep seated suspicion of fanatical nationalism, or for that matter, fanaticism of any kind. I have seen first hand how mobs turn psychotically violent, where in seconds an "ecstacy" sweeps over people and they will suddenly do things they would never think of doing in any other circumstance.

I am suspicious of religious experience that looks a little too strange. I was at a Catholic Charismatic meeting once. There were probably close to to 10,000 people in the hall and at one point the audience began to spontaneously exhibit a manifestation of the "gift of tongues." It seemed as though everyone in the hall but me was babbling in an incomprehensible manner. At least incomprehensible to me. I noted that there was one other person not "praying in tongues," and that was our diocesan bishop who was seated on the stage.

(For the record, the Church understands the Gift of Tongues as being a gift of the Holy Spirit that allows people to speak in a human language previously unknown to the speaker. Not babbling.)

I've watched a lot of people come and go through religion because they were caught up in a "feel good" kind of experience, lured by the potlucks and hugged into euphoria, but who never spent the time and effort needed to understand what they were involved in. I've never been comfortable enough around people to have the touchy-feely aspect of religion do much good for me, but I enjoy digging a little deeper into what is presented to me to see if I can see the pattern. In trying to see a pattern, sometimes it's helpful to find someone who is looking at the issue from a totally different perspective.

John Makransky is academic who is a practicing Buddhist. He teaches Buddhism at Boston College, a Jesuit Catholic University. I know, go figure. He has a wonderful piece on his website in which he compares some aspects of Buddhism and Christianity. It's a really good piece. And no, Buddhism and Christianity are not just different ways of saying the same things. Makransky recognizes that the two religions have fundamentally different views of salvation, but there is a certain similarity in how each provides access to deeper experience of the truths which they profess to contain. As he puts it:

"...I want to focus particularly on practices of Christian and Buddhist communities that bring people into an experience of Christ or Buddha as the living presence and power of ultimate reality, not just as a cherished figure remembered from a distant past, but as a continuing presence and liberating power in the present -- in Christian terms, communing with God in Christ and through that with God’s creatures; in Buddhist terms, communing through perfect forms of Buddhahood (Rupakaya) with the transcendent qualities and powers of Buddhahood (Dharmakaya) and thereby with all beings."

Of particular interest to me was Makransky's observation on his experience of the Eucharist:

"...In the liturgy of Eucharistic communion, as understood not only in Catholic and Orthodox traditions but also by Luther and Calvin, participants are not merely reminiscing about the historical Jesus long gone, but are entered into communion with the transcendent God through the living presence and power of Christ in the Spirit, which flows out into communion with creatures, drawing them into the Body of Christ. This is what many Christians have understood, in part, as their ongoing encounter with the “resurrected Christ,” not merely with the historical Jesus."

"...Communing with the ultimate, unconditioned reality (“God”) by means of its perfect incarnation or form (“Christ”) through an inner liberating power (of “Spirit”) which re-creates or restores one’s inmost being in the image of the ultimate -- with qualities of unconditional love, joy, patience, self-control, spiritual wisdom, unleashing a liberating power of love and goodness that radiates to many other beings -- from a Mahayana Buddhist perspective the basic structure of such Trinitarian communion and its liberating power is recognizable, although the explanation for what it is and how it functions is different."

Here is a someone "outside the fold" describing our most intimate encounter of Christ with more reverence and more understanding than I normally find in practicing Catholics.

It's a good article, and one that confirms something I've said before -- if I was not a Catholic, a Buddhist I would be. I like their patterns.

Pretzels and the Feeling du Jour

2012-01-09T21:35:00.000-08:00

The feeling du jour was anxiety. Just before I awoke for the day, I had one of those classically irritating dreams where I am back in college, nearing the end of a term, and I realize that I've not attended very many classes at all. In fact, I don't even know what courses I'm signed up for. Finals are coming up, but I don't think I even have the course text books.

It's just my subconscious screwing with me. I think that it feels slighted that I am retired. Not as much worrying now. It's pining for the good old days -- ah, where have all the mid-terms and finals gone?

To brush off the cobwebs left by the dream. I set out to make pretzels. One of my fond memories from my youth in Pittsburgh is the the soft pretzels I used to get from a street vendor down on the "Souseside," an area that is now the trendy South Side Flats neighborhood. My parents grew up there, Dad worked there, and although we had moved just up the hill to Allentown, it remained a place that my Mother liked to go to shop. I loved those pretzels. In later life when I would try one of the pretzels from the places that sprang up in the shopping malls, they just didn't taste the same. I wasn't sure if I was just imagining how good the old ones were. So, rummaging around on the web, I learned that the old pretzels used to be boiled in water laced with lye. That's right, lye. Probably they were killing us all, but I don't remember anybody complaining.

Sometime this past year, Sand bought a magazine of bread recipes. In it was a recipe for pretzels. Instead of lye, baking soda was used. So, figuring that I was already feeling inadequate and lost because of the dream and failing at something else wouldn't make matters any worse, I set out to make pretzels.

MMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm. Although I have a few minor adjustments to make in the process to keep the pretzel skin from splitting (which had no negative effect on taste BTW), this recipe was a real winner. These pretzels are very, very close to what I remember as a kid. And if I needed any confirmation. my granddaughter and her friend gave them two thumbs up. In fact, Mei-mei volunteered that these pretzels were far better that the ones she had at Great America this past summer.

So what if I've never been to class. I aced the mid-term!

The Ole Red A**

2012-01-08T16:20:00.000-08:00

When I began these blogs, I committed to myself that I would keep them positive. Nothing against anyone who wants to do otherwise with their blogs, just something I wanted to try to do.

Well today, I have a red a**. I'm not going to tell you about why I have a r*d a*s. I will not mention the po*itic*ans, pr**sts, dr*vers, rel*t*ves, newspa*er c*lum*sts and for*ign *ountries that led to this situation, rather I'd just like to comment on red a**idity itself.

I'm pretty sure that it's a function of getting older. I can tell I am less patient with th*ngs nowadays. In addition, I have noticed that my as* will begin to blush at a much lower threshold. Just the phrase "in Congr*ss today..." is enough to give me a glow -- I don't even have to hear the rest of the sentence.

I am open to the possibility that my condition is the result of the soap I use or maybe a fo*d allergy. Whatever, eh? Red is red.

The beauty of my situation is that now that I am retired, When the old a** gets to glowing, I can close and lock the front door, grab a book and a cup of coffee, and hole up in the bedroom, or better yet, I can go find Sand and just spend the rest of the day talking about the birds in the backyard.

There. I'm already just a gentle shade of pink now. The old *** just can't stay red like it used to in the good old days, and that's good news.

A Walk In The Park

2012-01-05T20:24:00.000-08:00

Winter brings with it the fog, and here in the Central Valley, the fog can settle in for days enervating the sun and leaving the air chilled. It seemed like a good day for a walk, so I headed down to Oak Grove Park. Oak Grove is one of Ripon's true jewels. It is 55 acres of pristine riparian habitat along the Stanislaus River. I don't actually know how long the land has belonged to the city, but when I first moved here fifteen years ago, the area was pretty much untouched. There was of course the obligatory and inexplicable dirt path of two wheel ruts between walls of weeds that entered the area and dead ended in a weedy area where there were fewer trees. In the brush in that area was rusted remains of a pickup truck. Just the cab remained, and it was a style that pointed to the late 30's or early 40's, so it was easy to imagine that it had been abandoned there for as long as fifty years.

When the city decided what to do with area, someone with great wisdom convinced everyone that the best thing to do with the area was to do very little. There is no paving, no swing sets, no picnic tables. Instead, there is simply a maze of paths cut through the undergrowth that wind down along the river. Aside from keeping the paths cleared from fallen tree limbs, things remain pretty much untouched. Even the fallen trees are not cleared -- only the parts that cross a path are cut away. If the tree is too big, the path might be re-routed around it.

In a twenty-five mile radius of the park there are at least a half a million people buzzing about doing things. But the beauty of this park is that when you're on the path down by the river you could swear you are all alone deep in the Mirkwood Forest, although it feels more benevolent, like in the time before Sauron when it was referred to as Greenwood the Great.

Of course, I'm not the only one who likes it there. The dogs think it is just about the best thing they have ever experienced.

Good job Ripon Parks Department.

Philosophy of Life

2012-01-04T14:53:00.000-08:00

Cosa

Philosophy: a system of principles for guidance in practicalaffairs.

Principle: a senseof the requirements and obligations of right conduct.

It always intrigues me when I hear people say "myphilosophy in life is...." More often than not that phrase is followed bysome platitude like "never admit defeat," or "you gotta take thegood with the bad." I don't know if people who say this actually meananything by it. It certainly can't be the extent of someone's systemof principles, could it? Life is complex enough that there has to be at leastseveral platitudes involved. Playing football and being married can't becovered by the same principles, can they?

I can't be overly critical of people and their philosophiesbecause I could not on short notice articulate one of my own. I sincerelybelieve that I have one; I believe that my actions in life have been guided bysome underlying principles, and in my head (or in my heart, or in my soul, Ican't tell for sure which is which), I can see these principles pretty clearly.But to try to state in so many words what these principles are is kind of likedescribing what chicken tastes like.

Asimov's fictional Three Laws of Robotics* would make agreat philosophy of life. Substitute Suzy for robot, and Suzy would be a personyou would feel reasonably comfortable being around as long as she stuck to herprinciples. Further substitute Tom for human being, and there's a good chancethat Suzy would make a good wife, and the marriage might well be a success if Tomhad a similar philosophy in life.

I wonder if my philosophy in life could be boiled down tosomething like the Three Laws. There are of course the Ten Commandments, and Icould do worse than to have to rely on them as a philosophy. I also wonder ifit would be beneficial if graduation from high school required you to set downin writing a philosophy in life and have it reviewed and approved by a jury ofpeople who have to live with you. "I want to drink beer and fornicate withyour daughters as often as possible" would be a harder philosophy to haveif you actually had to present that to people face to face.

Still, even the Three Laws are not perfect. A robot couldkill you if he was ordered to add something to your food and did not know itwas poison. We can unintentionally hurt one another. It's a tough world.

I know that my philosophy in life has to do with love, duty,honor, family and God. And not allowing the return of the Third Reich. Andoddly, not wearing any jewelry except a wedding ring. I've always lived by thatone, ever since I was a kid.

So here is a rough draft of my philosophy in life:

1. Don'tkill people and eat your vegetables.

2. Do yourjob well, except when that would conflict with #1.

3. Payattention to your wife and family as long as doing that does not conflict with#1 or #2.

These are subject to revision, of course, something that Ishall set about to do immediately.

* The Three Laws

1. A robotmay not injury a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to cometo harm.

2. A robot must obey the orders given toit by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existenceas long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

New Year's Wishes

2012-01-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

Most, but not all, of the people I know believe in God. A few don't and have the courage of their convictions to say so. That's okay, we're all entitled to our opinion.
   In my worldview, the following words from the Jewish Scriptures capture my wish for each of you that the new year will be one that is good.

            The Lord bless you and keep you
   The Lord let his face shine upon you
                    and be gracious to you.
              The Lord look upon you kindly and
                    give you peace.

                                                                                                             HAPPY NEW YEAR

The Second Coming

2011-11-12T08:50:00.001-08:00

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad

I read an article that if true sheds a frightening light on the Middle East. The current president of Iran is of a sect of Islam called the Twelvers. This group believes that there is a Twelfth Iman, the rightful leader of Islam, who has been in hiding for a thousand years and will return to usher in the victory of Islam over all evil. It is said that Jesus will return with Twelfth Iman and lead Christians to Islam. Those who do not convert will be killed. When all is said and done, Israel will be destroyed and as much 80% of the world's population will be be killed for refusing to embrace Islam. The current president of Iran believes that now is the time of the return of the Twelfth Iman. He believes that he can help the Twelfth Iman by making sure Israel is destroyed. He believes this in part because the the current ayatollah believes that he has personally spoken to the Twelfth Iman.

It's one thing when the guy next door decides he wants to believe that the world will end in 2012, because he can believe what he wants and so what? But when the person who believes in something very radical is the head of a government intent on obtaining nuclear weapons, it becomes a little more significant. The Twelvers do not represent the majority of Muslims, although I've read that they are the majority of Iranians. So here is your chance to avoid the rush. If these guys are correct, now is the time to convert to Islam.

Before I dismiss with a wave of the hand the screwballs in Iran, I have to ask myself what it is I believe. Is it so different to believe that Christ will come again and when he does, the good guys will be rewarded and the bad guys will go to hell? One the surface, it seems to me that these are similarly fanciful scenarios.

One of the problems with belief as I see it is that we tend to believe in what justifies what we want to do. Somebody is always using God to justify imposing their will on someone else. Someone is always denying that there is a God because God would be an inconvenient obstacle to their personal agenda.

One of the other problems with belief is that it is really, really hard to figure out what is really, really true. Science is attractive in that regard, because it disciplines us to accept only what can be proven. But science is only a tool and can be of limited value in deciding what is right and wrong.

It's a tough world. There are lots of difficult decisions that should not be taken lightly. The search for Truth should not be a hobby or a weekend project -- it is the work of a lifetime.

As far as Ahmadinejad is concerned, it appears that the man doesn't even own a tie. What could he know?

A Time of Self Examination

2011-11-09T18:27:00.000-08:00

So here is another one of the situations in life where you have to examine what you believe and seriously ask yourself why you believe the things you believe.

When you read a book, do you highlight things and make notes right there on the page? Or, in your mind, is that akin to vandalism?

I have never liked to mark up books that I own. I am one of those who feel that books are more than just paper and ink, and just as I would not spray paint the forehead of someone who was talking to me, I will not purposely mark in a book. Libraries would agree with me on this point. They want a book to last as long as possible, and they would just as soon allow you to read a book and let the author try to impress his/her point of view on your mind without distraction from the previous yahoo who read the book.

Having said that, I always find it interesting to see what the previous yahoo thought was important. I have a book that I picked up at a used book sale that contains extensive highlights and notes, and I have to admit that I learned quite a bit about the previous reader.

Still, I can't really bring myself to mark in book. I do however like to bookmark important passages by marking the page with a piece of paper, a post-it, a business card or any other thin object that will not hurt the binding of the book. I don't always remember specifically why I marked a particular page, but those marked pages are always good reading.

So, ask yourself, are you a book marker or not? And why?

We Have Jelly!!!

2011-11-08T20:16:00.000-08:00

Pomegranate Jelly

Today was pomegranate jelly making day. There are now six lovely jars of jelly sitting on the kitchen counter. The color of the jelly is spectacular, and the taste is full and rich. There is a nice balance of sweet and tart..

This is the third year I've made this jelly. The first year, it did not really set at all, and I used it as a syrup on ice cream. It was good, but not really jelly. Last year, it set better, but not well, so although I could use it as a jelly, it made for a pretty messy piece of toast. This year, however, we got ourself some actual bona fide jelly-consistancy jelly.

God is good: the harvest is in, and the jelly is sweet.

Yum, Yum, Yum

2011-11-07T21:53:00.000-08:00

My friends and I here are getting ready to make some pomegranate jelly. I pulled the recipe right off the web and used it last year and the year before with pretty darn good results.

Last year the jelly was just about right, although it did not set perfectly -- it was a bit "juicier" than I would have liked. It was close enough of course that we ate all of it happily, but as the jelly maker, I knew that I wanted to fine tune the process. In reading about jelly making, it suggested that there are a number of reasons for jelly that does not set well, but one stood out -- pectin needs an acidic environment to work properly. The fix is to add a splash of lemon juice. When I made the pineapple jelly last week, I added a dab of lemon juice and voila! The pineapple jam set nicely.

Today's first step for me was to harvest about ten of the boys and juice them, collecting 5 cups of the exquisitely beautiful ruby liquid. Next, it is suggested that the juice sit overnight. This allows any sediment to settle out leaving a very clear product.

So, with my two jars of juice in the fridge, I will go off to bed to dream about tomorrow's lemon-assisted alchemy that will turn turn them into jars of breakfast bliss, the perfect bride for a warm biscuit.

Wish us luck.

You Do The Math: Revisited

2011-11-05T21:10:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago I did a blog that presented the mathematical formula that describes the probability of a person entering a swimming pool at any particular combination of water and air temperatures, to wit, (A + B)/2 = C.

A is the temperature of the water in a swimming pool.
B is the ambient air temperature in degrees Fahrenheit. If you wish to use degrees Centigrade, then use D, where D = 1.8B+ 32.
C is the probability, as a percent, that you will get into the pool.

Of course C will never get above 100, nor will it go below 0. It is after all a probability. So by definition, if (A + B)/2 > 100, then C is set to 100, and if (A + B)/2 < 0, then C is set to 0.

It has been posited by members of my household that while the formula is in general true enough, the accuracy of the formula as a predictor of behavior can be greatly enhanced with the inclusion of an additional term in the equation as follows: (A+B)/2 - E = C, where E is the quotient X/2, X being the integer value of the age of an individual rounded up. There is an intuitiveness to this term. When X is small, it is of little impact to the outcome; only as X increases does it begin to have a significant effect.

Today's numbers illustrate the situation. A(water temp.) = 55, B(air temp.) = 58, so (A+B)/2 = (55+58)/2 = 113/2 = 56.5. This original formula would indicate that there is still a better than chance possibility of someone getting into the pool.

With the new term in the equation, a person who was 8 years old would still have a 52.5% chance of getting into the pool. I, on the other hand, being 58 years old, would reduce the probability by 29 points to a C of 27.5%. Intuitively, this makes a lot of sense.

The new term E was first proposed by Alex Queen after at least two large whiskey and cokes, and so will be known as the Queen--Wow, Do You Have Any More of This Stuff--Variable for Age Adjustment, or more simply as the Potted Queen E.

Ain't science grand?

"And now the news..."

2011-11-04T21:08:00.000-07:00

Eye of Ra

The image on the left is an actual photographic reproduction of The Eye of Ra, taken from a real Egyptian thing that was from circa a really long time ago. And just in case you're thinking I made this up, I can tell you that I saw this thing with my own eyes.

I was talking with my son-in-law about the economy the other day, telling him about an article I read in Time Magazine. I remember having a subscription to Time when I was high school. You could count on every issue having at least one picture of some topless girl somewhere, frequently in the Entertainment section, but sometimes in World News section. Female nudity was big news no matter where it occurred in the world. None-the-less, I had subscribed to Time not for the pictures, but as a legitimate news source. It was not too many years into my subscription that I cancelled it. Time had become so opinionated and biased that I no longer considered it a "news" magazine, but simply a national op-ed publication.

I don't trust anything I read or hear from the news networks today. The state of reporting anything in this country, driven by the unrelenting "24 hour news coverage," is pretty shameful. There may well be some facts buried in the sensationalism, but they are hard to ferret out. I am particularly disturbed when I hear news reporters, politicians and people on Facebook all repeating a phrase that appears overnight. The "republican war on women" is one such phrase, or the constant clamor that "Obama is a socialist." And I never ever trust anyone who begins his/her statements with "the American people have spoken...."

But the picture above probably is of the Eye of Ra. It is from a collection of Egyptian artifacts in the San Diego Museum of Man. It took a lot of people many, many years of hard work to make sure that they could present this piece. They took care to authenticate its origins, they cross-referenced with other sources to make sure that it represented what they thought it might be, and they respected the original artist's expression.

Ra, incidentally, was the Egyptian Sun God. The Eye of Ra (or Eye of Horus as it is sometimes referred to), was thought to have healing powers. Could this be the answer to Obamacare? What does the government not want you to know about the Eye of Ra? Hear what Sarah Palin has to say about Ra!
News at eleven.

The Measure of Man

2011-11-02T16:15:00.000-07:00

They say you can tell a lot about a person by what they do when they retire. (Actually I just made that up. I make up a lot of stuff now that I'm retired.) Take for instance cars. I know a lot of people who make sure they have a new car when they retire. Some even go in for that luxury model that they always promised themselves while they were working. That's okay; if that's your reward for all your hard work, good on you.

I had much more modest goals. I thought perhaps that I would find myself taking really good care of the cars. I imagined that I would wash them each, maybe a couple times a week. I would take the time to do the detailing that you always skimp on: good, thorough cleaning of the interior including ArmorAll on the dash; cleaning and polishing the chrome bits; engine scrubbing with a good degreaser.

Well, in point of fact, I have discovered that one of the reasons I didn't do that stuff before was that I really don't like it all that much. I've washed the cars from time to time, but that's generally been because they were disgustingly dirty. I washed them today, for instance, because it has been almond knocking season. They use machines that grab the almond trees about the throat and shake like hell to get the almonds off the tree. It raises plumes of dust all over the place, and that dust settles on everything in thick layers. I don't object to it because it's how the Valley makes a living, but it does make the cars really dirty.

The cars have indeed been cleaner since I retired, but that's not because I wash them more often. It is because without my commute, I eat less in the car. Having spent three hours a day in the car, five or six days a week, it was not unusual for me to eat two or three meals a week while driving. I used to joke with Sand that if I ever got stranded in the wilderness in my car, I had at least a week's worth of food spread about the floor of the car and under the seats.

We do take pretty good care of our cars. The red Prism is now 13 years old and has 280,000 miles on it. It is running perfectly, and it is still my preferred ride. The white Vibe is a mere pup at 8 years. The odometer just turned 100,000 miles two weeks ago on the road to San Diego. I'm thinking this one is going to last us the duration.

Hope so anyway. I just washed them.

Moving On

2011-10-31T23:15:00.000-07:00

Well, another Halloween is behind us. It is my least favorite holiday. Even as a kid, although I lusted for the bag of goodies, I loathed the whole dress up thing. It created in me a great deal of anxiety. Throughout my life, I've never had a "costume experience" that did not make me extremely uncomfortable.

Well, maybe one. That's when Sand and I dressed as elves to attend the company Christmas party when I was the plant manager. That one worked out well, one because the costumes that Sand made were absolutely fabulous, and two, we were the only people in costume. I was supposed to be the center of attention, and the costumes actually worked to distract people. They were conversation starters, and I've always needed help with conversations in social settings.

Sand likes Halloween. So I try not to be a downer for her, and in fact every year I hide behind her skirts and end up having a pretty good time despite myself. She's good that way.

It was a very mild Halloween here. It was in the low 60's this evening after an afternoon high of 80, so it was pleasant to be out and about. We moved the portable fire pit out to the driveway and built a fire, more for the ambiance than the warmth. The little kids really like the fire. Even after the streets emptied of 'Weeners,' Sand and I stayed out there in our lawn chairs and drank wine and chatted and laughed. Very pleasant indeed.

Now we'll be moving on to Thanksgiving. I like Thanksgiving. That's a holiday I can sink my teeth into.

IT IS POMEGRANATE TIME!!!!

2011-10-29T22:11:00.000-07:00

When God promised the Jews a new land, he said it would be a land filled with (among other things) pomegranates! (Dt 8:8). And when the Jews complained about the circumstances in which they found themselves, right there at the top of their list of grievances was lack of pomegranates. Why have you brought us up out Egypt, only to to bring us to this wretched placed? It is not a place for grain nor figs nor pomegranates! And there is no water to drink! (Nu 20:5)

I grew up in Pennsylvania, and I'm not saying it was a bad place, but there were no pomegranates there. They had to be imported, and from the first time Dad brought one home, I assumed that the land that produced this wondrous fruit was both exotic and blessed.

To have my very own pomegranate tree is a wealth that I thought I would never have. But in front of my house is indeed a pomegranate tree. And for that alone I would be grateful, but there's more!

It is pomegranate season. The fruits of summer are gone, and the oranges and lemons are still maybe six weeks from ripe; the pomegranates, however, have come to term. This means most of my clothes will now be stained red, there will be spatters of pomegranate juice on the kitchen counters and walls, and soon there will be jars of pomegranate jelly to put on the shelves with the recently made pineapple jelly.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The Real Thing

2011-10-28T15:22:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine in Des Moines took me to task for my biscuits in her blog. She rightfully pointed out that tube biscuits are merely a kind of processed biscuit food, not really true edible things like homemade biscuits.

I admit that as a man, I do at times adhere to the "why pay for the cow when you can get a burger with fries at McDonald's?" philosophy of cooking, but I am here today to prove that men are not always as shallow as they appear.

To your left is a picture of a freshly canned jar of homemade pineapple jam. That's correct, I made pineapple jam yesterday, and by all appearances it is good. I've not tasted it yet, because I read that it should set undisturbed for 24 hours.

One of the reasons for making pineapple jam is that I simply can't find it in stores out here. I used to be able to, but about ten years ago, it just simply started to vanish from the shelves. I can still get pineapple-something jams, but I don't want the somethings. I suppose there is a good explanation for the disappearance of pineapple jams, like maybe too many people liked it and it became a bother to make a lot of it.

But now I have something authentic to put on my bogus biscuits.

Regarding Artists

2011-10-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

Tajci

We went to a very interesting and good concert last night. The performer was a woman named Tajci. She was at one time a fabulously popular pop star in Europe, seen regularly on television and with Gold and Platinum albums under her belt. She was a teen idol.

But war came to her homeland, Croatia, and something changed in her. Her webs site says that thousands of young people looked to her for answers, but she had none for herself.

I don't know the details of what she was thinking, and she chose not to share much about her past with the audience. What I did see was an extremely talented musician singing to a small crowd (maybe 300 people) in a church in Modesto, Ca.. This artist had a grueling schedule -- a concert every night in a a new town in a new church. She doesn't charge for her concerts, no admission fee, no charge to the host parish. There is a freewill collection taken near the end of the concert, and there are the CD's for sale, but it's a free concert.

I am guessing that she could have a lucrative career if she compromised a bit. She is talented, she is experienced, she is good looking, a demonstrated superstar in Europe. But here she is in Modesto singing to a small crowd in a church. And although she obviously knows what is popular, she chooses to be obviously Catholic, adamantly pro-life, and modest -- not a formula for success in our culture.

Maybe she's just mining a musical niche. I can not tell you with absolute surety if she is real, although it seems like it. She seems to understand what John Paul II said in his letter to artists:

"The particular vocation of individual artists decides the arena in which they serve and points as well to the tasks they must assume, the hard work they must endure and the responsibility they must accept. Artists who are conscious of all this know too that they must labour without allowing themselves to be driven by the search for empty glory or the craving for cheap popularity, and still less by the calculation of some possible profit for themselves. There is therefore an ethic, even a “spirituality” of artistic service, which contributes in its way to the life and renewal of a people. It is precisely this to which Cyprian Norwid seems to allude in declaring that “beauty is to enthuse us for work, and work is to raise us up”.

There are plenty of good artist out there who are good people. They create because it's in them to do so. They create knowing they probably will never be "discovered." They do so because it contributes to life and makes people grow and maybe even feel good. I would hope that if you have an urge to draw, paint , write or sing, you do it. It is an act of creation.

Biscuits and Posterity

2011-10-25T20:18:00.000-07:00

Biscuits. Mmm. Don't they look delicious? I would like to take credit for these beauties, but they came out of a can. They're Pillsbury refrigerated biscuits, the kind you take out of the tube and pop in the oven. However, it's what I do with them that makes a difference. Once they are out of the oven, I cover them with a tasty sausage gravy. The sausage gravy is Grandma Mae's gift to our family. Mae, who recently passed away, was my son-in-law John's grandmother, and apparently quite the cook. Biscuits and gravy was one of the dishes she taught John, and John taught me.

My granddaughter loves my biscuits and gravy. In fact, she and I will frequently make this dish together. Food can span generations. Lil, the granddaughter, is going to have lots of food to carry forward with her should she choose to do so. Her father is an excellent cook, her grandmother is a fabulous cook, and her mother can make bread, very good bread from scratch, an almost lost art.

And maybe she'll only want to open the canister and pop the biscuits in the oven at 350 for fourteen minutes. Perhaps in some future kitchen, Lil will tell her children, "You know, my grandfather taught me how to open this biscuit container."

The thought can bring a tear to the eye, can't it?

This Week in San Diego

2011-10-23T16:16:00.000-07:00

We went to San Diego this past week. We took more than 90 pictures. Well, more precisely, I took four pictures, Sand took the rest. The picture on the left is the best of the four pictures I took.

It's a flower, but I think you could have guessed that. I don't what kind it is, but still I am rather pleased with the picture.

It was a good week. I was more relaxed than I have been since I retired. I love being retired, but under the circumstances and considering my age, there is always nagging feeling that I am not really allowed to do this, or at least that I shouldn't be allowed to enjoy it.

I've been doing some reading that made sense to me. Laurence Scupoli wrote The Spiritual Combat, which is considered to be one of the great classics of Catholic spirituality. (You can see my review of that work here in the Piker Press.) He also wrote a shorter piece called Peace of Soul. I 'm not finished reading it yet, but I like where it is going. Scupoli says there's loving God, and there's loving others. Both are important. However, don't over think the loving neighbor part. Put your effort into securing your relationship with God, and God will let you know what he wants you to do. Lots to consider.

We met this other couple in San Diego who shared with us that they too are retired. They assured us that retirement is wonderful and that they have achieved peace. I took a picture of them (right), so that I can make it my screen saver. I want to be reminded what retirement can be.

On Vaction

2011-10-19T20:35:00.000-07:00

LA Freeways

We've been on a mini-vacation last couple of days. This has entailed driving to Southern California, the part that's on the opposite side of Los Angeles, meaning that we had to drive directly through L.A.. Today, we spent the day in San Diego, driving about. Just some quick observations:

1. Driving through L.A. was not nearly as bad as driving through other cities, like I-80 through Salt Lake City, I-94 through Gary, Indiana, or the Schuykill Expressway in Philadelphia. There may be a lot of traffic in L.A., but the roads are good and easy to follow.

2. That said, you can see more of Salt Lake City, Gary, and Philadelphia from the road because the air doesn't get in the way as much.

3. I-5 south of the L.A. on the way to San Diego is a very nice road. It has excellent car pool lanes. There are 'car pool lane only' exits to the left so you don't have to merge all the way back across the freeway to get to your exit on the right.

4. At least when we went through, by and large people respected the car pool lane, and if they didn't have two or more in the car, they stayed out of the car pool lane. Drivers in the Bay Area, who seem to consider the car pool lane as just one more lane, could take a few lessons.

5. There are a lot of highways down here, and for the most part they're in good condition. I don't know the numbers, but I would like to see if there is any kind of fairness to the distribution of highway monies between the south and the north. Of course, maybe Caltrans is reluctant to spend any more on Northern California than they have to until we all start obeying the rules in the car pool lanes.

Sitting Around the House

2011-10-17T17:06:00.000-07:00

Every family seems to have a talent for something or other. I believe that our family has a distinct flair for sitting around the house. I realize that most families do that, but it just seems to me that we have this knack for creating really nice spots to sit.

Creating these spaces is a communal effort, with days and sometimes weeks of doing nothing at all, followed by several more weeks of people saying "oh, it doesn't matter to me" when they really mean something else.

But it all sorts itself out in the end, and the final product represents the ideas of all the family members.

Alex and Sand provide the landscaping and placement of furnishings. I provide most of the sitting around. Lil provides the dirt for the mud pies, and John provides political commentary.

It is hard to find an ensemble of talent like that. Bill Hearst had a team like that when he built his place down in San Simeon, but I think they're mostly dead now.

Fortunately, now that I'm retired, I can contribute a little more time to my part on the projects.

Somebody has to.

Alice

2011-10-13T22:20:00.000-07:00

Alice the Goon

I had one of those thoughts today that gave me pause. I am of a generation that carries a unique burden, and we are a dwindling breed. I am referring of course to those of us who actually remember seeing the Alice the Goon character in Segar's Popeye creations.

Alice was originally an evil character, the slave of Popeye's mortal nemesis The Sea Hag. She was so effectively creepy that parents began to discipline their children by saying "the Goon will get you." It was indeed Alice that made the word "goon" part of our lexicon. So scary was the Goon that Segar was ordered to rework the character into something softer. That's when Alice donned clothes and became Swee'pea's babysitter and Popeye's unrequited lover. Popeye considered goons to be "repugnank." (All of this according to the book Popeye, The First Fifty Years, by Bud Sagendorf.)

For something so iconic as to have given our culture a word as useful as goon, Alice and her kin have pretty completely disappeared. Still, there are still some vestiges about. This one, entitled Goonland is about Alice's homeland. KEEP THE GOON ALIVE!

Off The Beaten Path

2011-10-12T22:33:00.000-07:00

The Beaten Path

There are somethings that simply make some places special. I'm sure every place has them if you're willing to look for them. Here in Ripon, we have the river trail. I don't even know if there is an official name for it, but it is a trail that leads from one side of town to the other along the north shore of the Stanislaus River. Some of it is paved, much of it is not. The picture on the left shows a section of the trail that is just down the street from us. It takes us about 5 to 10 minutes to walk to the entrance to the trail.

You can spend several pleasant hours walking along the beaten path, and there are some very wonderful sights. However, if you are willing to invest just a bit more, you can find place like the one in the video on the right, places just off the beaten path.

Off The Beaten P

The Stanislaus River, swollen by last season's snow pack, has fashioned an ephemeral treat, a new channel that snakes through what used to be dry land. It is surprisingly gentle and clear, perfect for the rope swing on the tree, something Alex and Lillian took complete advantage of. At its deepest, the channel was about waist deep on Alex. This spot is maybe 20 minutes from our front door at a leisurely walk, but when you're there, you could believe you're on another planet.

I know that it's a screwed up and scary time right now, but in this spot, it just seemed that all was right with the world.

God is good.

The Problem With The Niners

2011-10-10T12:36:00.000-07:00

Alex Smith

There is a bit of a drama unfolding quietly in the NFL. Alex Smith, the much maligned quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers, is having a good year. There were lots and lots of us who had thought that the 49ers had lost their minds when they didn't let Smith sail off into the sunset at the end of his contract last year. Instead, they resigned him, and planned the season around him as the starting QB. I still think he's not the right person for the job, even though the evidence would seem to be against me. The team is after all 4 and 1, and yesterday they trounced their opponent by a score of 48 to 3.

I have noticed that at my age, it is more and more irritating when people don't listen to me. I've been around the block a few times, and I can see people making mistakes. I know they are mistakes because I seen them or done them before, and it seems utterly pointless to keep doing the same things wrong.

Of course one of the mistakes I've seen is old people who get more and more strident in their criticism of others who are making mistakes that the old people can see. Talking to my mother in later years could be difficult because she would pass judgement on everything that was said, and it was not unusual for her to get worked up to a pitch about things. You had to be careful about what would "set her off." I've seen pastors as well who as they age preach less about love and invitation and move in the direction of legalism and exclusion. There is, for example, an undercurrent going through our community resurrecting the idea that pants on women is an evil and an affront to God.

I understand a bit of why this is going on. Those of us who are getting old are rapidly approaching marginalization. We are running out of time, and we haven't solved the world's problem. If people would just listen...but of course they don't. Worse yet, there's not enough time to lead them to make the right decisions on their own, and it is necessary to impose as much order as possible -- the old "stop arguing and go to bed" approach.

Of course I could just be patient with people learning from their own mistakes, but patience is one more of those things I just don't have the patience for anymore, and I don't know if I have the time to work on that -- other people have too many faults that I need to correct first.

So 4 and 1 San Francisco 49ers, you can go on to win the Super Bowl for all I care. It won't be good enough, because I've already decided that you need a new quarterback, and if you don't want to listen to an old man, go ahead, see what it gets you. I don't care anymore. Just don't come asking me for money when it doesn't work out.

The Big Picture

2011-10-08T10:42:00.000-07:00

Pushing Up Daisy

Talking with my daughter is always interesting. She is one of those people who seems intensely focused on what's in front of her. Her focus is so intense that it seems to exclude everything else. It's probably this characteristic that makes her a valuable asset to her employer -- a pitbull mentality that allows her to latch on to something and not let go.

She is like that with her art as well. She is an extraordinarily talented artist, and when she is creating, the house could be on fire around her and she would not notice, she would simply remain serenely absorbed in her project. And when she turns her attention to her family, it is as if nothing else in the universe matters.

One could easily get the impression that by being so absorbed and focused, she is unaware of the "big picture," and in point of fact she doesn't talk much about the big picture. She does not try to convince anybody that she has the right answers; she does not often let anyone know her opinion about things in general. She is, as I said, focused on what's in front of her.

So it's always surprising in those moments when she turns her attention to me and focuses, when she shares her thoughts about stuff, that I find that she does indeed have an incredible grasp of the big picture. Her observations are fresh and real and her own -- they are not regurgitated lyrics from some song.

She said that one of the problems with approaching marriage in our culture is that we don't want to think about death. We don't want to think about whether we will make the commitment to be there for someone when they are dying. "The truth is," she said, "that we get old, we get gross, and we die. Someday my boobs will be down to my knees, and no matter how much I wash, I'm going to smell. Are we really prepared to accept that?"

As to all the other stuff that occurs in life -- illness, failed marriages, adversity -- she says you've got to believe that if there is a God, it's all good, it all serves a purpose, and if there isn't a God, it doesn't matter.

I know people that say this, but for them it's a desperate hope, a straw to be grasped at. But for my daughter, there is a calm intensity in her statement that says this is not a guess, this is sure knowledge.

It is all good.

Dark Matter's Afoot

2011-10-04T23:20:00.000-07:00

Bolshoi Simulation from UC-HPACC on Vimeo.

Okay. So here is an interesting tiny bit of what is called the Bolshoi Simulation. In this view, you get an idea of what part of the universe would look like if you could see dark matter. (Go here if you want to spend sometime trying to understand dark matter.) This may help a bit, or not, in digesting the news today that the Nobel Prize for Physics went to a three gentlemen whose work demonstrated that the universe is expanding at an ever increasing rate.

Now trust me, I have no credentials whatsoever to evaluate any aspect of the work of these guys. However, it is my blog, and I grant myself a great degree of latitude in making observations about a lot of things for which I have no credentials. My blog is kind of like the Bolshoi Simulation in that it you get an idea of what part of the universe would look like if you could see it from my point of view. The difference is that there are hundreds of thousands of people with huge resources of money and equipment working on this whole physics/dark matter thing, and there's only one of me.

But here is a question I have always found to be really, really interesting. The universe (and quoting Wikipedia, "the universe is commonly defined as the totality of everything that exists, including all space, time, matter, energy, planets, stars, galaxies, intergalactic space and beyond") is rapidly expanding into what? Expanding into "space?"

Space appears to be simply defined as the place where stuff happens. It is suggested that it may well have been invented in the Big Bang, and while its shape is not known, it's probably expanding. Expanding where? Or it could be that it is already infinite. It might be that space is simply the the relationship between objects, or it could be that space would exist even if there was nothing in it.

The way I look at it is that we don't know where the hell we are, and in our increasingly secular culture, we do the guy thing of not stopping to ask for directions. But I remain hopeful. I do not think that not knowing where you are is the same as being lost. We will get there sooner or later.

I mean, there is a there there, isn't there?

The Weight of the World

2011-10-02T21:17:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but all day today I've felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. It has seemed that there was something I should be doing about world peace, the Greek debt crisis, loss of natural habitat and Demi Moore's marriage.

How come some days feel like that?

It almost reminds me of the stock market. Everyday the Dow goes careening in a new direction, and the analysis says something like "investors realized today that the world was round."

Part of my unease, I think, is that we've had people in working on the house over the past week -- painters and pest control people. I never like it when people are poking around my house, even when they are there at my invitation. I consider it the domestic equivalent to a proctological exam.

Now they are calling for rain this week here in the Valley. What the hell? Will it never end?

Demi, you're on your own. I just can't handle it right now, ya know?

You Do The Math

2011-09-28T23:02:00.000-07:00

Remember back in school when we used to say to the teacher, "what's the use doing this #&*%? We ain't never gonna use it."

Well, I have found a use for it. "It" in this case being mathematical equations, to wit, (A + B)/2 = C.

A is the temperature of the water in a swimming pool.
B is the ambient air temperature in degrees Fahrenheit. If you wish to use degrees Centigrade, then use D, where D = 1.8B+ 32.
C is the probability, as a percent, that you will get into the pool.

Of course C will never get above 100, nor will it go below 0. It is after all a probability. So by definition, if (A + B)/2 > 100, then C is set to 100, and if (A + B)/2 < 0, then C is set to 0.

Take today for instance. We had a high of 92, and the pool water temperature was probably about 68. That means (68 + 92)/2 = 80. Eighty per cent probability of getting in the pool was about right today, and in fact, I did spend some time paddling back and forth, and it felt really, really good.

Let's look at next Monday. The forecast high for next Monday is 69, and with the increasing long nights, the pool water isn't going to get any warmer. I will estimate water temperature next Monday to be 65. That means (65 + 69)/2 = 67. Although it could occur, I wouldn't hold your breath on that one, unless the water temperature shot up to about 90, but that's not going to happen.

We've got one more day of temps in the 90's, and I may be in the pool tomorrow again just because I know that time is running out, but I'm thinking that, regrettably, the swimming season is coming to a close.

Sigh.

Summer Vacation

2011-09-22T20:54:00.000-07:00

Sand and I headed down to San Francisco yesterday. It was just a day trip, but it did what we hoped it would. Temperatures out in the Valley are for the moment still pushing very close to 100, and there is always promise of cooler temps along the coast. We didn't plan to do much. We're rubes, we admit it. Our idea of a day in the city means we walk around till we find a bar that we like and have a drink. Then we walk around till we find another bar that we like and have a drink. Then we go to our favorite bar, have some drinks, and eat calamari.

Our twist on the routine today was to take the ferry to Sausalito to begin our walk around. We wanted to feel the sea wind and challenge the rush of the tide...at least as well as that can be done on a commuter ferry. But the Bay did not disappoint. As we pulled out of the dock for our trip across the Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge came into view, or what you could see of it behind the fog that was streaming into the Bay.

Sausalito was on the other side of the fog. As the ferry steamed forward, the temperature began to drop. We were in the open air seating on the deck in the nose of the ferry, and it felt like we had sailed into the arctic. It had worked out better than I had planned. Just when I couldn't feel my ears anymore, we emerged on the far side of the fog, and Sausalito came into view.

Looking back toward The City, all that was visible was the tops of the buildings.

Sausalito itself was clear and pleasantly warm. We strolled around a bit, and settled into the Seven Seas Restaurant, not because it looked like a fine restaurant, but because it had pizza on display in window. Turns out it really wasn't bad, and the pizza was in fact very good. It reminded us a bit of the pizza we used to get from a pizza joint back in the town we lived in in Pennsylvania. That, by the way, is a compliment.

A glass of Chablis, a little Pinot Noir, and back onto the ferry for the ride back through the fog to San Francisco, and our ultimate destination, Sinbad's.

Sinbad's has been our lounge of choice since 1988 when we moved to California. We stumbled upon it when we were hungry, liked the views, and fell madly in love with the calamari tempura. You know what they say: you never forget your first squid. And it's true! At least for us. I had never had calamari before Sinbad's, and as it turns out, it was and still is the best I've ever tasted. It made me a calamari fan, and I will almost always order the fried calamari appetizer from a restaurant if it's offered, always hoping that it will be as good as Sinbad's. Alas, in more than twenty years of sampling, I've never found anything to compare. (There is a place in Santa Cruz that comes a close second, but it is second.) We settled in, ordered the first round, soaked in the views of the Bay and contemplated the right time for ordering the calamari.

A woman sitting next to us was talking to her friends, telling them she had gone to the A's game last night, and wouldn't be joining them tomorrow because it was opera night. Next week was out the question also since she would be in London to visit a friend -- and you know how Heathrow can be -- and how strict they were in Paris if you didn't get your ticket before you boarded the streetcars.

I considered telling her that we in fact had already purchased our tickets for the Weird Al Yankovich Alpocalypse Tour, but it's not my style to play one up-manship when it's that easy.

So Eas'ly Called Away

2011-09-09T18:46:00.000-07:00

Admiral Halsey

I was reading an article the other day about healthy lifestyle choices. It talked about the need to establish healthy habits. Of particular interest to me was the contention that it takes 30 to 60 days to form a habit.

That's not my experience.

I do realize that everyone is different. My wife can form a habit in 30 to 60 seconds, although she must want to. If she doesn't want to, there is no force on earth that can compel her to do anything. It is a trait of women in her lineage, and it has been passed on to her daughter and to her grand daughter. I call it pigheadedness, but what it means is that when they decided to do something, it quickly becomes second nature and immutable. If what they decided is a good thing, this is good; if not, oh well.

My grand daughter, for example, established early and easily the habit of showering. Some kids you have to keep after, and it's always a struggle to keep them clean. Lillian however never needs to be reminded, and she always keeps herself clean and sweet smelling. The same attention to hygiene does not extend to toothbrushing. The gene for toothbrushing is either missing or inactive in her. You can say 'brush your teeth, please," and she will stand and blink at you as if you've spoken in a foreign language.

I mention this because I do not form habits easily. I have spent the entire past year trying to establish some spiritual disciplines. What that means is that I have been trying to establish a regular (habitual) prayer routine and trying to alter some non-productive (habits) behaviors. After one year, I thought I was making progress, but the past two weeks have been horrible. I have settled back into the behavioral ruts that I was in before I started. I would have thought that a year would be enough time to permanently change behavior you wanted to change.

At Toyota, they say you must do something a thousand times in order to become proficient. Of course in an assembly operation where you may do something 300 or more times a day, you could form habits quickly if not easily. But how long should it take to establish a daily prayer habit? Thirty days? A thousand?

I am reminded of the lyrics from Paul McCartney's Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey:

"We're so sorry, Uncle Albert,
But we haven't done a bloody thing all day.
We're so sorry, Uncle Albert,
But the kettle's on the boil
And we're so eas'ly called away."

So, starting tomorrow, I need to start over. I need to ask myself why it is that I am so eas'ly called away. I need to pick myself up and get after it.

2011-09-05T23:10:00.000-07:00

I am in the Piker Press this week.

Just follow this link and it will take you directly to my article.

Or not.

Close Call

2011-08-24T20:38:00.000-07:00

I had a close brush with happiness today. It seemed to come out of nowhere, hidden behind my granddaughter's laughter. I could hear it as an undertone in my wife's voice. It felt like the warmth of the sun on my skin, but in my heart. There was not a proper reason for it. There's been enough pain in my life and enough uncertainty ahead that I should have been protected; I should have been immune.

Yet there it was -- blue skies and jays, a bagel and coffee in the cool morning air, led not into temptation but delivered from evil -- happiness insinuating itself into my day. It seems unseemly to be my age and not have a firm grasp on bitterness and regret. Perhaps tomorrow I'll be back on my game.

Then again I might go swimmin'.

Fortune Favors the Prepared

2011-08-17T16:50:00.000-07:00

It is that time of year. I know the sun is still shining brightly, the weather is warm and sunny, and swimming is still the afternoon activity of choice, but there is just a hint of change. Maybe it's the angle of the light, or that the sun is setting more than a half of an hour earlier than it did at the solstice. As unlikely as it seems, at some level maybe I even notice that each day is two minutes shorter than the last.

Still, I awoke one day last week with a stirring, and when I mentioned it to my wife, she rolled her eyes but knew that I would not be denied -- it was time to begin to gather firewood!

It is still about three months away from heating season, but now is the time to hit the wood suppliers. If you wait too long, they run out of seasoned wood. Now is the time before they start shipping truckloads of wood off to the Bay Area. Down there, they can get more than $500 per cord, whereas out here, the price is about $200 per cord.

We've got a good supplier. It's a farm just up the road from us. They sell almond wood (it being an almond farm) which is one of the very best woods for heating you can get. The wood is heavy, chock full of BTU's, and almond wood splits well. You always get good clean wood from this place. They don't bury bad pieces in the pile. We've gotten wood from some places that throw in the big, gnarly burls, pieces that are just miserable to try to use.

So this week and next week, like busy little squirrels, we are going to be laying in our supply of winter warmth. If you get really cold this winter, stop in, pull a chair up to the stove, and I'll put a pot of coffee on.

Asceticism Made Simple

2011-08-12T21:52:00.000-07:00

Flixster

I have been reading a really good book called The Spiritual Combat. It is a classic of Catholic Christian asceticism. Originally published in 1589, it is still available online, in print and for your Kindle through Amazon. It is said to have been a favorite of St. Francis de Sales who carried around a copy on his person.
In a nutshell, the book says there are forces of evil that want to corrupt you, and if you are going to resist these forces, you have to come to terms with who you are. The language may seem archaic, and there is definitely a different psychological model at work here than you might encounter from Dr. Phil. The goal of the book is spiritual perfection, that is, total conformity to God's will.

The very first step toward spiritual perfection is to acknowledge that we are sinners, incapable of any good apart from God. That's harsh sounding language, the kind that makes non-believers roll their eyes, and in fact it makes many Catholics roll their eyes. In a culture that worships self-image and believes in entitlement, this concept is anathema.

But it is really only a matter of semantics. To understand what is meant by being a sinner, we simply need to reference a more recent philosophical source. Saint Dirty Harry Callahan was able to take the old ideas and make them relevant to a new generation when he stated a man's got to know his limitations. Acknowledging our sinfulness is not simply about guilt or past offenses, it's about knowing what we are and are not capable of, being realistic about how we will probably respond to specific situations. When my spouse needs all of my attention, how many of my own interests (jobs, friends, habits) can I set aside to attend to him/her? Know anybody whose job ruined their marriage?

As far as being incapable of any good apart from God, well, I suppose that could be endlessly debated. There are good people who are good and have a very different understanding of God than I do, and some good people who see no reason to believe there is a God. I believe that we are incapable of good apart from God because God is the source of all goodness. Of course everyone is free to choose their own source of goodness.If you choose some source other than God, just remember the words of St. Dirty Harry, You’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?

Random Thoughts on Health Care and Patron Saints

2011-08-10T23:09:00.000-07:00

The Gauntlet

I am not by nature a morbid person. I do not dwell on the evil in the world nor all the things that could go wrong in my life. But sometimes, you do have to look at some unpleasant realities. For instance...

The overwhelming number of people that die in any given year here in the US are my age or older. Just about 9 people out of 10 make it to my age, but then we start dropping like flies.

I have a better than 50-50 chance of dying of cancer or a heart attack. Chances are highly unlikely that I will die in an auto accident (less than a 2% chance), and almost no chance of being shot to death. Incidentally, nobody dies of old age. The people that are in charge of recording this type of information do not allow old age to be listed as cause of death. My mother, for instance, officially died of heart failure. She was 90 years old.

In terms of medical costs, the average person is expected to incur just over $300,000 in a lifetime on medical expenses, with about half of that amount spent after age 65. Of course this is per capita spending, so some people are going to spend less, some people more.

I don't know the exact amount that has been spent on my health insurance premiums over the last 30 years, but a rough estimate I'm sure would be $300,000. If I were to pay the current premiums for the next 30 years, it would amount to an addition $600,000. Of course we know that could never happen.

Just for the record, St. Joseph is the patron saint of happy and peaceful deaths. Legend has it that Joseph died in the presence of Jesus and Mary. His death was well before the public life of Jesus, as evidenced by Joseph's absence from scripture after the infancy narratives. It is also said in legend that this early death was granted to Joseph to spare him the torment of seeing his wife and his son suffer so greatly. Catholics believe that there is value in asking Joseph to intercede for us, to ask Joseph to request on our behalf that God grant us a peaceful death.

There is no patron saint of insurance that I am aware of.

Reflecting on the Endgame

2011-08-08T13:46:00.000-07:00

Head in Hole

I apologize if my absence from the blogosphere has inconvenienced anyone. I realize it's been a bit since my last entry. I've been attending to a few things: most of little consequence but needing to be done, and a few matters of true substance. It is these latter items that had me stick my head in a hole in a tree.

There are some moments in your life where things fundamentally change -- some are good, some are bad, some just are.

Marriage is one of those times. You go along single and the world looks one way, then literally in an instant, you're married and the world is different. You are no longer single, you are married, and even if someday you or your spouse walks away from that, you can never completely leave it behind. That person is never "someone I used to know," they will always be "the ex." Hopefully therefore, marriage is something you had put a lot of thought into before jumping in.

While I had my head in the hole during the past couple of weeks, I've had to think about my own endgame. I'm not ready to die, and don't want to die any time soon, but I had to do some serious thinking about the eventuality. I wanted to clarify how I felt about dying, and I didn't want that process to take place for the first time on my deathbed. And I needed to know what Sand was thinking, since we are in this together until the end.

This is not about picking out the caskets by the way, although I imagine that could be part of the discussion eventually. This is about whether or not I am willing and able to accept death as a natural process. When the time comes for the kids to put me on the iceberg and wave goodbye, do I resist or do I graciously cooperate?
If tomorrow I found that I had a disease that would kill me if left untreated, how should I proceed?

God is good and I am at peace with my decisions, and for the moment at least, I can pull my head out the hole and rejoin the world. It's that time of life, and it is what it is.

Fly In The Ointment

2011-07-27T15:44:00.000-07:00

So things got a little spicier in the past couple of days. Our sprinkler system in the front yard had a major blow out somewhere along the line, and water was gushing out of a hole that opened up in the ground at least ten feet from any of the sprinkler heads. It may be more than a little bit of a chore to find the broken pipe.

Then too, we found out that we are not healthy enough to be covered by health insurance -- the old "pre-existing condition" clause. We're fine, and really haven't had any issues for at least two years except for blood pressure and cholesterol issues common to our age group.

Puts you on edge a bit...it's just about the hottest time of the year, and we can't be without the sprinklers for too long. So we'll have to get to digging and see where the pipes are broken. Or maybe figure out another way to water.

I'm pretty sure the health insurance system is broken also. More digging I suppose. Oh well, I've got the time. I might as well put it to good use.

A Fruitful Enterprise

2011-07-21T20:51:00.000-07:00

The Lemon

When life gives you a lemon, so the saying goes, make lemonade.

I was talking to my daughter about her job. She has a cool job helping people navigate through the bureaucracy of Social Security. Her clients are those who have disabilities of one sort or another, but they are trying to help themselves. My daughter works some magic, and the system works for the client, many of whom then are able to get jobs and ultimately reduce or eliminate their dependance on the dole. That's a really broad generalization of her work, but it's something like that, and usually it's a win-win situation for the client and for Social Security.

She said one of the reasons she likes her job is that she deals with those who have already bottomed out, come to grips with the situation, and are attempting to rebuild their lives. Most social service jobs, however, deal with people "on the way down." People find themselves out of work or unable to work for whatever reason, and their lives begin to unravel. They begin looking for help and find out that most of the help available will not protect what they have. Indeed, in most cases, government assistance is only available once you've depleted your own resources and have close to nothing left. Along the way, you have to also divest yourself of status and self-esteem. All of this is a frightening and humiliating process. People go through typical grief stages -- denial, anger, bargaining and depression before they get to acceptance, and for some, that can get ugly. It is the exceptional person, my daughter says, that can run that gauntlet gracefully, and it is easy for the social service workers who deal with this day in and day out to get burnt out.

I have it on good authority that my daughter is very, very good at her job, and from her stories, I know that she deals with people who accomplish some absolutely heroic tasks on the way to supporting themselves.

But people do look at me funny when I say that my daughter runs a lemonade stand in Stockton. Go figure.

California Dreamin'

2011-07-18T21:37:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

It was a warm and sunny afternoon, high near ninety degrees. The kids were in the pool and so were the dogs.The weather was California perfect, the kind of day for which we pay extra taxes. There is nothing that the politicians in Sacramento can really do to change this California experience -- no part of the dysfunctional state budget is related to the weather, and no amount of budget cutting will move the state away from the ocean and the geographical coordinates that afford the benign climate the drew us here twenty-five years ago.

I know how fragile it all can be however. The home I grew up in (above), one that Mom and Dad had remodeled and kept in excellent condition, is now an empty shell with weeds growing in it. It sits in what until a few years ago was and should be a vibrant working class neighborhood in the city, yet a shocking number of homes on the block are shuttered and decaying, the result of greed, corruption, and a bit too much wishful thinking.

I hope that the politicians in Sacramento remember that what we have here is precious, and they have more to protect than a political ideology. The state is about people, and while the politicians may not be able to move California, they may make it inaccessible. They may make it so you can't get here from there. And that would be a great loss.

What Have You Got In Your Wallet?

2011-07-15T16:54:00.000-07:00

Still Broke

I was out to lunch with my son-in-law today. At one point he wanted another can of soda and asked if I had any money on me since he didn't feel right about charging a can of soda on his credit card.

And no, I didn't have any cash on me.

I never was one to carry much cash around. When I was working, sometimes I had a few dollars on me just because somebody or other was always selling candy bars or raffle tickets for their church or their kids' softball team, and I never knew when somebody was going to order pizza, a piece of which I would have to have in order not to spend the rest of the day drooling on my work station. I almost never had more than five bucks on me.

There was always somebody I worked with however that would carry wads of money on them. It was Wally at the last place I worked. Wally's not his real name, but I don't want to run the risk of using his real name and having some nutcase connect the dots back to Wally and steal his money. Wally always carried lots of money around. It was not unusual for Wally to have at least a thousand dollars in cash in his pocket. He asked me one night to stop by the lunch truck to get him a sandwich and handed me a $100 bill -- it was the smallest he had.

I haven't had any money in my pockets since I retired. Until today, there hasn't been a reason to have any, and I think that's cool. Of course I am hoping that no one is waiting for me to spend us our of the recession. It could be a long wait.

In The Time I Have Left

2011-07-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

The Story Thus Far

I went to have some blood work done this morning. During the course of the chit-chat with the phlebotomist, the subject of my employer came up, and I told her that I used to work for Nummi. She has lots of clients that used to work for Nummi, so she wanted to know if I had another job.

No, I said, I was retired.

She looked at my chart, noticed my age. "Oh," she said. "You don't have much time left, you might as well enjoy it."

She must have skipped class the day they had the "things not to say to a patient" lecture. Still. I knew what she meant and appreciated the sentiment. Fortunately my blood work was a requirement of a health insurance application and not part of the treatment for some serious disease. I don't expect to die anytime soon, but I am well aware that I am closer to the end than to the beginning of my life, and indeed, I intend to take full advantage of my situation and enjoy myself as much as I can with the time I have left.

Curiously, my phlebotomist's remark did elicit in me a desire to write today. There are about fifty copies of my novel Stained Glass floating around the world, and pretty soon, they may be the only tangible evidence that I existed. I like to imagine that my granddaughter will hand a copy to her kids one day and say "here, this is your great grandfather." And in the time I have left, I think there are few more things worth saying.

So today, I'm going to hole up with my laptop and write. I need to add to my body of work so that the great grand-kids don't read one book and say "like OMG, great granddaddy was, like, a pervert."

Another Tortoise and Hare Story

2011-07-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

This Old Tortoise

I will readily admit that I am the Handyman Tortoise in a line of Home Improvement Hares. My father was a truly gifted craftsman, equally adept in plumbing, carpentry, electrical wiring, painting...you name it, Dad could do it. He made his living as a "tinner," someone who fashioned all sorts of things out of light gauge metal, things like duct work, boxes, cabinets, etc..

Along with being very knowledgeable, Dad was also a tireless worker. He was constantly building stuff around the house when he wasn't rebuilding the house itself. Mom and Dad had bought several "fixer-uppers" along the way, and Dad never hesitated in stripping a house down to the studs and starting over, and he was able to accomplish all sorts of major projects even while working full time.

My two brothers seemed to have inherited the bulk of Dad's skills and energies. Both of them have done wondrous things with their homes. My brother Ray added a deck to the back of one of his houses, and he did it in a weekend.

I have been extraordinarily productive since I retired...at least by my standards. Yet as I look over the list of things I've done in the past year, I know that Dad would have pounded out all those things in a week (two at the most) and probably changed the oil in the car as well.

Sand, the supportive wife that she is, has never complained about my lack of handyman productivity, and even as our current project (the kitchen remodel) stretches into its third week, she still exhibits the patience of a saint, and she still is genuinely delighted when we begin to see any progress whatsoever.

I think that God knew exactly the type of man that Sand needed to make her happy, and so despite my genetic predispositions, made me a tortoise amongst hares so as to be able to allow my wife to live a contented life.

God is good. I'm just saying.

Reasonable and Rational

2011-06-30T21:05:00.000-07:00

Indivisible

There is an interesting movement afoot as evidenced by the proliferation across the country of the "Don't believe in God?...You're not alone" billboards. The group behind them, Freethought Alliance maintains they are not aiming at controversy but simply at organizing and energizing like thinking people around the country. Their aim is to "help America evolve into a more rational, less superstitious society." This evolution can be facilitated by groups who are "looking at the world through the lenses of critical thinking, rationality, and science, and excluding from their lives the influences of mysticism, superstition, pseudo-science and all else that can not be proven by scientific inquiry."

I've mentioned before that I don't like to debate with people about whether their point of view is better or worse than mine. I try to simply make sure that I understand what it is I believe. In that respect, it appears that atheists and agnostics do a pretty good job. As reported in the LA Times , a 2010 survey found that those identifying themselves as atheists or agnostics are on average more knowledgeable about religion than followers of major faiths. Nonbelievers scored better on questions about tenets central to Protestant and Catholic faiths. Only Mormon and Jewish faithful scored as well as atheists and agnostics (kudos, guys).

What I believe is reasonable, and it is rational. I would hope that if I was confronted, I would be able to make a reasonable and rational defense of it. Somebody could run up to me and say: Bernie, you're an idiot! When they do, I should be be able to confidently say: perhaps, but I know why I am an idiot.

Wait. I need to work on that defense.

Ya Do What Ya Can

2011-06-27T17:48:00.000-07:00


Left Behind

I haven't been to the mall for years. We have a nice mall, as malls go, just a few miles south of us in Modesto. It's got lots of stores, the obligatory food court, a micro brewery, and lots of comfy chairs here and there around the lower level, or at least they did the last time I was there.

There are a number of reasons I don't go there anymore. One is that I am simply at a time of life when I don't need a whole lot of new things. Another is that I am less inclined to like being in crowds, and this mall is a busy place. The main reason I don't go there, however, is that they are really not particularly interested in me. I am the wrong demographic. I don't need toys or funky clothes, nor iPods or Lady Gaga CD's. There is a Sears there, but I don't shop Sears. And no, I have never even been in a Starbucks.

Malls and I have simply grown apart. We've changed. Grown distant. We've gone in different directions.

I mention this because because I have a friend who I think is feeling that way about life. He is in his sixties, and holds a responsible and public position in the community. I think he is getting a little irritated with the rest of us for not going where he is going. He looks around and finds that things aren't ordered the way they used to be, or the way he wants them to be, and indeed maybe the way they should be, and time is running out for him to set things right.. He's complaining a lot. In fact, he's turning into a grumpy old man.

I remember Dad going through this phase as he got older. The Democratic Party broke his heart. He had been a hardcore New Deal Democrat, someone who thought FDR was a saint. The leftward list that had the Party embracing things he clearly thought were immoral disillusioned him. It made him angry, and while he certainly made his concerns known to anyone who would listen, there was obviously nothing he could do -- the Party no longer cared about his demographic.

For years, ever since I ran across the observation, I have been fascinated by the fact that Christ opened the eyes of the blind and cured the lepers, but he did not banish from the world either blindness or leprosy, something that presumably he had the power to do. When he left the world, they were still there.

I know I have to continue to try to make the world (or at least what I touch of it) a better place, but I don't think I have to have it completely fixed in my lifetime, and I shouldn't be surprised or depressed that it's still a mess.

There's nothing I can do about getting old, but grumpy is still a decision.

The New Math

2011-06-25T17:17:00.000-07:00

I am fifty-seven, soon to be fifty-eight. I got to thinking the other day, for no particular reason, about how many people who were born in 1953 are still alive. I did a little research and found some data generated by the CDC, the Center for Disease Control.

They provide a whole bunch of information, and specifically for this conversation, life tables that suggest how we in this culture at this time are faring. The numbers I provide here are estimates from those tables. They are not exact. If I worked for an insurance company, I am sure that I would be fired for being sloppy, but for a personal blog entry, they are reasonable "ball park" figures.

So the CDC says that 10% of the people who were born in the same year I was are dead by now. I would have thought more than that, so that's not bad. While it took 57 years for that 10% to die, I might expect the another 10% of that original group to die off in the next 12 years, by the time I'm 69. 30% of the group will be gone by the time I'm 74, 40% at 78, 50% at 82, 60% at 85, 70% at 88, 80% at 91, and 90% at 94. Less than 3% of those I was born with will make it to 100.

That's for everybody in the U.S.. Elsewhere in the world the numbers would be very different. If you cared to look at the numbers for just the guys in the U.S., they would be about 2 to 3 years ahead of that pace and have half the chance of living to 100.

Another way of looking at the data would be to consider that at age 57, I have about a 50/50 chance of living another 25 years, 80% chance of living another 15 years and about a 98% chance of living another 5 years. There is of course a 100% chance that I will be dead sooner or later.

So if I am on an east bound train traveling from San Francisco at 106 miles per hour, and you are on a west bound train traveling from Baltimore at 87 miles per hour, how much should we have to spend on health insurance and will there be any money left when we die?

This is the real life question that Sand and I had to answer this past week as we went shopping for health insurance to replace the coverage that we used to have when I was a respectable employed person.

You may be interested to know that we were in total agreement on our answer, which was "yes."

Topsy-Turvy

2011-06-23T07:46:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like a good old home improvement project along with a computer malfunction to set your world topsy-turvy. Sand and I embarked on a remodel of our kitchen about two weeks ago. It's something we've been talking about for years. It's not really a big project, except of course if you have no idea what you're doing. Then every step is a major learning process. The biggest part of the project was the relocation of the the island that held the sink and dishwasher. We wanted to move it one foot out and seven inches to the left. I know that doesn't sound like much, and in fact I was afraid that we would go through all the work and find out that it really didn't make a difference. None-the-less, Thursday a week ago, with the encouragement of one of our friends who worked construction for years and years, we began tearing apart the island and moving it to its new location leaving us with no kitchen sink.

Concurrently, as a still inexplicable result of World_IPv6_Day, our home computers were locked out of Yahoo, Bing and most Google functions. While we still had gmail, we could not blog, leave comments on other peoples blogs, do any searches or even pull up the Google homepage.

We were, in a word, disrupted. I am dealing less well with disruption as I get older. I can remember being young and having no set ways or no place that was mine, so life was where you found it. Those were the heady (and irresponsible) days when the first thing you did when you woke up was to remember where you were and who you were with.

I really don't have any desire to go back to those days. I like knowing where my toothbrush is, and I like knowing that the things I will do today are not likely to hurt me. It could be very easy to look at my life and judge that it is boring, but I would argue that is practiced, a skill set honed by careful choices; yet an inordinate number of those choices seem to involve the availability of the kitchen sink and, increasingly, internet search engines.

We got the island moved to its new location (after much swearing and sweating) and were able to hook up the old sink while we wait for counter tops and new sink to arrive. The new space seems luxurious, better than imagined, and after a great deal of research, I was able to track down the internet problem -- had to switch to a different DNS. So now I can once again google "how to install new kitchen sink" and be prepared for the next step in the remodeling project.

Life is returning to normal.

NFL, This Could Be You !!!

2011-06-21T16:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, it took only two weeks, but we finally figured out what the problem was that had shut our household computers out of all things Google.

I also found out that I actually missed blogging. So now, having probably lost everyone who had been following my blog, I must now work even harder to find replacements for both my readers.

Let this be a lesson to the NFL. If you guys don't play football this year, it is entirely possible that we will all find something else to do on Sundays, and then when you come back, you will be looking to find an audience. I know this from experience. Just saying.

Conundrums Both Near and Far

2011-06-07T00:35:00.000-07:00

Lillian and I found a baby bird today, and against my better judgment, I decided that we should bring it home. I judged that it wasn't going to make it where it was, and while I knew the odds were against us, I thought we'd give the little guy at least a chance.

Well, predictably, he didn't last more than a couple hours after this picture was taken. Lillian had been prepared from the start, me explaining to her on the way home that there was very little chance that the bird (she named him Mud Pie) would make it, he Dad explaining to her that wild birds just hardly ever survive in human care, and of course Sand telling her not to expect too much, that the little guy in all probability wouldn't make it.

But when the end came, Lillian cried.

The internet articles I read all pretty much said the same thing about what to do when you find a wild baby bird -- walk away.

What might you do if what you came across was not a baby bird but a tribe of people who had had little or no contact with rest of world? There are about a hundred "uncontacted tribes" in the world -- peoples who live in remote areas away from the rest of us. They are primitive...a term I realize can make me sound snobbish, but I don't know another way of putting. They live lives completely devoid of any of the advances of the modern world.

The Zo-e tribe in Brazil used to one of these uncontacted peoples. Then Christian missionaries found them in 1982 and proceeded to unintentionally wipe out a quarter of their population with imported disease.

So what would you do? Would you try to "help" them? Or would you let them continue undisturbed because that's better for them. And if it's better for them, what does that say about how you live?

I am not preaching here, because I don't know what I would do. I know I would not want to be the cause of deadly epidemics, but is what we have in the modern world not worth sharing? Is the "primitive" life more in line with what God intended for us?

The little bird would probably have died anyway, but I hoped that at least I could provide it with a peaceful place to die, safe from being trampled or run over, safe from having some sadistic kids get hold of it and make its last hours miserable.

I seriously doubt I would have any right to impose anything on people such as the Zo-e, but what responsibility might I have toward them?

New Year's Resolutions Check

2011-05-28T11:50:00.000-07:00

So, what with it nearing the middle of the year, do you even remember what your New Year's resolutions were? Mine, you may remember, was to end the year with less stuff than I began the year. Well, to date, I have gotten rid of two shirts I never wore, an air compressor that broke, a butter dish that chipped and left too sharp of an edge to use, and of course my cell phone. I have added two flower pots, two pairs of shorts, and some plants. I'm not sure if plants fit into this discussion. Plants are kind of consumables, like ground beef, only you don't need to refrigerate them.

I am increasingly aware of how full the house is. I've spent a fair amount of time rearranging stuff so that it all fits in better, kind of like jiggling the stuff in the kitchen junk/utensil drawer to get it to settle and make room for the potato masher. I have gently suggested to the other members of the household that any consideration of adding new things to the house should be accompanied by thoughts about what might leave the house. I'm not pushing the subject, because it is my resolution, not theirs. I always hated it when Mom got the cleaning bug and insisted that somehow that meant I should clean my room.

So the way I score it is that the shorts and the shirts cancel each other out, and the flower pots, the air compressor and the butter dish wash. That leaves me ahead by a cell phone, or at least potentially ahead by a cell phone since it hasn't really left the house yet, it just doesn't work anymore.

Maybe I need to get some big plastic storage bins so that I could have a place to keep all the stuff I want to throw out. I'm just saying.

Sparkles -- The Movie

2011-05-26T11:10:00.000-07:00

This being my first attempt at an edited video, I would like thank the Academy in advance for the recognition of my work, and of course I would like to thank all the little people who contributed so much to this production. I would also like to thank Toyota Motor Corporation for their decision to close its California operations thus making retirement possible (or at least unavoidable).

To my wife who stood by me even in the darkest hours when finishing this project seemed impossible, to my daughter who modestly continues to deny to her friends that we are related, to the sister my parents never gave me, and to Cirque du Banc who had the courage to finance this film, thank you very, very much.

And in closing, I would like to point out that I do not know how to edit the movie so that it would end when the video ends, so the music continues for quite sometime over imaginary closing credits.

(Okay, maybe I do have too much time on my hands.)

Pirates, Pikers and 'Pinions

2011-05-24T17:22:00.000-07:00

Jack Sparrow

Arrrrrr....just in case you're interested, you can catch Sand's and my review of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides over at The Piker Press.

An Auspicious Visitation

2011-05-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

We were sitting out in the garage the other evening watching and listening to the rain. The sun had just set. There was still a little bit of light lingering in the sky, just enough that in the garage you could still make out the shapes of most things, but the color had been drained from everything, leaving only shades of gray. Sand was there, of course, as was Howie curled up contentedly by her chair.

Howie sat up suddenly, ears pricked, and he rose to slowly move toward my chair, his sniffing nose leading the way. When I looked down to see what he was up to, sitting next to me was the toad you see in the picture above. He was about the size of a baseball, and seemed perfectly content to be sitting at my side.Who knows how long he had been there, and what he may have heard of our conversation.

I doubt the rain would have bothered him, but the cold might have driven him to look for someplace warmer. Aside from a curiosity, Howie wasn't bothered by Toad's presence. I didn't want Toad to get trapped when we closed the garage door for the night, so I had Sand pick him up and take him out by the pond in the front yard where we also took photos of him for the archives.

I believe this to be a visitation by the Toad of Happiness. Economic realities being what they are, we can no longer afford the more expensive Bluebird of Happiness. There are some of the feathery harbingers of good tidings in and around our neighborhood, however these are mostly in the upscale areas to our south, or to the occasional home in our neighborhood owned by an elderly couple who had paid off their mortgage before the housing slump. Most of us, however, are now being visited by the amphibious messenger.

It's cool though. The Toads require less maintenance, and frankly they are better listeners. And happiness, after all, does not depend on how much money you spend on it. Who can put a price on sitting in the garage listening to the rain with your wife, dog and your very own Toad of Happiness? In California, no less.

Life doesn't get much better. I'm just saying.

Reflection on Prayer

2011-05-19T23:03:00.000-07:00

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...

It has been 415 days since I retired. Keep that number in mind please, because we will return to it in a moment.

One of the tasks I set myself to when Nummi closed and I found I had lots of time on my hands was to establish for myself a daily prayer routine. I never had one. In fact prayer was one of those areas of my spiritual life that I had pretty much relegated entirely to the Church. I prayed when I went to Mass on Sunday (to which I was faithful) and on Holy Days (which ones I didn't forget and for which I could get time off). After some contemplation and experimentation, I have indeed developed a daily prayer routine that feels good to me. It is substantive enough to look and sound like real prayer, and it is comfortable enough to feel genuine. If you account for the time for development, a couple of disruptions from life events that necessitated trips back East, and of course the effects of my own inertia, I have employed my daily prayer routine somewhere between 250 and 300 times over the past 415 days. Compared to my previous track record, it is a remarkable accomplishment.

Yet, we must put this in perspective. One of the sage bits of inscrutable Oriental Wisdom that Toyota imparted to us at Nummi was that you must perform an operation one thousand times in order to become proficient. Thus a couple's love making becomes established in the first year, and any novelty introduced after children arrive remains just that, a novelty, as there is no longer an opportunity to achieve proficiency. Of course that's a plus or minus kind of number -- at Nummi, some people could pick things up almost immediately, and others, like Fred, were on schedule to achieve proficiency in a thousand years. Interestingly, a thousand repetitions was a good estimate of how long it would take for elements of the job to begin to become second nature. By this measure, I am somewhere between a quarter and a third of the way to point where my daily prayer routine becomes proficient.

I raise these issues because yesterday I had one of those epiphanous moments that make you stop in your tracks and squawk. My eight year old granddaughter was talking to her mother in the living room. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of mirror on the wall directly behind her mother. Being eight and naturally vain, she watched herself in the mirror as she spoke to her mother.

"Wait, wait, wait," her mother said. "Who are you talking to?"

"You," my granddaughter said.

"Then why are you not looking at me?"

I am pleased with where I've come with prayer this past year, but if I am honest, I have to admit that I am still a bit preoccupied with whether or not I look good praying. I am watching the words come out of me, posturing a bit to see if I look holier.

At Nummi, every time you trained on new job, you knew there was going to be that period of time when you felt awkward. When you were a new hire, it was very daunting and even discouraging. Later on, you got to recognizing it for what it was. You knew you had a thousand repetitions between you and competence, and while there was no shortening the process, you knew that little by little your body would respond.

In another 700 repetitions of my daily prayer, in a little less than two years if I can discipline myself, I am pretty sure that I will be able to stop looking in the mirror when I pray.

"...when these things have been repeated to us and in us a thousand times over, we begin to learn to trust simply to the word and power of God, beyond and against appearances ..."
-- from The Letters of John Newton

Life After the Dial Tone

2011-05-17T23:28:00.000-07:00

Going Out

So, I did it. I had my cell phone disconnected.

I don't really need it. I don't. Really.

We don't go out much, so there's no good reason to have four cells phones in the house plus a land line.

Waste of money. Don't need it. Don't.

I had to go out tonight, to get in the car and drive. Away from home. Away from the house phone. Along a highway where there are no phones.

Remember what that was like, being able to get away from people and not having to worry that the office was going to call, or that the phone would ring at an inopportune moment? Do you remember the freedom of being out of reach?

I really don't need to call anybody from the car...unless of course the car breaks down...out in the middle of nowhere...where there are no phones...at night...where there may even be chupacabras.

Wouldn't it be ironic if I was to be eaten by a chupacabra because I got a flat tire and didn't have my phone with me on a rainy night when I decided that being retired means I don't need no stinking phone to bleed me dry with monthly charges for a service that I would only need in case of emergency?

Still, I'll get used to it, not having a phone that is. I don't know if a person can get used to chupacabra attacks. They scar you for life if they don't kill you outright.

I took Sand's phone with me this time, just as a precaution, but I know that next time I'll go alone. I'll lock the car doors and plan my route. I won't stop until I'm there, and I won't tarry on the way back. I will live my life free of my electronic shackles... notwithstanding the chupacabras.

I'm just saying.

A Passing Thought

2011-05-13T15:26:00.000-07:00

Mom

It’s been a couple of weeks since I received word that Mom had died. That was an answer to prayer. At 90, life is pretty much a waiting game. Mom had issues to deal with, but I don’t know that life was the place that she could deal with them. I personally believe that she suffered from abuse as a child, but have never been able to figure out if that was the malicious behavior of an individual or simply the toll that the “normal” trauma of life exacts on a delicate soul. Mom could overreact to things and could imagine persecution where there was none. She seemed incapable of letting go, of letting bygones be bygones. She frequently was like Percy, a cat we used to have, who sat and stewed for hours, his tail switching with increasing annoyance the more he thought about something.

Her defining relationship, that of wife, was a complete disaster for her. Yet even if all of what she said had happened really had, the bottom line was that life was not nearly as difficult as she imagined it to be. She herself made it miserable, and in the process, she tried to make as many others as possible feel that misery with her. And the shame of that is that she really was not a bad person at heart. I believe that she really tried to do what is right. How her vision of right got to be as broken as it was…who knows? I don’t. And now she’s taken the answer to her grave.

I believe that her interest in God was sincere, so that being baptized and remaining faithful to the precepts of the Church, she can claim the mercy of God at this point in her life. As a Catholic, I find solace in the idea of Purgatory, a time after death where those who are destined for heaven may have to undergo a final purification (purgation) to be made ready to enter into God’s presence. It is somewhat analogous to the story of Moses approaching the burning bush (Exodus 3). As he approaches the bush, God calls to him and orders Moses to take off his sandals before entering upon holy ground.

One of the reasons I prayed for Mom’s death was that I believe that she was incapable of further addressing her spiritual condition. She had gone as far as she could under the circumstances. Was that good enough? Shouldn’t she have been able to do better? Could be. Maybe. Who knows. But now, by God’s mercy, she will have the undistracted time to complete her purgation, and she will have the help she needs to do that unfettered by the distractions of the flesh. And yes, there are distractions of the flesh even at 90. In Mom’s case there were still raging emotions, ones that she was incapable of controlling. Maybe she should have been able to, but the bottom line is that for her, she couldn’t do it, not in the flesh. Now, however, unless there is a darker, more sinister secret than I can imagine, she is in Purgatory, where, through the mercy of God, she will have access to all that she needs to complete her task.

Good luck Mom. I wish you well, and I will keep you in my prayers.

Like, Oh Wow!

2011-05-08T20:25:00.000-07:00

Flower Child Agnes

I turned 14 in 1967 during the Summer of Love, and I lived in Pennsylvania, so I did not get to participate in the festivities that were going on out here in California. For those of you who don't remember (or who don't want to), that was the time when thousands and thousands of young people gathered in the Bay Area in search of an ideal -- a culture based on peace, love, universal brotherhood, and as it turned out, unbridled hedonism.

It was the following summer that I got to come to the Bay Area. I was with my parents, so there was no question of visiting Haight-Ashbury, but I nonetheless fell in love with San Francisco. From that time on, I harbored a secret desire to move here, although I lacked the imagination to think that was possible. The idea of moving here was, like peace, love, universal brotherhood and unbridled hedonism, an impractical and unobtainable dream.

I think that there were lots and lots of kids who really believed that there was a better way of living than what they saw around them. The senseless nature of the Viet Nam War, the numb adherence to societal norms that left our parents locked in lifestyles that seemed to drain the life out of them, the unmasked racial bigotry that had exploded into the streets of our cities, it seemed there was a need to start anew, to find a gentler path.

I have to wonder, however, where all that idealism went. My impression is that all that survives of the Summer of Love is the hedonism in the guise of our society's penchant for conspicuous consumption and raunchy entertainment.

As it turned out (albeit 20 years later) moving to California turned out to be possible, and peace, love and universal brotherhood existed in my relationship with the Catholic Church. That relationship, along with age and a little wisdom garnered from experience, has kept my hedonism bridled. With Sand's advice and consent (enabled by her co-dependency) we have remained largely counter-cultural (anti-social).

So here we are, approaching 60 years old, and we find ourselves filled with hope that we can live a life in California filled with peace, happiness and as much hedonism as can be allowed to two old farts living on a fixed income. If we can get some nice weather, 2011 could be our very own Summer of Love.

Drawing The (Land)Line

2011-05-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

Cell Phone

If you are anything like me, then you have something that looks pretty much exactly like the image to the left. The cell phone has become for me the latest focus of this whole retirement/end-of-life drama I find myself in.

I have had and dearly loved my cell phone for many years now. Sand and I would use it to talk during my hour long commute to work, and I would call her on my break or lunch times. It was a way to deal with the 12 or 14 hours a day we spent apart. The phone also represented security during those long trips home in the middle of the night, or on those occasions when Sand and I would head out on road trips. Then of course there was the convenience of the contact list, the time (here or anywhere around the world), the tip calculator, the multiple alarms, the calendar, the messaging, etc., etc., etc.. Darn handy, dandy tools these cell phones.

And expensive. The four adults in our family each have a phone, and the monthly bill is over $100.00. Since we are all pretty conservative in our use of the phones, I'm sure that's a pretty modest cost for a family of four, but the reality is that Sand and I need to be very critical of how we spend our money now, and the bottom line is that there really is no need anymore for the two of us to have cell phones. There is an inexpensive landline to the house that is sufficient for all of our needs.

But trying to get rid of the cell phone is like trying to get a booger off your finger. I lived most of my life without a cell phone, so I know it's possible to live without them, but they have become so ingrained into our psyche that the thought of turning in your phone seems almost akin to amputation of a limb.

Any day now, if you call me, it will have to be on the house phone. It's gonna happen. After that, I have to take a hard look at the cable TV bill to see if the Food Network and NFL football is worth a hundred bucks a month. Then Sand and I have to figure out why we two cars.

I will need to save as much as I can so that there are sufficient funds available for the internet connection in my coffin. I'm just saying.

Brother, Can You Spare a Fifty for Some Gas?

2011-05-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

Family Car

Gasoline around here is going for $4.27/gal at the name brand stations. I can still find it for $4.10/gal at the unbranded convenience store stations. Either way, it still takes your breath away when you fill up. If I was still commuting to my old job, I would be spending about $18.00 per day just to get to and from work in my compact, fuel efficient vehicle.

Phew!

I'm going to commit heresy here and say that this is a good situation. Now before you pick up the stones and the pitchforks and come after me, let me explain.

It appears that somewhere just above the $4 per gallon range, people in this country begin to take notice and alter their driving habits, making different and presumably more fuel efficient decisions about how and what they drive.

I think this is a good thing. I would like to see us earnestly begin lessening our dependence on imported oil so that we don't pee our pants every time all those people in the Middle East or South America who hate us but have the oil decide to curtail production for one reason or another. Besides, I'm getting a little tired of paying for both sides of the armed conflicts in the Middle East. We spend all kinds of money sending our troops over there to fight against people who get most of their money from the rich people who are rich from selling us oil.

In addition, if people are convinced that gas was going to be expensive, they would begin to make wiser choices about the kind of vehicles they purchase. Wiser, that is, based on my world view where a vehicle like a popular GM SUV that gets 11 miles per gallon in the city is...I'm looking for a charitable word here...unwise.

So if gas prices above four bucks is what it takes for us to finally get around to having a realistic energy policy in this country, so be it.

Thank you for listening. Now if you still want to toss the rotten vegetables my way, have at it.

Let The Politicians Know How You Feel!!!

2011-04-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

Walking into the Wind

For the record, it is a good dozen degrees below the seasonal average here, and the wind is blowing like an angry intestinal virus.This is not what I pay taxes for. I expect better service. Indeed, I believe that I have a right to better service, it having been granted to me by the Creator along with life and liberty, so says the Declaration of Independence. It is no less than an unalienable right.

And yet here it is the end of April, and I find myself trapped in my house because to venture outside would cause me grievous mental suffering, for which I would expect some substantial compensation commensurate to the manner in which I have become accustomed.

I urge each of you to write or call your elected officials and demand that funding for Spring and Summer weather programs be fully restored NOW!

On Coffee and Good Taste

2011-04-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

So there are a handful of things about me which my friends tend to criticize. At least there are a handful of things about me which my friends openly criticize. Lord knows what all they might say on the way home in the car after our usual get-togethers. Those were the same pants he's worn the past five times we've seen him. Or he's swelling up like a tick on a dog butt. Who knows. But openly they think my taste in music (I like to listen to "smooth jazz") is boring and my coffee is terrible.

I readily admit that I am not a coffee connoisseur. I only ask that my coffee is hot and black. I do not like iced coffee (or coffee ice cream), and I do not care to have flavorings added to my coffee. Nor do I think coffee should cost more than a buck, and even then the refills should be free. When I make coffee at home, I use two scoops of coffee, which works out to one teaspoon of coffee per cup. This is already ground coffee which I choose entirely on the basis of price, and which I keep on a shelf in the cupboard, not in the refrigerator. I know, I know, the "experts" (and my friends) tell me to use two tablespoons of coffee per cup, coffee ground from expensive beans only moments before I use it and which have been kept refrigerated, but then they also say I should make sure my coffee maker is clean. What do they know?

I mention this because the other day, I had a cup of coffee that my son-in-law John made. Hmmm, I thought. This is pretty good. Better than mine. It made me think that my friends may indeed be correct. Maybe I had been deluding myself all along about my coffee. So I asked John how he made it. It turns out he used less coffee than I do, only one and a half scoops. Next time I made coffee, I used the lesser amount of coffee grounds, and voila, good coffee.

It all made me think that my friends have no taste in music either.

Sand Saves the Day!!!

2011-04-22T18:09:00.000-07:00

Nascent Grape

By the time you are reading this, Lent will probably be over. I'm looking back over my Lenten resolution, and as usual, I didn't do a good job of keeping up with it. I usually don't. I'm not sure why that is, but I can never remember a time when I chose a Lenten activity and was able to stick to it for all or even for most of Lent. As a result, I have developed a Lenten spirituality based on failure.

Nascent Tomato

My Lenten practice, or lack thereof, is a reminder to me that I am not the master of my fate. There are things that I can not obtain on my own, and salvation is one of those things. I do really and truly need Christ's coattails if I am to have a shot at heaven.

Nascent Cherry

I could have, and in the past certainly have, felt guilty about my lack of success in Lent. But Sand said something to me that made a lot of sense. In an unrelated conversation, I was telling her that I am really enjoying doing chores around the house now that I am home.

Nascent Saint

Life, she said, is supposed to be about living -- cooking, eating, resting, playing, all in good measure -- and preparing for life in the world to come. Life is a phase, a time of transition into something else. Like the tiny fruits of spring, we are meant to be much more than we are...someday, but not yet. That that day will come is the promise of Easter. In the meantime, we hang tight and grow as best we can; and that is the lesson of Lent.

An Impartial, Unbiased Opinion About a True Fact

2011-04-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

Silver Tongue

I imagine myself to be a writer of sorts. For me, the act of writing is a very industrial process. Crates of words are delivered by forklift to be opened with hammers and crow bars, and the words then sorted and stacked in appropriate piles. A wooden framework is constructed to support the words as they are individually selected and positioned during the assembly process. Even if the blueprint calls for as specific word, it is often the case that that word either doesn't fit, or fits but doesn't look right, and then things need to be adjusted. Sometimes that's a little sanding around a rough edge to make it fit, sometimes that's a sledge hammer pummeling and a liberal application of body putty.

The bulk of what I turn out is the literary equivalent of Edsels and Corvairs. But every once in a while, all the pieces fit cleverly and out pops a Bugatti.

I have had occasion recently to spend some time talking with my daughter. She is one of those people who is disgustingly clever. As I listen to her, I am often distracted by the Bugattis that roll effortlessly off of her silver tongue. Thought provoking observations entertainingly presented...you don't find that combination all to often.

Yes, yes I know that I am not necessarily an impartial judge here, but really, look here. and make up your own mind.

Has It Really Been That Long?

2011-04-19T10:11:00.000-07:00


Now And Then

I received an appalling letter in the mail today. It was from the committee organizing my high school's fortieth class reunion. That's right, we are celebrating the "Big 4-0" as they are so kind to point out on their website. I am not going to go, of course. My high school is on the other side of the country from here, and I do believe that it has been, let's see, forty years since I've seen any of those people, so I doubt that there's going to be a lot of people asking "where's Bernie?" It is another testament to the power of the internet that they even found my address. My entire family moved out of town shortly after I did, so it wasn't like they could just bop on over and ask Mom where I was.

I pulled out my yearbook, which I have indeed kept all these years, and checked to see if I knew any of the reunion committee. I knew one of them, although he and I definitely did not travel in the same circles. He came from one of the wealthy families and was one of the "power elite" of the school. He's an attorney now and v.p. of some company back there, so we would still not have much in common. I hope he remained a nice guy. There were over six hundred in my graduating class. I knew only a handful. I had used my high school years to hone the antisocial skills that I have successfully used throughout my adult life.

Now and then, I do wonder what may have happened to some of the kids I knew. I doubt that they are kids anymore having graduated from high school forty years ago.

Has it really been that long?

Blah, Blah, Blah

2011-04-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, so this is how I feel. I called Sand this morning and told her I wouldn't be in today. Don't know if it's allergies or a cold. However, this is the first time in over a year that I have felt this way. While I was still employed, I routinely picked up everything that went around at work. Autoworkers were a scurvy lot, and loved to share. I remember listening to the president of the company telling us that if we were sick, we could help everyone out by staying home. Of course, the company was so anal about attendance that if you took anytime off, there was a very good chance you would be written up. I got a write up once for missing a day when the plant was closed. I kid you not.

But it could just be allergies. One thing working in the Bay Area did for me (aside from the money) is that it got me out of the Valley for twelve hours a day. I can remember feeling fine all day until I was driving back home. As soon as I was coming down the Altamont Pass on the Valley side, I could feel my sinuses begin to swell. So now that I am spending all of my time here, it could just be that my sinuses are letting me know that there a lot of pollen out there.

Still, all things considered, life is good. At least I don't have to feel like this and go to work.

Thirty Six Years and Counting

2011-04-12T08:11:00.000-07:00

Some things just defy description. I am sure that there is no way for the rest of us to understand the feeling of being Neil Armstrong. I've thought about what it must be like to wake up in the morning and realize that you are the first human to have set foot on the moon. For as long as mankind survives, Neil will be remembered along with people like Columbus, Michaelangelo, Paul the Apostle, and Moses.

For the past thirty-six years, I have been able to wake up in the morning and realize that I am Sand's husband. Trust me when I say that as a wife, Sand is in a very elite group of all-time great wives. She is an extraordinarily brave woman and has tenaciously carved out for us a life rooted in peace, beauty and humor. She has given me tacos, gold finches, a german shepherd, a daughter, scrapple, a royal bathrobe, a robin named Sweet, fishing for blues, love, passion, understanding, complicity, and above all, an understanding of and encounter with the goodness of God.

Happy thirty-sixth anniversary, Sand. And thank you. I love you and wouldn't trade places with Neil for anything.

Some Days Are Just Better Than Others

2011-04-10T15:36:00.000-07:00

My counted cross stitch project is progressing. If I relied on cross stitch to be my source of income, I'd probably be a bit worried at this point, since I'm not setting any production records. However, it is diverting. When I get out my project, of course the first thing I have to do is spend a good fifteen minutes figuring out where I am and what's next.
Like everything else in life, each foray gets a little easier. I can see more, and see more more quickly, each time. I am also little by little getting faster on the stitching itself. Oddly, I am more comfortable with the needle in my right hand. I think that's odd since I am left handed.

   I have become increasingly fascinated with the idea that work is part of the "life of the world to come" that we profess in the last line of the Nicene Creed.I think there will be plenty that needs to be done in that new world, just as I am sure that Adam and Eve had plenty to keep them busy in the Garden. But it will be stuff that makes sense, it will be things that feel good to do.
   Working for money, especially when money becomes the only measure of the morality of the work, creates a tension that saps the beauty from work.
   What if everybody pitched in and got done what needed to be done today? I understand that in hunter-gatherer cultures that we consider "primitive," the daily work of the community takes up about 20% of the day, and the rest of the time is given over to enjoying life. We all could be done with work by lunch time if we did only the right stuff, and if we could have a couple of other people to help us out. If everyday was Take a Friend to Work Day, everybody would have a job. Then, after lunch, we could do cross stitch, or play baseball or write a book. I really think that's the way God intends the world to come to be run.
    I watched our family yesterday trying to live out that kind of plan on earth -- you know, the way it might be done in heaven. We were one and all busy with the various tasks that make the household go. Everyone was pleasant, everyone did what they could and what was needed. Then Lillian went off to friend's house, John and Alex immersed themselves in gaming on the computer, Sand did some writing, and I picked up the cross stitch. Then later, John went to the store, and brought back a raspberry bundt cake...for me.
   God (and life) is good.

Mud, Sweat and Jeers

2011-04-07T11:49:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday, the Gospel reading was the story of the healing of the man born blind (John 9:1-41). This is a great story, and perhaps my favorite passage in all of the Bible.

Jesus encounters a man who was blind from birth. He heals the man using a generic mud made from dirt and spit. As far as I know, he had no prescription for this, nor is there any mention of him obtaining authorization from a Primary Care Provider, which is probably what got the both of them in trouble.

What ensues is an argument that involves virtually the whole town, and everything was called into question. Representatives from the large phariseutical companies wanted an investigation and an injunction against the use of mud and spit (probably obtained from Canada). The man born blind was subpoened several times, however all his testimony was thrown out after his parents refused to confirm or deny his existence. His mother repeatedly answered I have no recollection of that when asked about the details of his birth.. Arguments raged, protestors stood outside the temple and shouted we demand what we want, and young children carried signs that said please don't sacrifice our future. "And there was division among them..." is the way the gospel writer understates it.

At the end of the day, nothing was resolved. Jesus himself stayed out of the whole affair. I liked that about him. He never much got into arguing. As important as he thought his work was, he didn't get bogged down in arguing with anybody. Even in the end, when he was finally arrested, beaten and forced to stand trial, when asked if the charges against him were true, Jesus basically shrugged and said whatever.

There is no shortage of things to argue about in our day. In fact the arguments are getting so heated that I worry that the we're going to start shoving back and forth and the whole bar will be wrecked in the ensuing brawl.

When I read in the media some of the horrible and vile things said about the Church, I think about this gospel story. I can understand why the Pharisees were concerned -- they had their agendas to promote. And I know that there are stupid and criminal people in the Church who, like Judas, are willing to sell out the Church for their own ends. At the end of the day, nothing much will be resolved. There will still be those who oppose the Church, there will still be those who do not understand the Church. So be it.

Yet in the quiet away from the hubbub, almost unnoticed in fact, in the tabernacles of our Church, is Jesus present in the Eucharist. For the moment, don't worry about condoms, chauvinism, Dan Brown or Obamacare. The legitimacy of what we claim to be as a church resides there.

Everybody in agreement? Of course not! They weren't back then, have never been, aren't going to be now.As a catechist, I never tell people what they should believe, only what I believe, and I don't argue.

All I know is what I've seen.

Paul and Bernie Listen to Bill and God

2011-03-26T15:11:00.000-07:00


Pencil Drawing on Bar Napkin, circa 1598

Every time I attend a play, especially something like Shakespeare, I spend the first twenty minutes or so trying to adjust my hearing. Initially, it is very difficult to hear anything but the sound of incomprehensible voices. Eventually, with whatever adjustment is necessary, words begin to pop out, then phrases, and pretty soon, I am hearing what they are saying. With Shakespeare (whose image appears to the left), I think that part of the issue is that we come to expect a certain order to the language we hear. We expect the speaker to choose from a familiar palette of phrases and sentence structures, something like “it is raining cats and dogs.” Shakespeare, however, is playful and creative, and enjoys surprising us with distinctive words and phrases. “The wind pushed the rain as a dog herding sheep, gathering the scattered drops into a solid mat of wool driven through the narrow gate of the pen.” Prayer is not unlike that.

I have spent the last several months attuning my soul to the sound of prayer. I have been trying to get accustomed to prayer as dialogue. I had to figure out what to say, and I had to learn to listen. If I had to describe my prayer six months ago, I would say that I used to mumble a lot and then look at my nails and scratch a lot instead of listening for an answer. I would imagine that God experienced me like I experience most teenagers.

“Like, I don’t know what to do,” I would mumble to God, hands stuffed in pockets, looking at the ground, a kind of blank look on my face.

“Waa wa waa waa wa,” God would say, but mostly what I heard was Paul Simon singing Cecelia.

“What?” I asked, although it is not a question, it’s a deflection.

“Wa waa wa wa?”

I would look at the ceiling and stare with an expression that indicated I had just shut down and that nothing more would go in or come out of my brain, perhaps forever.

Prayer is ultimately conversation, and I have never been a good (or at least not a comfortable) conversationalist. Fortunately, there is loads of advice for those who would like to be, and most all of it says something like “look for something of interest in the other person and comment on it, ask questions, and listen.”

A lot of what I hear from God is still "waa waa waa," but at least Paul has forgotten about Cecelia and has begun asking pertinent questions: Lord, is it Be Bop a Lula? Or ooh Papa Doo?

A Stitch in Time

2011-03-23T12:14:00.000-07:00

I have started a cross stitch project. A picture of what it will someday look like is just to the left. Sand introduced me to cross stitch years and years ago. I don't remember the circumstances of why she might have done that. I did one little piece, and recall being reasonable pleased with the process, but not pleased enough apparently to try it again. Of course that was back in the day, as they say. I was working long hours and didn't feel any need to find a pastime.

Things change however. Now, I am not working long hours. I am busy with this and that -- a future blog will treat the issue of shelves, for example. I've put up more shelves in the house in the past year than in the entire rest of my life. And I have yet to encounter a boring day. A significant amount of my time has been devoted to trying to regain some spiritual discipline in my life. Finding myself outside the former NUMMI plant with a big boot mark on my butt presented me with the opportunity to do a self inventory, and one thing I knew I had to do with my time was to re-establish some spiritual discipline. Perhaps because I am a product of my culture, I assumed I could knock that out in a few weeks and move on. Well, either I was spiritually more decrepit than I thought, or spiritual renovation occurs on its own unique timetable, but here it is almost a year later and I find that if I had to estimate how much I've accomplished, I would say that I am maybe 75% of the way to where I want to be.

Where do I want to be? Just a bit further, I'm sure.

During this past NFL season, Troy Aikmen (the former Dallas quarterback and now one of Fox television's sportscasters) made several references to young quarterbacks reaching a point in their play where "the game slows down." He was referring to that point at which experience begins to kick in, and a player starts to see more of what's going on around him. He's been around the block enough to quickly recognize patterns and is able to anticipate outcomes and recognize opportunities more easily. It happens in every workplace. There are those people that seem to be so calm and collected in their jobs, and they're smooth, seemingly always one step ahead.

I think I will be able to recognize when I reach the point where spiritually "the game slows down." There will come a point where prayer will flow more naturally and easily. There will be time when I won't have to think so hard about what is the right thing to do next. There will come a time when no matter how much turmoil there is around me, I will be able to be at peace.

Oddly, there are incredibly mundane things you can do to obtain these lofty goals. "Avoid idleness," Father Dom Lorenzo Scupoli advises in the 16th century classic The Spiritual Combat. "Avoid idleness and be awake and vigilant, and busied with the thoughts and deeds which befit your state of life."

There really is some wisdom in that. Of the people that I've talked to that are retired -- voluntarily or otherwise -- the ones who are having a hard time coping talk about being bored or feeling directionless, and the ones who are doing well say they keep themselves busy doing something they like. One guy now has enough time to devote to his long time hobby of restoring old cars. That's a little too rich for me of course. I am cheap, something that I listed as a good point on my personal inventory incidently. That's one of the reasons that cross stitch appealed to me. I spent less than five dollars on this project (a kit that includes fabric, thread, instructions, and even the needle), and another couple for the plastic hoop that holds the material. For that modest investment, I will keep myself occupied for many hours, and in the end have a pretty little piece of art.

There is a satisfaction in having an activity to pass time, something to keep the mind from wandering too far afield. That might have been obvious to everybody else in the world, but I don't know that I would have understood that a year ago. I was too busy to understand the beauty of being busy.

So, how many cross stitch projects and how many new shelves will it take before my game slows down?

I'm just hoping my game slows down before it stops, if you catch my drift.

It's the Trying That's Important

2011-03-19T20:42:00.000-07:00

Lent is now all of ten days old. (Remember. we don't count Sundays as part of the Forty Days of Lent, since Sundays are always feast days.) We are one quarter of the way through.

Frankly, my Lenten penance plan has gone just about as well as my New Year's resolutions. I was going to read the Seven Penitential Psalms each day. I did really well on Wednesday, and then began to compromise -- I started a little late Thursday and so I figured five of the seven psalms would have to do, that I would make up the other two the next day, except then that on Friday, that got a little too long, so I just apologized to God and re-committed myself to doing better the next day. Except I forgot I was really busy on Saturday and never got around to anything except an another apology. Fortunately the next day was Sunday, and the rules say I got the day off. Maybe if I did one psalm a day? Man, that really sounded like a cop out. I should be able to do better...tomorrow.

Maybe it's just a rationalization on my part, but I think that failure at one's Lenten plan may have a value all of its own. If my salvation was dependent on how well I do complete my Lenten plan, I'm afraid I'd be on my way to hell, but I don't earn my salvation. It is a free gift from God. I don't necessarily get any closer to heaven by successfully avoiding chocolate for six weeks, although I may get some insight into how prepared I am to deny myself, pick up my cross and follow Jesus. If cross carrying is not to be relegated to the same file as losing weight, stopping smoking, regular exercise and saving for retirement, then I have some work to do.

But I think the biggest lesson from falling down on my Lenten plan is that I can't do it alone. I need the story of Lent. I need to remember what God has done for me. I need to remember that I wouldn't even be alive now without his direct intervention in my life (remind me to tell you about that someday).

So there are about thirty days left in Lent. I'm going to put two marks on my calendar today like they do on a bowling scorecard to indicate an open frame -- don't look back, look ahead. Even if I am face down in the dirt, tomorrow's another day. The sun'll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar, that tomorrow there'll be sun...well, at least I'm going to try again. It's the trying that's important.

Results of the Election are In!!!

2011-03-17T13:19:00.000-07:00

Bishop with Miter and Crosier

The Rite of Election was held this past Sunday at the Cathedral in Stockton, Ca., as it was at every Cathedral in every diocese in the country, and for that matter, every country throughout the world. In the ceremony, local church communities present to the bishop those people who are seeking to join the Church and who are judged to be properly prepared to do so. The bishop acknowledges their intentions and their readiness, and calls them to the final period of preparation before their initiation into the Church at Easter.

I don' t know the exact number, but there appeared to be at least 150 catechumens there to be "elected," and this was just one of two services. There was another rite on Tuesday night for the parishes that didn't attend Sunday. Considering that this scene was reenacted in all 177 dioceses in the US and over 2700 dioceses world wide, there are a lot of people trying to join the Church.

You have to admire them. It takes more than a wee bit of courage to want to join the Catholic Church nowadays. We've got some issues that we are dealing with, and the whole idea of religion is increasingly viewed "with a jaundiced eye" as they say. Yet there they are, by the thousands, asking to be let in.

I've always been fascinated by the encounter of Peter and Jesus where Jesus asks who do you say I am?If Peter admits to what he is thinking, he could be carted off to the loony bin. If he is at all convinced that he is right about what he is thinking, then he has to admit to himself that the person he is standing in front of is God, the inventor of the universe. How likely is it that some guy you meet while you're fishing turns out to be famous? I mean really, really famous. We're talking uber-famous here. And you and he (and probably his mother) are the only ones who realize just how famous he really is.

I would like to believe that since I have been involved in the preparation of the four catechumens our parish presented to the bishop, that I had some influence on their decision to join the Church, but I know from having done this for more than twenty years, that what happens happens between the catechumens and God. Like Peter, the catechumens will hear the question and will make up their own minds. I am around to make sure everyone knows where the bathrooms are and that there is plenty of toilet paper.

So, pray for the catechumens, if you would. There is still more than a month before they are baptized. There is still time for them to say this is crazy, I'm outta here. And since it's Lent, take some time to celebrate the anniversary of your own decision. Clear your calendar for an hour or so, light a few candles to set the mood, open a bottle of wine, and sit down with God to reminisce about when you met, when you realized this wasn't just a story, when you realized that your relationship was, at least for him, deadly serious.

"Oh yeah, well you're stupid."

2011-03-15T10:59:00.000-07:00

The Screamer

I remember when we were kids and would get into arguments about things. More often than not, the argument ended up in name calling and insults.

"Oh yeah, well you're stupid."
"Oh yeah, well you eat boogers."
"So does your mother."
"Your mother eats boogers on her spaghetti."

And so on. It seems to me that now that we've all grown up and matured, we call this politics. I try not to get involved in these discussions, not because I am lofty and above all of that, but because I generally got stuck at the "oh yeah" part of the argument, not being quick enough to come up with a proper insult.

It may just be that arguing is human nature. One of my favorite stories in Christian scriptures is when Jesus heals the blind man, and a tremendous argument breaks out in the town about that happened. Some people claimed that the man who could see wasn't even the man who was blind, but only someone who looked like the blind man. Or maybe he hadn't really been blind at all. Maybe his parents had just lied about. Jesus himself stayed out of the argument, getting involved only after the healed man, having been judged stupid and ignorant, gets thrown out into the street. There, with the big argument continuing in the background, the two of them meet and become friends.

One could image Rush Limbaugh saying "this is just another example of the administration using smoke and mirrors in an attempt to make you think that they know what's best for you, that they have all the answers."Or Nancy Pelosi saying "they want you to believe that this kind of back alley medical care is good enough for women."

Well, let them argue. It is Lent. I'm going to just ease on out into the street, into the quiet, and see who I can see. I am pretty sure that after Easter I'll be able to find another argument if I want one, in fact I am sure that the same one will still be going on.

Of course, there are those who say that this whole Lenten thing is a silly waste of time, another attempt of the Church to burden us with a pointless sense of guilt.

Oh yeah!?!

See you outside.

Lent and the Pharaoh

2011-03-09T08:43:00.000-08:00

Pharaoh Qui-tankhamun

It's Ash Wednesday. I was tooling around the Net and ran across this description of Lent: "Mardi Gras is short-lived friends: For, tomorrow, we begin Lent, the 40-day bummer of a tradition that forces us (Catholics) to give up some prized possession or idea until Easter. Of course, since I am a horrible Catholic, I won’t be giving up chocolate, macaroni and cheese..." (Click if you'd like to see the rest)

One of the comments left on the site said "It's times like this that I thank God He didn't make me Catholic." Another one said "Lent is for #@%. Just live."

It got me to thinking that I was too hard on Yul Brynner. I always thought that Yul looked a bit silly as Rameses in The Ten Commandments. The guy would run around wearing his little camp skirt with no top, loaded with bling... I mean how silly can you get?

It is possible, I suppose, that Rameses might have dressed that way because even back then dressing for success was important. It could be that when he put his skirt on, slipped into the little armbands, donned the pharaoh's headdress, he felt good. His clothes were well tailored and made from the finest linen; his bling was real bling. He would have stood out in any crowd, and then as now, being that well decked out gives you a psychological boost. You carry yourself a bit differently. Ask any man if he feels differently in a tuxedo, and the answer will almost always be yes.

Our "forty day bummer of a tradition" is like a tux -- if we put on Lenten activities correctly, they work on our psyche in a subtle fashion, and we begin to stand up a little straighter, feel a little more responsible. We begin to believe that we are capable of being a better person, more aware, more in control.

Bernie dressed as Pharaoh

Admittedly, there are limits to the 'clothes make the man" adage. There comes a point at which another phrase comes to mind...lipstick on a pig. This is why it is important to both understand why Lenten activities are necessary and desirable and to choose a Lenten activity that makes sense. Lenten activities are supposed to jar us out of our normal routines and to remind us to contemplate our relationship with God -- kind of like tying a string around your finger to remind you do do something, or setting your phone to remind of whose birthday it is. Of course if you have no relationship with God, giving something up to remind yourself to think about that might be pretty useless. In that case, it might be better to do something positive, like everyday writing a one or two sentence answer to the question "in what ways today did I demonstrate that I was truly an #@%?" If you need help with the answer, ask the people you work with.

I'm not giving anything up for Lent, although I may tag along with anybody in the household who is trying to eat less. I'll do that because I simply can't fit into my camp skirt anymore. I am going to try an old Catholic Lenten practice and recite the Seven Penitential Psalms each day, something Pope Innocent III suggested we all do back in the 1200's. I'll use the Good News Bible's translation of the psalms since that is easier for me to understand.

It times like this that I thank God he made me Catholic. And as Rameses used to say, so let it be written, so let it be done.

Alternate Realities

2011-03-07T14:49:00.000-08:00

EXPOSURE

Most of you know me as the reclusive author and artist behind that little known corner of cyberspace known as the Beeswax blog. The fact that you know me makes you one of a very, very exclusive group of Web surfers. Very exclusive. Darn near non-existent group in fact.

However, in another part of the Web, I do in reality have another identity. Indeed, in the world of The Piker Press, I am considered to be quite the bon vivant. The Piker Press is a ezine that has been published weekly for more than eight years, which for an internet publication is a phenomenal accomplishment. It has a world wide following and has regular contributions from writers in South Africa, China, Scotland, Vietnam, France, Canada, Mexico, Iceland, Russia, England as well as from across the United States, indeed, even unto Des Moines.

The other day it came to me...Hey! Serious artistes need exposure for their work. If I exposed myself in this blog, maybe my readers would find things of interest in the Piker Press, and in the process, get to know me a little better.

It just so happens that I have a piece in this week's Press. It is a movie review of the new animated film Rango . So click on the "Rango" and enjoy. And while you're there, you can use the Archives function on front page to look at my past publications.

Check it out. I think you'll enjoy it.

OMG!!!

2011-03-02T11:48:00.000-08:00

OMG!!! by Bernie

So I was listening to my eight year old granddaughter having a conversation with her eight year old friend. The friend was talking about a third party who was not present.

"So she says to her," the friend said of the third party. "'Oh my God, I hate you."

"That wasn't nice," my granddaughter admonished. "She shouldn't have said that. It's one of the Commandments. She should have said 'Oh my gosh, I hate you.'"

The other girl agreed.

I was very proud of my daughter at that moment -- her efforts to instill a sense of right and wrong in her daughter are bearing fruit. And I was very proud of my granddaughter for having the courage to use this knowledge in her everyday life.

Life is a little complicated most of the time. It is difficult to get a firm grasp on all its elements. Just when you think you've got it under control the transmission in the car goes out, or you burn the dinner on the stove top, or you lose your job. Oh my God, what am I going to do? Worse still are those times when you are in control, or so you think, and still you wind up doing or saying the exact wrong thing. Oh my God, I shouldn't have done that.

My granddaughter is appropriately myopic in her observations about the world. She's eight, she's allowed to be. Hopefully, some day soon, she will begin to realize there is another dynamic at work in the statement she heard and with equal courage question the appropriateness of hate.

When I look at myself in the mirror, the phrase that most often comes to mind nowadays is Oh my God, I am getting old. I am really trying to move past this being simply an expletive. I am trying to embrace this as a prayer, trying to be grateful and hopeful. Oh my God, thank you for getting me this far, thank you for allowing me to see the fruits of my labor, thank you giving me the sense to appreciate life in all its dimensions. But there are those days when I am most keenly aware of the aches and pains, when I feel particularly diminished by the things that don't work anymore, when resignation replaces anticipation, and on those days I am saying Oh my God, do you see what's happening to me?

Then again, sometimes looking in the mirror is not a spiritual experience at all -- you just look at the skid marks and the wreckage and wonder if drinking contributed to the accident or did you just fall asleep at the wheel. In this case, follow my granddaughter's advice and say Oh my gosh, look at that mess.

OSCARS!!!

2011-02-27T23:03:00.000-08:00

There are plenty of things you probably need this week, and I can't imagine a legitimate scenario in which one of those things you are in need of is an opinion from me, but seeing as this is my blog, I thought perhaps it would be appropriate for me to provide you with one of my opinions anyway.

The Oscars have been awarded, and I am pleased to announce that for the the most part I agree with the Academy's selections. I had predicted all along that The King's Speech should be Best Picture. I am a little disappointed that Geoffrey Rush didn't get Best Supporting Actor, but I can live with Christian Bale in that spot.

Toy Story 3 got the nod for Best Animated film and deserved every accolade sent its way. I would have even been happy if had won Best Picture.

Inception did okay as well, taking in four Oscars.

The Oscar show itself was not as well presented as it could have been. I thought it dragged a bit. Anne Hathaway did a great job as half of the hosting team, but James Franco appeared to be medicated throughout the program and lent little support to his partner.

There were some entertaining acceptance speeches, most notably by those associated with the winning movie: Colin Firth (Best Actor), Tom Hooper (Best Director), and David Seidler (Writer).

It was a nice touch to close the program with a musical number featuring kids from Staten Island PS 22. They have a teacher that deserves an Oscar for Best Teacher, but I suspect that he probably gets a lot of flack about not playing by the rules and for expecting too much from his students. I wish him luck, and I hope he is able to continue to inspire his students.

GREETINGS PEOPLE OF EARTH!!!

2011-02-20T17:28:00.000-08:00

Californian (Bay Area, circa 1962)

Hello to all the people in the Ukraine and Malaysia who have hit on my blog. Yes, in deed, someone or something from those countries has visited my blog, at least according to my stats page.

Realistically, I would have to believe that this is some kind of cyber anomaly, unless of course one of my ex-girlfriends is trying to hide her shame by having joined the foreign legion.

Still, what an interesting prospect to consider that someone in a distant land may have been a bit curious about what I have to say, or perhaps had had a cathartic reaction to one of the pieces of my art. Somewhere, right at this moment, there may be someone saying був там, зробив це.

California has a mystique about it. I have read that California is to America what America is to the world. I take that to mean that, like it or hate it, it is undeniably interesting. It is one of those places about which you think to yourself I'd like to go there someday.

There are things we do well here: beaches, parties, making movies, weather, higher education, parties, making wine, diverse scenery, growing vegetables, and parties. We have good roads too, despite what you may hear. I've driven across the US several times and in most of the major cities, and frankly I still think that we've got nicer roads and better drivers here than anywhere else in the country. Texas does okay with roads, but the big problem there is that they are all in Texas. I mean, what's up with that?

Of course, there are things we don't do very well in California: state government, budgets, elementary education, electing anyone who can do anything about these things, Lindsey Lohan (although to be perfectly fair, she's from New York...she just gets into trouble here), and saying no to anything (although this last item might just as well be listed as one of the things we do well). But you know, I remain an optimist, and I think that we will eventually figure out what we've got to do in these areas.

So, greetings People of Earth, especially in the area of the Ukraine and Malaysia, I just want to say hello and welcome -- yes, everything you heard about California is for the most part true, but it works out way better than it sounds. Please feel free to use any of the original art work in this blog to advance the cause of cross-cultural understanding. If you come to California, give me a call -- I'll get the keys to the Caddy from Dad and we'll go to the coast for some whale watching. Please being some money for gas since we're a little short at the moment.

The Blogging Experience Thus Far

2011-02-12T10:57:00.000-08:00

Self Portrait

I am reasonably pleased with the direction my blog has taken since its inception. It has become a forum for fine art and spirited intellectual intercourse. Very highbrow, if you know what I mean. It makes me happy.

Or does it?

I mean, what is happiness? Happy is one of those words that everybody uses, and everybody knows pretty much what they mean by it, but for which there is little agreement about what it is. Good is like that too. And truth. In fact, after Jesus had been arrested and was being questioned by Pilate, he said his purpose was to talk about the truth. Pilate rolled his eyes and said what is truth? Interestingly, at that point Pilate thought Jesus had done nothing wrong and was going to release him, probably because opinions about truth were like left feet -- everybody had one, and if you didn't, who cared anyway? Those were harsh times, and Pilate was doing fine with his own version of the truth, had worked his way up to being the Prefect of the Roman province of Judea, and was happy.

Or was he?

Pilate had money, power and a job, but was he happy? I have a blog and lots of time, but am I happy?

Broadly speaking (and I mean really broadly) there are two main camps in the happiness debate. One camp says happiness is knowing the truth about stuff, and the other camp says happiness is about pleasure, and the more the merrier. Religious people fall into the first group. They think they know what the truth is, and therefore they are happy. Thomas Aquinas says that true happiness is possessing a perfect knowledge of God, and while we can begin to be happy here and now, we will only be truly happy after death, i.e. in heaven. I've known people who seemed that they would only be happy if I was dead, so this concept of happiness seems to fit at least some of my experience.

The other group says that happiness is all a numbers game where happiness is the sum of pleasures, and the more the merrier. "Quality of pleasure being equal, push-pin is as good as poetry," is the way one advocate of this group puts it, "push-pin" being a child's game akin to tiddlywinks. Some would refine that a bit by saying the quality of the pleasure has at least some bearing on the matter. "It is better", Stuart Mills urges, "to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied." There is no denying that I have known more than a few people who are perfectly happy being satisfied pigs, so this concept of happiness also fits some of my experience.

I think that in the future when people have a chance to study my blogs, to see the beauty of the art, to see the power of the prose, they will say wow, he's better off dead. And so yes, inspired by Aquinas, I believe that I can confidently say that my blog makes me happy.

Bonum perfectum quod totaliter quietat appetitum. I'm just saying.

A Change in Weather

2011-02-05T10:28:00.000-08:00

Does having more money make us happier? Research by people who research those sort of things says very definitely sort of. Apparently, it's not really how much money we have, but whether or not we have more than others.

I thought at first this sounded terrible, and that of course I was above having my happiness be dependent on whether or not I was better off than someone else. But if I am to be totally honest with myself and with you all, I admit that I have a smug and probably irritating side that gloats over weather conditions.

I live where I do in part because it doesn't snow here, but confess that I am happiest when I am able to tell my friends from horribly cold places that I don't have a "winter coat," or that I was on the patio grilling up some steaks while they spent the day shoveling their driveway. So it is probably only fair that a friend who lives along the Florida coast sent pictures of people sunning themselves on the beach somewhere near her home.

Without any changes in measurable qualities, the weather here turned for the worse. I realized I had not seen my bathing suit for an age, and there were in fact trees with no leaves there among the palms. I had somehow made inadequate decisions in life that left me stuck here in the maudlin Mediterranean climate of the northern California. I had come to realize that while I was better off than the poor blighters in the East, I would never have what those sanctimonious ne'er-do-wells from Florida toss away as scraps from their climatological table.

Perhaps this is an aspect of my personality that will require some examination. If I only had enough money for the therapist.

They probably have all the therapy they want in Florida.

I'm just saying.

Short Subject

2011-01-29T22:57:00.000-08:00

BRIEFS

Sand and I had one of those conversations that challenge one's world view. She told me that it appeared that it was time to get some new underwear. I don't know what she was seeing, as I thought the pair I had on looked okay. Then she asked if I liked the briefs or the boxer briefs. My expression must have betrayed my angst because she clarified for me that I indeed have both types in my underwear drawer, and she simply wondered which I preferred.

BOXER BRIEFS

In point of fact, I do not know which I prefer, and the fact that I don't seems very unsettling. As you can see from the images that I have included here from the Abercrumbie and Fritch Spring catalog, these guys know that underwear makes the man, and they exude the confident air of men who know what they want.

In point of fact too, I don't remember even once having a conversation with another guy about his shorts. Perhaps I have had one, but it apparently wasn't a real big priority when it came to allocating memory space.

It is something I'm going to have to confront since I suspect that perspective employers may well ask this as the spoiler question. I can see Mr. Potter at the Bedford Falls bank smoking his cigar and reviewing applications. This man is of no use to us, he says, he doesn't even know his mind about his own drawers. It's the question that lets them sort out the wheat from the chafed.

I'm just saying.

"Let This Be Your Sign..."

2011-01-28T13:07:00.000-08:00

It's foggy and cold and damp -- in other words it's winter. But as it turns out, that doesn't mean there is no hope.

You all probably know the story of Noah and the Great Flood. When things settled down after the rains, God promised Noah that he would never again destroy the world with water, and as a reminder of this promise, He put a rainbow in the sky. Whenever I cover the sky with clouds and the rainbow appears, He said to Noah, I will remember my promise to you and to all the animals that a flood will never again destroy all living beings.

That's the story that most people remember. Not as well known is the story of the Californians who withstood forty days and forty nights of fog. Their skin had become pale, their clothes mildewed and their usually rosy disposition was as gray as the fog. Dear God, they prayed, are we like never ever again to see the sun? We are so like totally tired of the, ya know, bleh. Can't you like give us a sign or something?

So God, who has never actually been pleased with Californians but who is merciful, chose this time of year to bring to ripeness the orange. Let this be your sign, God said, that what I have given you in the past will be yours again in another couple of weeks.

The Californians took the oranges, squeezed them and put their juice on the kitchen counter not quite sure what else to do with it. After looking at the juice for a bit, they decided to go to bed. When they turned out the lights, they saw for themselves what God had done -- He had filled the oranges with the sun itself.

Kewl, the Californians said, being after all, a grateful people.

The crop is in. God is good.

I'm just saying.

A Winter's Respite

2011-01-26T18:20:00.000-08:00

It's cold. Okay, not really cold by some standards. We've been mostly in the 40's at night, sometimes even in the 30's, and we are struggling to even get to 60 during the day, but it's foggy and damp, and that makes it seem depressingly cold. We admit it, we are soft. That's why we live here.

So as a public service, I have provided this video. Get yourself a nice hot cup of coffee or tea, maybe even a small snack, and curl up in front of the fire and enjoy. Don't think about what it's like out there; don't think about having to get up in the morning and trudge off to wherever. Just sip and enjoy the heat, and remember that Spring is indeed coming.

.

Things I Miss About Work

2011-01-21T21:41:00.000-08:00

"Zeros" by Bernie

As you know, I have been "on the streets" for a little more than nine months since Nummi shut its doors for good in April. I have been considering all the things I miss about my job. Here's a list of the top ten things I miss:

I just saying.

Things I Do My Own Self

2011-01-20T22:28:00.000-08:00

I realize that it has been an inexcusably long time since my last post.

I've been busy. Sort of. A little.

Probably not enough to account for the length of my absence, but there you have it. But just so you don't think that I simply fabricated that excuse, I present to you photographic evidence of my industry. To your left is an actual un-retouched photograph of one of the two jars of pomegranate juice that I made my own self, from pomegranates that I grew my own self, on the pomegranate bush that I planted my own self. Furthermore, this very same pomegranate juice was made into six jars of pomegranate jelly which I made (yup, you got it) my own self, jelly which I have eaten my own self on bread made by somebody else.

I made and installed a shelf in the hall closet by my own self. Sand had been asking me about that for a while now. And I have written an entire new chapter in my latest book Mr. Cutter's Problem. And yes indeed, I wrote it my own self.

So, I'm just saying, I've been busy.

Happy New Year!!!

2011-01-07T13:48:00.000-08:00

This is a picture of the worldly possessions of Mahatma Gandhi at the time of his death. Mr. Gandhi was a political and religious figure in India in the the first half of the twentieth century. He led the Indian movement for independence from British colonial rule.

He was a proponent of ahimsa, a philosophical commitment to non-violence towards all living things. Some zealous proponents go so far as to wear face masks so as not to inadvertently breath or ingest any insect life. Gandhi believed that armed with Truth, non-violent confrontation could challenge any injustice or evil and prevail.

He also espoused a simple life style. Certainly not the author of this idea, it was however remarkable to see someone who was an actor on the world stage, someone who wielded incredible influence within his own country, do so and resist the trappings of "success." When he died, he had few personal possessions -- a couple pair of sandals, glasses, a prayer book, a diary, two dinner bowls and two spoons, spittoon, watch, letter opener, and a small figurine of three monkeys (apparently a gift of sentimental value).

I do not wish to belittle in any way Gandhi's achievement, and certainly Jesus was as adamant about the both non-violence and a simple lifestyle as was Gandhi, but still I have to wonder where were all of Gandhi's underwear? Did he take them all with him? And did he just pile his underwear on the floor, one pile for clean and one for dirty? Perhaps there was a dresser in Gandhi's room for the underwear and, like so much of what we have in our house, it was invisible. If I was asked to list my possessions, I doubt that I would think to include the tube of Preparation H in the bathroom drawer, but it is mine, isn't it?

But I am quibbling. The truth is that Gandhi's garage probably had plenty of room for his car had he had one. I have not in my life been overly concerned with acquiring things, but that is more the result of being cheap than of a philosophical stance. None the less, I have ended up with more things than I need. I have clothes that I never wear, tools that I never use, CD's that I never listen to, some stuff that I don't even know what it is.

I am not real big on New Year's resolutions, but here is one I think I need to address: by the end of this year, I want to have less stuff than I do now. So I will have to think twice before I buy things, and I will have to be honest with myself about whether or not I really need all the things in the garage.

That should keep me busy for awhile.

Fast, Faster, Fasting

2010-12-18T11:47:00.000-08:00

Mercedes SLR McLaren Concept

I have a car that looks nothing like the Mercedes concept car pictured here. My 1999 Chevy Prism, which is really a Toyota Corolla with a Chevy sticker on it, has 278,084 miles on the odometer. I would love to get 300,000 miles on the car, but I don't think that's going to happen, oddly because Toyota made it unlikely. The vast majority of the miles on the car were racked up by my 130 mile per day commute to the plant where the car was assembled. If I was still commuting, I could get the 22,000 miles I need to reach my goal in about eight months, plus or minus a couple of weeks. However, since Toyota decided to close the plant, I don't use this car very much. At the rate I'm going now, it will take four years to get to the 300K milestone, and I don't think the car will last that long. The engine might, but so many of the things like seats and seals and plastic parts and heater fans are deteriorating at this point that four years may just be too long a time. I can identify with that. Mentally I am still going strong, but there are lot of my trim items that are going to hell in a hand basket.

I quietly tried a bit of fasting recently. Fasting is a spiritual exercise where we do without our accustomed food so that in feeling physical hunger we might recognize a spiritual hunger for holiness. Funny thing about fasting (and I have found this to be a common experience) is that when you are fasting, there are things you want to eat that you normally don't even think about. You begin to fast, and suddenly have a horrible craving for bon-bons...lots of bon-bons.

Retirement seems to have a similar effect. One of the disciplines that Sand and I have to maintain is an adherence to a simple (read cheap) lifestyle. For whatever reason, I have secretly been mourning the fact that now I will never own a Mercedes. The ludicrous part of that is that I have never wanted one. Even if I were to lose my head and spend that much on a car, it would be a Lexus, not a Mercedes. But I find myself fascinated with Mercedes commercials on TV, and I catch myself gazing wistfully at the Mercedes next to me at the stop light.

At some level of my psyche, I am still invested in the "things equal success" mentality, just as I have known for a while now that I am still reluctant to part with "I can be young forever" mentality.

It is an interesting time of life. I've got some time on my hands, maybe Monday I'll find a Mercedes dealership and watch bon-bons melt on the hood of a Le Mans Red metallic SLS Roadster. I may learn something about myself, and I'll get a few miles closer to my goal of 300,000 miles.

A Winter's Tale

2010-12-13T20:52:00.000-08:00

Patio Before Weeding

Today was a good day. It was one of those days in the Central Valley where you go around humming quietly to yourself "it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...." We don't get the snow, but winter does bring the fog. The valley fills up with fog, sometimes so thick you can't see from one side of the street to the other, and when it settles in, it may not leave for days on end. During the day, it may lift a little and create a pale gray ceiling at the tree tops, but it doesn't leave. It blocks the sun, and temperatures won't get any higher than the 50's.

Patio After Weeding

Like the snow, the fog tends to soften the sounds of the world. Maybe it's because there are fewer people doing things outside, or maybe there is some law of physics that governs sound transmission in such weather, but whatever the reason, it's quiet. It's kind of like being in a softly lit cave.

Evidence of Weeding

Patio Before Feeding

It is absolutely perfect weather for Advent. It's dark, and cold, and after a few days without seeing the sun, you really begin to long to see the light.

Weeded the patio today to immerse myself in the winter weather, and I grilled ribs to commemorate BBQ Monday, the day that reminds us of the Magi's journey to Bethlehem. They had begun their journey already in order to arrive in time for Christ's birth. Their journey was plagued with problems, from camels gone suddenly lame, lost reservations, and really bad service in the turnpike service plazas. But like the rose colored vestments of Gaudete Sunday the day before, there is a lightening in the penitential mood at this halfway point of Advent. BBQ Monday reminds of us a respite in the Magi's journey, the occasion of their dinner at the last rib joint before entering Israel. The ribs were so good that the Magi considered giving up and just spending the holidays in Jordan, but their decision to persevere should remind us that we too must continue our preparations for Christmas.

The story of the Magi's journey may be apocryphal, but Advent Ribs have long been a tradition in our house.

Better than Finger Lickin' Good...Maybe.

2010-12-09T17:01:00.000-08:00

Bernie's Grilled Chicken

I got a compliment today from my son-in-law John. He said that if he had a choice between my grilled chicken and KFC, he would choose my chicken every time. He and my daughter have been married long enough that I know he wasn't just trying to suck up. In fact, as far as I know, he's never much tried to suck up to anybody in the world (with the possible exception of my daughter).

That's one of the reasons I like living in California's Central Valley. Here it is December, and I am able to go out on the back patio and fire up the grill. No shoveling snow, no digging the grill out of winter storage, all I needed to do was to take the cover off and fire it up.

I've really honed my chicken skills this past year. I am able to get that nice smokey flavor and the savory crispy skin bits that grilling affords meat, but I keep the meat juicy and tender. I also did some Portabello mushrooms and asparagus spears on the grill. You don't see them in the above picture because they got no bones, but they too were very tasty.

John tells me that my chicken is perhaps as good as Grandma May's, lacking only Grandma May's famous gravy. Of course, one must wonder if my cooking would be as good if it were not a mere two weeks from Christmas? Could it be that John is taking advantage our fine California weather to do a little pre-Christmas "fishing?"

Hmmm...