Gone Fishing

I Wish! Really I'm just swamped with work at my job, will have to leave extra early, and just will not have time today for my usual sarcasm, off-the-wall observations, probing questions, or any of the things my readers are used to finding here. I'll be back tomorrow. Until then, take care.

Death The Kevorkian Way

I think it is altogether human that we are apprehensive about death. Humans fear or at the least dread death. And why not? It is unknown territory.

Yesterday I was treated to a long spiel (more or less to a sermon) about Heaven by one of my friends at work. Just think: a place where we no longer have to work, where the streets are gold, where we won't have to worry anymore about bills, where we each will have a mansion of our own, blah, blah, blah ... and don't I want to go to such a place?

Sounded good if a little on the boring side. But, I asked my friend, how do you know such a place really exists and is not a mere wish fulfilling daydream? "Oh, it's real!" But how do you know? "I just do; it's real and it's up there."

Okaaaaaay.

But here is something I found interesting. This a short article about "Dr. Death" Jack Kevorkian. Guess what? He admits that he is as afraid of dying as anyone. That doesn't surprise me. I always found Kevorkian an interesting person. His paintings always reminded me of the art on Rod Serling's Night Gallery. His ideas about assisted suicide and voluntary euthanasia are ideas I am generally in agreement with, but his overall weirdness and crude methodology has made him a poor spokesman for a worthy cause.

It's always puzzled me the way we treat our beloved pets better than our own family members when they are hopelessly ill. We think it is an act of mercy to end a pet's suffering, yet, as Kevorkian points out, some religious views disallow the same kind consideration for our human loved ones.

I'll tell you something I fear more than death. I fear being so severely incapacitated that I am no longer able to take care of myself and have no meaningful quality of life, while at the same time being mentally coherent. (I also fear losing my mind through dementia, but at least I would eventually be unaware of my plight.)

If nothing else Kevorkian got the issue off the back burner.

Here's Today's News

Top stories: Prince Harry of Britain took a nasty tumble off his horse yesterday in New York during a charity polo match, but is okay (think Christopher Reeve and close call). Oh, and Senator Robert Byrd (D) of West Virginia, longest serving United States senator, has just died at age 92. The rest of the news is pretty much taken up with the losing efforts to contain the damage caused by the apparently unfixable BP oil leak. And a possible hurricane in the Gulf Coast may cause we know not what complications in this disaster. Well, turning to celebrity news: as far as I can tell no new naughty photos of Miley Cyrus have been leaked, Lindsay Lohan hasn't been arrested again for anything, and Lady Gaga hasn't gone to anymore baseball games in her lingerie. Oh, and Michael Jackson has been dead a year now, Gary Coleman a month. In politics the Republicans and not a small number of rank and file Americans are still against anything President Obama attempts to do. Health news: Big Pharma remains strong and in control with assistance from the health insurance racket. I guess that about covers anything of importance. Why do I even bother to turn on my television in the mornings?

Looking West

The cycles of life are rich in symbolism for some of us. Symbols are not the real thing, but as pictures they can serve as lessons. Take day's end for an example.

The way my home is situated, I get a spectacular view of the evening's sunset. Usually through the week I am in bed before Mr. Sun has finished his descent. Ah, but on the weekends I will sit in my living room and watch the show through my storm door or the window here in front of my desk. And what a show it is!

The vivid palette of colors I see during my beloved sunsets are breathtaking. Even when the colors are muted by an overcast sky, there is still a subdued beauty. No artist's canvas can ever do full justice to nature's beauty.

There is something special for me about day's end. As the tired feeling that has slowly crept over me throughout the day begins to claim the final victory, I reflect on the day's happenings. I like to keep a clear conscience and end each day in peace. I try never to end a day with animosity between me and another person. The sleep of peace is possible for me only if I feel I gave the day my best effort. (Not, of course, that I always do, but those are the occasions when I sleep fitfully and unsoundly.)

Although today is a day off from work for me, I have plans for a bit more than rest. I have some research I am doing online. I am going to go through and toss out more of the excess stuff I have accumulated over the years. I have some bills I need to make out checks for so I can get them into tomorrow's mail. Oh, and it's laundry day! A little housework and a little (very little) cooking and it should be just about right to give me a good healthy fatigue that will allow me to welcome the night. And with no regrets!

Guardian Angels Can't Tell Time (And Other Observations)

Lots of people believe we have guardian angels who watch over us as we go about our daily activities (hopefully they respect the closed door of a bathroom...). My parents never taught their children to believe in fairies, Santa, the Easter Bunny, unicorns, mermaids and such things. Angels and demons were a different matter, as my parents were quite devout Christians.

By the time I reached the age of eight or nine the thought had occurred to me that if we have an angel (or angels) designated to oversee us, they do a really lousy job of it. They frequently let us oversleep, misstep, and become distracted at the most inopportune times. Most people should realize this, I believe, but it's still such a fun thing to believe, what the heck!

There was an old Jewish legend of angels as watchers, who observed our activities here on earth, without the role of guardianship. In fact, according to legend, these angels/watchers became smitten with earth women and left their estate to come interbreed with them. (Sounds like a bad TV movie!)

Now I'm a big fan of privacy. I hate the way we lose more and more of it with each passing year. Surveillance cameras are everywhere observing everything, making one hesitant to so much as innocently dislodge a wedgie or pick one's nose. We can see our own home and neighborhoods (or other people's) online via satellite photos. Cell phone cameras make any event documentable. (I used to work with a guy who got fired after several of his coworkers used their cameras to photograph him on the job in a sound sleep.) Hidden cameras have elevated voyeurism to an art form. I have a neighbor who keeps his webcam tuned in to his front yard. Everyday when I get home from work and climb out of my truck I don't know whether to wave or just to go for it and lift my shirt up to wipe the sweat off my brow, exposing my hairy, middle-aged gut.

There is a bright side inasmuch as the ever increasing number of criminals are often caught, after the fact, because of surveillance cameras. But still there is that darkside, the lives we have witnessed that were turned completely upside down by "candid" photography and videography.

The genii's now out the bottle, as they say, and cannot be recaptured. I guess we will have to adjust to it and just be constantly on guard. If guardian angels are inefficient at least they apparently don't victimize us with their info.

Dire Prediction

Image credit:NASA/Goddard Space Flight Center and ORBIMAGE/SeaWiFS Project

Here's something worth considering. There is a prediction that humans will become extinct, perhaps within a century. What's interesting is that this isn't the rantings of a crazed apocalypticist, nor of a Tarot-reading psychic hotliner ... it comes from a top scientist, one who was instrumental in defeating smallpox, Professor Frank Fenner. The likely factors to deliver the deathblow are "overpopulation, environmental destruction and climate change."

While my gut tells me Fenner's timing may be a bit off, no doubt we are slowly destroying ourselves and our environment. The story I linked to has a chilling (at least for me) chart illustrating the phenomenal population explosion. And our role - denied by many - in the changing of earth's climate and raping of the environment is fairly apparent to those with eyes wide open.

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of homo sapiens. I have frequently bemoaned the fact that humans suck. Some deny it. But in a world where my internet experience - my biggest vice - is all but ruined by viruses, adware and malware, phishing, constant threats of identity theft, where in the area I live (and I'm sure not here only) home invasions are literally exploding as people attempt to get money to support their substance abuse, where driveby shootings (due to gang wars) are regularly reported on the news with the same nonchalance as the routine road closings due to construction, it's hard for me to view humans as special. On top of all this, there is this mindless destruction of our resources, mainly in the interest of greed, while the majority of the mindless masses live a in a perpetual "what, me worry?" state of existence.

Don't most warnings seem to go unheeded? It's the human way.

TV Theft

I've been cable television free for nearly a year now. Before canceling cable altogether I had the most basic package available - the five local channels, one local cable access channel, TBS and couple of others - which cost me some 13 bucks. You see, I'm not a big TV fool. Before the digital switch I was using rabbit ears (and getting poor reception most of the time) and that frustration prompted me to get cable again.

Oh, I used to have all those channels and some premium movie channels - back when I was more into TV. Even then, aside from taking in an occasional movie or sports event, I basically watched A&E, The Learning Channel and The Discovery Channel most of the time. It occurred to me after a while that it wasn't a good investment, the fifty or sixty bucks I spent a month, for what little viewing I was doing. After a while even my favorite channels started showing the same programs over and over. Another frustration was the increasing popularity of the infomercial (because they are cheap for programmers to schedule). I'm an early riser, so I was seeing the same infomercials over and over and over....

I have fun with a friend of mine at work. She's taking a half-day's vacation from work on Tuesday so she can be home for the cable man. She's switching from the local cable company to cable services through our utility company, who along with a local phone company, are getting into the cable business. Anyway, 192 channels, she tells me she will have, all for the grand total - when I added it up for her - of some $1,500 dollars a year! (Okay, to be fair this was a bundle package that also included phone and cable services; but she has a cell phone and rarely ever uses the computer.) She looked at me stunned and uttered "wow." Yeah, wow indeed!

She admitted to me that she has the same habit I used to have. She mainly watches the same three of four channels. The rest just provides background for channel surfing. Cable might be a good idea if you could just order the handful of channels you actually like to watch, but no, you have to get overkill to get what little you actually want.

Now my thirteen dollar cable bill wasn't that oppressive, but it was pointless. The switch to digital TV solved my rabbit ear reception problem. I have a collection of DVDs that I have invested in by watching for sales and getting good prices on used items. When I am in the mood for some frivolous televiewing, I slip into the DVD player exactly what I;m in the mood to watch, when I want to watch it, commercial free! I hit pause if the phone rings, I want to go to the bathroom, or have to make a run to the fridge. I like it this way and like not having to work my life around an arbitrary TV schedule. I make my own.

Being a lover of classic TV shows like Alfred Hitchcock, The Adventures of Superman, M Squad, Dragnet, Twilight Zone, Wanted Dead Or Alive and dozens of other great shows - that you can get entire seasons of on DVD for reasonable prices if you watch for sales - it soon became apparent to me that the entertainment level, the production values, the script writing, the acting, all were better in the good old days. You know, a season's worth of shows used to be 39 or so shows. And they were much, much better than the lousy 22 or 24 episodes that make up a season of shows today. What gives?

Back in the old days when you only had three networks you had quality programming. Now with two hundred cable channels, you have mostly filler and cheap crap. The reality show craze is the product of the attempt to save a buck and parlay it into big bucks. They are cheap. They are crap. More isn't better, more is just more. And cable television is another example of our modern craze of quantity over quality.

Some people are addicted to TV and being ripped off by the lure of scores of useless channels available via cable and satellite. Yet I remember a time that everyone got along with three or so channels. Yes, we actually had to read newspapers to stay well informed. Yes, we noticed that we had families that we could actually interact with. Yes, we had time to actually concern ourselves with the ups and downs of our own lives rather than being consumed with the most trivial of details of celebrity news. But was that so bad?

Like so many things in my life, television is one of the things I have rethought. I used to wonder why a day no longer had twenty-four hours. Now I now it is because I used to waste too much time on things like devotion to the boob tube. I work with bleary-eyed folks who stay up too late and shortchange themselves on sleep in order to watch this or that "must-see" TV show. Why wreck your health that way?

My mom used to have cable, but when my stepfather died and I moved her closer to me so I could look after her, cable had to be passed upon for economic reasons. She is retired and so likes her TV. But she adjusted just fine to digital TV after a short time. She gets the Sunday newspaper that publishes a weekly TV program guide and she goes through it looking for programs she wants to watch in the upcoming week. She highlights those programs and waits for them to come on. She adjusted to watching what was available. She also searches the dollar bins for DVDs and has come up with quite a collection of her favorites that supplements her televiewing. Now about the only things she complains about missing is Discovery Health. But she realizes that money spent on cable can be better spent on other necessities. She also came to realize that her TV is mostly used for background noise, as she is constantly puttering about the house.

And that's the point of my long and rambling rant. My humble opinion is that we should be the master of the our television, not its slave. Rule them or they surely will rule you.

Moms

I have to have the world's sweetest mom, at least I think so! Yesterday was her regular pacemaker battery test. She lives one street over from me and as a cost saving measure she doesn't have a land line telephone, just her cell. So when it is time to check her battery (which procedure is performed over the phone), she comes over to my place to use my phone.

Always on these days she leaves me a sweet little note telling me how much she loves and appreciates me. Sometimes she will leave me some little thing she cross-stitched or crocheted for me. Yesterday she brought me a couple of refrigerator magnets with cat themes. One was a cat's face, the other was a magnet with tiny wind chimes underneath a cat. Every time I open the fridge the tiny chimes jingle. Too cute. She also passed along some post-it notes shaped like a cat. She gets a kick out of my reputation as the neighborhood cat man.

It doesn't matter how many times I tell her such tokens of her esteem aren't necessary. That's just the way she is, one of her many ways of showing affection. I tell here I'd rather she spend her money on herself, but, as I said, that's my mom. What a gal!

Usually I when I leave for work I turn up the thermostat on the air to save a little money. But with Mom coming over I kept it cool out of concern for her comfort. No big deal. But she noticed it and made a point of thanking me for it.

It sometimes makes me uncomfortable that she brags to her friends about me so much. There is no way I could live up to such an image. But it's nice that moms can overlook faults and see mostly the good. And my mom always adored her sons, rascally as we all are and were (my older brother died five years ago this month).

Every week, usually on Wednesday or Thursday, we have a dinner "date" and I either take her out or stop and get something and take to her place. I think it will be Wednesday (today) this week because I want to thank her again for the magnets she gave me to thank me for looking out for her which I do to thank her for taking care of me when I was a kid...

Spending Our Way To Happiness?

I live in a small town (approximately 3,500), understand. Sure, I'm located near a big city in Tennessee (150,000+), but most small cities are located near big ones. I'm just saying this because I was reflecting on the ride home from work yesterday. I travel down a road that when I first moved here some 15 years ago was mostly woods. Now there are two condominium complexes. And not knowing for sure if it is a coincidence or what, but there are now two of those storage businesses on the road, a block apart!

I don't know about everywhere, but it seems that in my area the fastest growing businesses are the storage buildings and the check for cash establishments. Even in my small town there are plenty of both. What does this say about us?

My guess is that people are busier than ever living hand to mouth. And this was the case, I observed, before the economy started tanking. The same can be said for the explosion of these storage buildings. When I moved my mom to my neighborhood she actually mentioned renting one of these storage units for her excess stuff that wouldn't fit in her new place. "Mom," I said, "that would just be wasted money. Eliminate excess possessions instead." I personally know several people who have been renting storage space for their excess belongings for over a year! Come on, is that not more than enough time to organize and get down to a manageable lot one's personal belongings? But no, some people would rather spend hard-earned money that could better go to other things (savings, for example, so there's no need to borrow against your next paycheck at one of those cash for checks places) on a pathological habit.

We truly are living a material world. People have more stuff than they need and spend more money than they can afford to spend. And is there any evidence this excessive materialism has bought us more happiness? Nay, even as mental illness and substance abuse cases continue to climb.

What a life! I didn't enjoy playing Monopoly when I was kid. I certainly have no interest in playing as an adult.

Root Beer Summers

The summer solstice is upon us and now the days will begin getting shorter. Interestingly, this time of the year is also called Midsummer and is a time of celebrative festivities for some. Others think of this as the beginning of summer proper, three months after the first day of spring.

When I was a kid the "official" beginning of summer was the last day of school. When I was eleven years old I started borrowing my dad's lawnmower during summer break in order to go out and earn a little money of my own. My reward for a long, hot afternoon's work was always an ice cold root beer.

Usually this was the old blue, white and brown cans of Frostie Root Beer, purchased at one of the neighborhood Mom & Pop stores. When I was growing up every neighborhood had one of these. There were two in my neighborhood within walking distance from my home.

Frostie and I go way back, then, and I still drink it on occasion now. But when I was a child I always had to have my Frostie! I remember that for awhile Kool Aid had a root beer flavor. It was my least favorite flavor, tasting like a root beer that had gone flat. No, give me a cool Frostie instead!

Well, now that I think about it, it wasn't always Frostie. There was little drugstore about six blocks from home that made great root beer at their fountain, from syrup (I don't know whose) mixed with their own carbonated water and made to order. That was how they did their Cokes, too, and they were awesome as well.

Ever hear of a root beer milkshake? That same drug store used their syrup to make old-fashioned hand-dipped milkshakes. First time I heard of a root beer milkshake I thought it was weird. But giving it a try, I was hooked. Good-bye root beer floats!

Summer and root beer went together like butter and toast for me when I was a kid. But the little drug store eventually closed and the Mom & Pop stores were driven out of business and I grew up and got a real job. Even root beer isn't the same for me, only an infrequent nostalgic treat. Summer is no longer a vacation. Far from it. But the changing of the seasons goes on endlessly.

With Apologies To Sonora Smart Dodd

Sonora Smart Dodd was the woman who gave us idea of setting aside a special day to honor fathers in the same way a day is set aside for mothers.

I lost my dad in '97. It was never necessary for me to set aside a day to honor that man, neither when he was alive nor since his death. We had a wonderful relationship. I can't remember cross words ever being spoken between my father and me.

Because of his condition after a series of strokes, he needed constant attention and was in a nursing facility the final years of his life. I had kept him with me in my home as long as I was able. It was a sad day when I had to put him in the nursing home, but typical of the man he was, he made it easy on us and never once complained; even though I knew it broke his heart.

I do remember well the last visit I had with him. And I remember also the last words we spoke. As I was preparing to leave I told him I loved him, and as I walked out the door of his room he waved and said "I love you too, son." That is my last memory of him. But that is more or less the same memory I had of him throughout the 37 years he was a part of my life: he loved me and I him. I still get misty eyed talking about him.

If you were fortunate enough to have had loving parents such as mine, every day is a special day of love, honor, and respect.

Beware The Wild Donkeys

I take great offense to this sort of thing and to the willing ignorance that makes it possible. A letter-to-the-editor writer gives us a little Bible history in order to buck up her case (and a not unpopular theme among Christian fundamentalists) that Muslims are evil. The entire letter can be found here (scroll down to the bottom), but her main point is summarized in this paragraph:

The Muslims' treatment of women is a window into whom we are dealing with. It can be observed worldwide. The prophetic words spoken to Abraham concerning Ishmael, the son of Hagar the Egyptian, were, "He will be a wild man, his hand will be against every man and every man's hand against him and he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren." Genesis 16:11-12. These words were spoken almost 6,000 years ago, and they are still true. The sons of Ishmael have brought war and confusion to America.

Hasty generalizations aren't good, and it would be as fair to say that Christians mistreat women as to suggest that Muslims do. Both religions have a patriarchal underpinning that makes possible the submission and degradation of women. And while the fundamentalists within these religious traditions often do reinforce that objectionable behavior, the more enlightened believers are able to dismiss hoary teachings as cultural relics and reform the old ways.

But as to the war and confusion that Ishmael has supposedly brought to America, I have to say that this is strange hermeneutics. The Angel of the Lord's prophecy to Hagar was as follows (from the NIV of the Bible, Genesis 16:11&12):

The angel of the LORD also said to her:
"You are now with child
and you will have a son.
You shall name him Ishmael,
for the LORD has heard of your misery.

He will be a wild donkey of a man;
his hand will be against everyone
and everyone's hand against him,
and he will live in hostility
toward all his brothers."

Now I'm supposed to believe this has relevancy today? Ishamael the man is lost to the sands of time and is little more than a name, a mere footnote in religious history. Of course there is little logic in the sort of bigotry that searches ancient holy books for support.

This was a "warning" that didn't need to be sounded because it is idiotic. In my thinking religious fundamentalists are the "wild donkeys" we should really be concerned about.

What Shall We Do With Murderers?

It's over now. Ronnie Lee Gardner has paid the ultimate price for being a murderer. And in dramatic fashion, via a firing squad. In my opinion, a more humane form of execution than the chair and even lethal injection. There are not a few who think humane concerns are misplaced and that vicious criminals deserve to suffer. I think they forget that it is the criminal the state is punishing, not the family and loved ones, who would suffer much mental anguish if executions were made purposely barbaric.

After a change in Utah's penal code in 2004, only those who received a death sentence prior to that are eligible for the firing squad. It is being phased out in the last state that allows it. There are four more convicts who could yet choose that method of execution if they desire.

Capital punishment is a subject about which I have mixed feelings. My biggest concern is that we routinely prosecute innocent people, we have executed innocent people, we have had a number of convicted people exonerated off of death row by DNA evidence...in short, we just don't have a good enough track record of proving guilt for me to be comfortable with it.

Having said that, what is the case for not allowing a civilized people to exterminate those in their society who have proved themselves to have an incorrigible disregard for the lives of their fellow humans? If in theory a person was proved guilty beyond reasonable doubt, would it be immoral for society to put that person to death?

I think of myself as a liberal thinker, most people who know me consider me one of those "damned liberals," yet I don't feel compelled to insist that capital punishment per se is wrong. I want to see criminals rehabilitated if possible, and, yes, see them make restitution where possible. However, I'm convinced some minds are just beyond help and that rehabilitation is impossible.

Is a person with no regard for human life not a threat to human life as long as they are allowed to live? Like I said, I have mixed feelings. But I find zero sympathy in my liberal heart for cold blooded killers and violent criminals.

Scapegoating And BP

The BP Oil Spill is a story I've been following with increasing amazement. It is an utter catastrophe of epic proportions. In fact, there is no way we can yet begin to assess the damage this will cause when all is said and done.

BP is now THE face of evil. President Obama is looking for exactly whose ass to kick. The spectacle of failed attempt after failed attempt to end this disaster has people going ballistic. And the media has one of those things they just love: a gripping story they can cover nonstop.

I guess all the anger with BP is the thing most amazing to me. Look, the oil companies have been sticking it to us "small people" for a long time now, with not near the action this thing is getting. As our economy grew sicker and sicker Big Oil continued to make record profits. Sure, there was some noise on Capitol Hill and in the media, but nothing like this.

Had this disaster not occurred when it did (and it's a wonder it hasn't occurred before and will likely occur again in the future if the same practice is continued) we would have continued on our merry way.

We've known for decades that alternative energy technology needs to be developed and used to replace our oil dependency. But most people seem not to care as long as no major waves are being made.

Although it was recently quite popular, I can't recall the last time I heard "Drill baby, Drill" as a rally cry. Why? Is it no longer a good idea? Was it ever?

I'm just saying that BP is, for all its culpability in this disaster, not the place the buck should stop.

We've met the enemy and it is us. The bad thing about living with risk: sometimes you lose.

Thor Has Been Busy

Imagine being struck by lightning and living to tell about it. That is exactly what happened to Stephen Heard, as reported by one of the local television channels. According to Heard, there was no rain and not even a dark cloud in the sky when lightning struck him as he sat in a chair in his yard. Talk about your close calls!

I was always terrified of thunderstorms as child, and being struck by a lightning bolt was my biggest fear. I had an aunt who used to always tell me to quit worrying; if I heard and felt the thunder rumble, I obviously was okay, she said, as the lighting preceded the rumble. I guess there was more to be concerned about than she and I realized.

A statue of Jesus in Monroe, Ohio did not fare so well. The six-story "King of Kings" statue at the Solid Rock Church burned to the ground late Monday evening after being struck by lightning. They plan on rebuilding, next time with fireproof material.

The Norse god Thor was generally considered a protector. In times of drought he was appealed to, in his capacity as ruler of the winds and rains, for relief. But Pagan nature deities are to be feared as well as revered as nature is quite capricious.

Thor dumped one of those cooling summer thundershowers on my area yesterday evening, cooling things off by some ten degrees. This despite the odds of rain being so low. I could do little else but sit back and enjoy the show. Oh, and no thunderbolts came my way, obviously.

Remembering Jimmy Dean

Sausage magnate, actor, and country singer Jimmy Dean has died.

As far as sausage goes, I have to be honest and say his name brand is not my favorite. When I get in the mood for my award winning sausage gravy and biscuits (which isn't often), there are two or three other bands I prefer. But no argument, he was quite successful in this endeavor.

His acting skills I know mainly from his time on Fess Parker's Daniel Boone TV series. (Coincidentally, Parker later went into business himself as a wine maker.) I watched that show regularly as kid, and occasionally as an adult through reruns. I thought Dean did okay with this.

But it was mainly his singing that endeared him to my family and me. I remember that mom was a member of the RCA record club back in the sixties. Every month the postman brought a flat, album-sized box to our house containing good ol' country music, which was a favorite at our house (a notch below sacred music). I first heard country legends Hank Snow and Jim Reeves via Mom's record club, and Mr. Guitar Chet Atkins, who became my inspiration when I took up guitar. But I was writing about Jimmy Dean.

The album pictured to the left, A Thing Called Love, was sent to our house as a featured monthly selection because Mom didn't return her card in time. (But that sometimes worked out okay, as I remember her getting two Charley Pride albums in that way, and those were great too. She became a big fan of Pride's.) Dean was appearing on the Boone program when this album came out.

I played that album to death as child. Dean was best known for his hit Big Bad John, which hit the charts when I was a mere babe. I never heard that song until much later. But this album was enjoyable for me. Not in country tradition at all, it was part of the Nashville Sound era.

Dean was no country crooner, as, say, Jim Reeves or Eddy Arnold were, but there were a couple of ballads on that record that I just loved: If It's Wrong To Love You and Never Is A Long Day. There were two songs written by another of my guitar heroes, Jerry Reed (who was also an awesome songwriter and singer.) One was the thumb-snapping Born To Be By Your Side. The other, one of Reed's best, the much covered A Thing Called Love. (I got turned on to Reed through another unsolicited monthly selection that Mom passed my way because she didn't care for Reed.)

And then there was a recitation (with Dean's favorite song, Amazing Grace, playing softly in the background) that was quite fun, Me And Red And Bill. It was about a preacher and a couple of drinking friends. The preacher wound up in a bar fight and, after taking off his coat and asking the Lord to "forgive me for what I'm about to do," wound up kicking some serious butt. But what was memorable about this is the way my older brother would lift the needle off the record and drop it randomly throughout the song, making for an even more humorous number. Oh, after the preacher kicked butt his drinking friends were so impressed they were in church to listen to him preach the next Sunday!

I haven't heard that album in over thirty years, but the memories are still quite vivid. And down through the years I never heard Dean's name without thinking of the many hours my family enjoyed this album, the only Jimmy Dean album Mom ever owned (she still has it, but no record player!).

One last thing. I see Christianity Today did a little piece about his death. You can read it, if you care to, by following that link. I didn't know it, but he was also a Christian, of the Baptist faith. The CT piece gave this quote from Dean that I thought was funny:

Being a Baptist won't keep you from sinning, but it'll sure ... keep you from enjoying it.

I reckon. Rest in peace Jimmy Dean.

The Heat Is On

It has been hot here lately, as in low to mid nineties. It's been this way for days and the forecast is for a hot week ahead with very little chance of those cooling summer showers. But that is life here in the South.

I've mostly hid out at home while not at work, sitting in the comfort of my air-conditioned home with the window blinds on the sunny side of the house closed tightly. Other than occasional visits for eats, the cats have not been around much. I see them out in the yard now and then, lying in the dirt, trying to keep cool. I keep fresh water out for them. It must really be rough on them under all that fur.

In my mind I revisit those steamy summer days of my youth when we were quite poor and had no air-conditioning at all until I was nine or ten years old. Electric fans were our only relief. Iced drinks and ice cream were treats that helped. Well do I remember lying still in my bed under a fan trying to get to sleep. This was usually only possible well after nightfall when the air cooled down.

Well do I remember the church which we attended when I was a child. We didn't get air-conditioning in our little country church until just before we got it in our home. We would swelter in our pews beside an open window and fan ourselves with hand fans ... and fight off the various insects that swirled around us. That heated atmosphere certainly added something to all the hellfire and brimstone sermons we heard!

Also not to be forgotten: bath time in the good old days. In our tiny one small-windowed bathroom, by the time you stepped out of the bathtub and toweled off you were covered again with sweat!

So things are much better now and I'm thankful for that. I just pushed my garbage can out to the road and noticed that it is already very warm and muggy, much before sunrise. My day in a hot non-airconditioned factory is not something I look forward to, however it makes me appreciate my cool home all the more.

Hurry up quitting time!

Running Towards The Reaper

A memory from my childhood has stayed with me these many years after making a rather sharp initial impression. My mom always sang in church and she kept a satchel filled with sheet music for whenever she was called upon to sing a solo. I always liked to dig through her satchel and admire the artwork on the front of the sheet music.

One day while indulging myself in this hobby I pulled out a piece of music called Time Has Made A Change In Me. And on the front was a drawing of a very old, bearded man wearing "old man" clothes, complete with a hat (it seemed only the old timers still wore hats when they dressed up by this time, the late sixties) as he sat on a backless bench, leaning on his cane. And there was a large thought balloon above his head, wherein was the image of young boy in knee pants romping through the fields flying a kite. Obviously, it was the old man as young boy.

I was so young at the time I never really gave getting old any serious thought. Why, even high school was a distant thought to me. How could I seriously consider being elderly? But I tried anyway. Playing outside was my great joy as a youth (although I always found time to watch TV and read books). What would it be like to be so decrepit that I could no longer do this, I wondered?

Also during this period of time, oh, sometime while I was still in elementary school, I ordered one of the Ripley's Believe It Or Not paperbacks out of the educational book catalog that was passed around from time to time at my school. I loved those paperbacks and accumulated a number of them.

In one of those books I encountered some epitaphs and this one stuck in my young head:

As you are now, I once was;
As I am now, you one day shall be.

Yikes!

It still all seemed so far off. After all I didn't plan on dying until I was quite old. It seemed so far off that I didn't really need to give it so much thought.

Except I couldn't help myself. My mind has always clicked away constantly, even in my sleep. One reason I like to read until I get sleepy is that it distracts me; if I just lie there and think my mind goes into overdrive and my entire metabolism gets revved up. Lots of boogers creep out of my subconscious at the end of the day when I am tired and trying to drift away into dreamland (where often these boogers take on a new and more vibrant life!).

One recurring thought I had as a youth - and I'm not sure of its exact origin beyond the memories I've just related - is of what it must be like to be in one's seventies. I guess I chose that decade of life because of the well known biblical ideal lifespan of threescore and ten years. I wondered if a person in his seventies laid his head on his pillow at night and pondered whether there would be a tomorrow for him. I wondered if people in their seventies bothered to make long range plans (which to a kid meant a year or two in the future).

My mother especially impressed on me a certain respect for the elderly. She cared for her aging parents in our home. Her dad died when I was so young I don't recall it. Her mom died when I was five, after several years of declining health due to strokes. I remember her mom fairly well considering the short time she was part of my life. But do I recall that if I ever made the childlike remarks about the wrinkled skin, shuffling gate and bowed posture of the elderly she was always quick to remind me that one day that would be me. Of course the sheet music cover and Ripley's epitaph would then quickly play on the movie screen of my mind.

Now at fifty years of age these things are no longer far distant bridges that must be crossed. While I'm not there yet, I'm close enough to see them just ahead. If the fates are kind and allow me another couple of decades of life, I guess I will get to see firsthand how the old man on the bench felt. I will know for certain about what an old man thinks of while trying to go to sleep at night.

I wouldn't change my experiences with that piece of sheet music or the Ripley epitaph or my mom's constant reinforcements that old people are people just like me only older. They served and still do serve as reminders to stop and smell the flowers along the way. The song Yesterday When I Was Young never really applied to me. I've treasured every day of my life and still do. My philosphy is to "eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die."

Living The Good Life

I admit it, a lot of the things I blog about aren't pleasant things. I often discuss subjects here and in my daily encounters with acquaintances that are things people just don't seem to like to think deeply about. I've been called a whole bunch of things - unfairly I believe - like the Antichrist (for my religious views), a pessimist (for my realism), a curmudgeon (for my refusal to pretend things are better than they are), a misanthrope (for my inability to view humans as the image of a perfect deity). I admit, also, there may be a measure of truth in some of that ... but come on, I'm not such a bad fellow! One coworker even called me a cynic. Oops, that one sort of fits, I suppose.

Now this doesn't mean necessarily that I have a general bad attitude about life. I take it for what it is. Most of the truly miserable people I encounter are those who get vexed that life isn't fair or the way they think it ought to be. Well, of course, it isn't. People - in the words of an old Beatle's song - "all want to change the world." Ah, but we can't. Change does occur, top be sure; but it is because the universe just does what it does. We play a role, to be sure, yet we are in a sense "victims of circumstance." We are products of our time, not outside the system exerting change upon it. We don't change the world, we change with it.

For this reason, I think human accomplishment gets overly praised. We praise beauty, although that is the luck of genetics. The most we can do is keep ourselves up and avoid letting ourselves go needlessly to pot. We praise intelligence, and truly it seems that some of us are wiser than we allow ourselves to be if we only cultivated what we have; but this too is genetics, brain hardwiring. We praise athletic accomplishments, but we all have a basic physical makeup; we can fine tune what we have, but we can't go beyond what nature has given us to begin with. I'm just saying we are part of this cosmic system and we didn't choose our particular roles, as the ancient Stoics would have put it. The most we can do is play our individual roles to the fullest.

Life is meant to be lived. Living is its own reward. We tend to forget that sometimes, to get our heads stuck up in the clouds with grand visions of achieving a utopia on earth. If charity begins at home so too does the good life, I believe. It all begins with the once ace in the hole we have, our attitude about life.

Do The "Lower" Animals Ever Stoop So Low?

This sordid story Of Joran Van Der Sloot: will it ever be completed? I guess we'll have to wait awhile longer before it can be written, because day after day we are learning more and more about Van Der Sloot - and the more we learn the easier and easier it is to absolutely despise him.

Van Der Sloot is the type of character who had he been a fictional person would just not be believable. But he is real. And real evil, too. After years of playing head games with authorities and Natalee Holloway's family about his involvement in Natalee's well publicized disappearance in Aruba five or so years ago, he may now finally be willing to give the details about where her remains are located. Or maybe not. I wouldn't put it past him - if these latest reports are even accurate - to attempt to play even more games in an attempt to cut a deal to make things easier for himself after his latest round of grief manufacturing. The whole truth may never come out. Some people just almost make you ashamed to be a part of the human species.

And then there is Gary Coleman's ex-wife Shannon Price....

I Reiterate: People Suck

I see from my comments section that yesterday's post generated a bit of dissent. The post title itself, People Suck (For The Most Part), is probably a bit shocking, but that was my intention.

For those of you who are inclined at first blush to disagree, I would remind you that the natural sinfulness of man is one of basic tenets of religion. Religious moral codes, like the Ten Commandments, for example, were developed because of the problem of human wickedness. In fact, I don't think it an overstatement to say that religion is the human response to the fact that humans suck.

The major religious influence on the western world, Christianity, is steeped in the tradition that man is a fallen creature. Made in the image of God, humankind's first parents disobeyed God by eating the forbidden fruit and gaining the knowledge of good and evil.

The Bible bluntly states repeatedly that humans are sinners. Two well known Scripture quotes are:

Not a single person on earth is always good and never sins (Ecclesiastes 7:20, New Living Translation).

For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God's glorious standard (Romans 3:23, New Living Translation).

Now while I don't subscribe to the biblical mythology about the "fall of man," I do agree that human nature is corrupt. It's just obvious.

The evolutionary understanding of humans provides a sounder explanation, I believe. We are animals, after all, and therefore more prone than we like to admit to following our animal instincts. Think about it. The same behaviors we find objectionable in ourselves are abundantly present in the lower animals, only with less panache and no hypocrisy: promiscuous sex, stealing, picking on those weaker, gluttony, sloth, unrestrained wrath, etc. If they could talk I'm sure they would lie also.

The root of human evil seems to be his vested self-interest. While some of us are more successful than others at battling our natural impulse through adherence to various ethical standards, it remains a fact that we all suck at times. The sad part is that we are great rationalizers and can spin things in our favor in order to "justify" our bad behavior. Kid ourselves if we want, those who know us best know better.

Now I'll go all out here and confess that my biggest fault (and by no means my only fault) is my sharp tongue. As I've aged I've learned to better control it. But when I think back over the years and recall instances where I orally abused people, especially those I loved, it causes me deep pain. And the sad part is knowing I can't unutter words spoken. I can apologize and try to do better in the future, but I can't erase the pain I've caused.

The good things I do and have done in my life do not alter the fact that along the way I have hurt people's feelings. And not only that, I know that along the way I have wronged people in other ways and never realized it - and sometimes probably couldn't have realized it - because of my own selfish perspective.

Having dealt with people in my professional capacity for a quarter of a century, I am convinced that most people don't realize the great amount of damage they inflict on others through their self-centeredness. Empathy, on the other hand, is the ability to put yourself in the shoes of another, to view things through their eyes. That is in real short supply!

Now bear in mind that my thesis isn't that humans are no damn good at all. It is, rather, that we are flawed creatures. Human's suck, some more than others, some maybe only occasionally, but suck we all do. Even Popes turn blind eyes and promote oppression. I say again, People Suck.

The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked. Who really knows how bad it is? (Jeremiah 17:9, New Living Translation.)

People Suck (For The Most Part)

People never cease to amaze me. They do the damnedest things and behave in the oddest ways. And don't think I don't put myself in that same category; I do. But I'm not talking about me right now!

Here are two stories that caught my eye for different reasons.

First, just to demonstrate how the spirit of free enterprise is still flourishing in this troubled economy, we find a t-shirt maker who is cashing in on the horrific catastrophe brought to us courtesy of BP.

Wes Spicer is selling - evidently like hot cakes - yellow and green t-shirts featuring a pelican standing atop the words "BP Blows." Not that I disagree, but when this story explains that it is about more than the $9.95 per shirt that is at issue, I have to shake my head and laugh.

Spicer explains, "what we're hoping to accomplish is for a lot of people to wear this t-shirt to keep pressure on BP, to get this mess out of our back and front yards." Yeah, sure! Hey, the pressure is on and is going to stay on, regardless of t-shirts, graffiti, bumper stickers and other such expressions. It is about the money. Can't fool me, and I'm not impressed.

On the other hand, I saw this story on my early morning news and it shocked me because of its unusualness. Briefly put: Man gets high on crack, breaks into his local Staples, cuts the security cable and steals a laptop computer worth about five hundred bucks. Then here is the unusual part: Once he came down he actually felt remorse, called the store to apologize and explain he was on crack when he committed the crime, returned the computer, agreed to pay for the cable and apologized for the theft!

Usually after a story like that someone will opine "it restores your faith in humanity." Well, it doesn't for me, nor does it distract me from my opinion that humans for the most part suck. Still, it is nice on these rare occasions to see someone step up to the plate and admit he is an ass and attempt to make amends.

Maybe I should design and make available t-shirts with the message PEOPLE SUCK. Just to keep the pressure on, you know?

Meet My Little Friends

After I got home from work and received my usual welcome from the cats, I thought it would be nice to take some pictures of them for the blog. (Yes, I finally got around to charging my camera batteries yesterday!) After all, I reported about their mischief with the that poor blue jay that apparently got too close. I thought you guys might like to have faces to go along with the story.

First let me say that I have three regulars now. I was only able to photograph the two youngest cats (less than a year old ... about nine months, if I recall correctly). Their mother, Fluffy, saw the camera and split, not wanting anything to do with it. I'll try to capture her image later. (Right now she's busy nursing her latest batch of kittens, who are about three weeks old.) Now word has evidently gotten around the neighborhood that I'm a soft touch, and from time to time other cats stop by for eats. I never turn away a hungry kitty!

Anyway, this little cutie is Linus. I swear this picture isn't what it looks like. What happened is that after I went into the house and got my camera, I tried to coax the cats out into the yard where the sun was shining. Linus decided to pose under my truck tire, as if I had run over him. The little ham! Nothing could get him out into the open for a good shot. But let me tell you, Linus has a very full and pretty coat of fur. However, you can't really tell from this shot. Cute anyhow, though.

This is Linus' brother, Little Bit. Now honestly, I usually address him as Little Bitty - and if no one is listening that is usually pronounced 'itty Bitty (I have a reputation to maintain, you know). It isn't so obvious now as when itty Bit ... er, Little Bit ... was a kitten, but he once was quite small.

These two cats are as different as night and day, temperamentally speaking. It didn't take me long to get Linus used to me and to allow me to pet him. Actually, he will come inside from time to time and visit with me. He will let me pick him up and love on him. Even Fluffy - who has been around for a couple years - won't let me pick her up. Little Bit was always standoffish and suspicious of my overtures. It's only been within the past couple of months that he will come to me and let me pet and love on me (no pick ups, however!). Little Bit's picture was taken as he walked over to me as I called for him.

Okay, so now you guys know. And when I write about my feline friends (as I do from time to time) you know what they look like. Did I ever tell you about how they "knock" at my front door in order to get my attention when they are hungry? So many reasons I love my little friends!

The Explosive Life

I got out of bed this morning and turned on the television to watch the news and find out what is happening in the world today.

The first thing I heard was that Sandra Bullock had made her first public appearance following her filing for divorce from her appropriately named husband, Jesse James. His notorious marital misbehavior was certainly outlaw behavior in the world of romantic relationships.

Of course I was sorry to hear about all that when it happened. But honestly, it isn't something I and many, many other people haven't gone through. It happens. Sadly, all too often. I can sympathize with all the jumble of emotions and stages of "recovery" she had to go through after her spousal betrayal. Been there; done that!

What I never got was a standing ovation when I resurfaced. But Bullock is well loved by so many, it was just a big show of support. A nice thing. She compared her ordeal to an IED (improvised explosive device) going off in her personal life. Personally, I thought that was in poor taste, but her point is well taken.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was certainly correct in this passage from his The Rainy Day and it should be always in the back of our minds as we navigate our way through life:

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

I wish Sandra well and hope she has learned some proper perspective for the next time she has rainy days (or IEDs) in her personal life. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

Nature's Dark Side

Arriving home from work one day last week I saw as I approached my front door an unfamiliar sight. There seemed to be something scattered about in front of the door. As I came closer I saw a scattering of blue feathers, and laid lovingly against the door itself was the carcass of a blue jay, well played with and chewed on. There on the deck stood a couple of my little cat friends, who always greet me when my truck pulls in home at the end of a long, hard day. An offering of appreciation, I suspect, from my feline buddies (who seemed to have no further interest in playing with it). The massive coverage with ants let me know the carcass had been there for at least a few hours.

I've spent many hours watching the cats chase birds and squirrels in my yard. I've watched them climb halfway up trees in hot pursuit only to have trouble negotiating the way back down. The overwhelming majority of the time they come up empty pawed. Usually when they are successful it is at the expense of a young creature who apparently hadn't yet learned all the ropes

Twice I've foolishly intervened in nature's little game of life and death. The first time I literally pried a live bird from the jaws of my cat. Once I had impulsively but goodheartedly rescued the little critter, I realized it was too far gone to save. I had actually prolonged it's suffering by interfering with the attempted rescue. Whereas my cat would probably have finished the job in short order, I was forced to find a quiet place to allow the bird to suffer away in its own time.

Several months ago, not having learned my lesson, I rescued a small squirrel from the cats. I brought the tiny and terrified little creature inside and made it a soft bed inside a box. I spent an entire Sunday caring for it and allowing it to recover. As dusk set in I took him to the tree that I knew had a squirrel's drey (for all I know it could have been the wrong address for the little fellow!) and literally stood guard - to keep away the cats who were intent on recapturing it - as the squirrel made a slow ascent up the tree. From my front window I watched as the squirrel made the highest branches and then blended into the gathering darkness of night.

When I went to bed a short time later it was with a feeling of satisfaction, with a feeling that this time, unlike the last one, I had been successful in putting things right.

Imagine my feelings when the next morning I stepped out on my deck to feed the cats, only to find them surrounding the carcass of that little (and now dead) squirrel. Had it simply been so weary from its ordeal that it had fallen back down out of the tree? Was it kicked out of the drey because it had cat and human scents all over him?

Nature at times seems quite cruel to a human's spiritual brain. It probably is all a matter of perspective, however. Nature does what she does, without remorse. It is what it is and we humans try to force a meaning upon the system that apparently doesn't fit. We try to cheat nature by tampering and interfering in the course of things. What else can we do? But every plague, every natural disaster, every (as yet) incurable disease serves nature's purpose - but not ours, to be sure. Every time I turn on the TV news or open a newspaper and read about a murder, I see the same game my cats play with their fellow creatures played out by humans. Nature's methods of decreasing the surplus population.

For all of nature's breathtaking beauty there is a violent dark side. It is inextricably woven into its very warp and woof.

Wars, Wars, Wars

A coworker and I were talking on our lunch break the other day about the news. She seemed to be, to say the least, underinformed about current happenings. Then she went on to explain why. She rarely ever watches the news. "Too depressing," she told me. Always about bad things happening. Wars and human conflict being the chief (though not sole) culprit of her despair.

I have to admit that sometimes I get burned out on all the negative things happening around us. The endless warring we find ourselves in since President Bush decided on taking the country in a new direction has jaded me almost to a point of apathy. I'm more than a bit disappointed that our current president has not been able to decisively change directions. I almost feel that militarism is just a game nations play. Our nation's outrage at our designated enemies is often only matched by our dismissal of bad behavior by our friends and allies.

There is a quote, an old one but a still relevant quote, that goes like this and expresses my sentiments nicely:

I for one say: Better go down to defeat with the flag of American idealism flying, if invasion should come, than win under a banner besmirched with the blood of men sacrificed to the ambition of a defiant nationalism.

—David Saville Muzzey

Just my thought for the day.

Spiritual But Not Religious?

Whoa! No one has ever accused me of being trendy, and in truth I tend not to be. And I certainly didn't know a phrase I have used here and in real life from time to time is a "trendy phrase." Much less was I aware, as this CNN report reports:

The "I'm spiritual but not religious" community is growing so much that one pastor compared it to a movement. In a 2009 survey by the research firm LifeWay Christian Resources, 72 percent of millennials (18- to 29-year-olds) said they're "more spiritual than religious." The phrase is now so commonplace that it's spawned its own acronym ("I'm SBNR") and Facebook page: SBNR.org.

I suppose I was aware the phrase is becoming a trite cliche. Yet I never imagined it had become a movement as such. Nevertheless, it is a good way, I think, to express my feelings about spirituality without the baggage of what religion is commonly understood to be about.

The CNN report quotes some folks with ideas about why SBNR may be too shallow and quite a debatable position. Not that I would care to debate it, but I believe there are adequate answers to address all the concerns expressed. However, if you truly are a SBNR thinker you have no need for such a discussion.

My main concern with religion as popularly understood is that it is so divisive. Our global society no longer has a need for such tribalism. Not really. Instant communication and satellite news have demystified the "other people." Walls are crumbling, barriers are coming down, and even if we aren't on the brink of achieving world peace, old ways and ancient customs are being exposed for the mere window dressing they are.

Oh, wait. I'm drifting off topic.

Do I have a substitute for spiritual but not religious? Uh, no. Do we really need to come up with one? I don't really think so. I believe this sentiment can stand on its own and take care of itself.

The Complete And Absolute Handy Dandy Dream Symbol Dictionary

...unfortunately doesn't exist.

I've always been fascinated by dreams. I have vivid, intricate dreams and more often than not remember them upon awaking. Some stay with me forever, others are forgotten soon thereafter. But I get the strangest looks from people when I am relating the contents of my dreams. "I don't dream," I often hear. Or maybe, "I rarely dream, but when I do they aren't as complicated as that."

Maybe I'm odd this way (as well as in other ways, I assure you). Maybe not. I think there are more intricate dreamers out there.

Also, I am a firm believer in the notion that dreams are meaningful. I believe our dreams, when carefully analyzed, can be a clear window to our psyches. Our conscious mind often filters out and glosses over things, but the dreaming brain seems to be less guarded, more open.

When I was a teenager and less critically minded (while awake, that is), I perused Zolar's Encyclopedia and Dictionary of Dreams in search of the meaning of my dreams. Comparing those interpretations to my own dreams, as well as the dreams my family and friends would often share with me, I was soon led to the conclusion that no such guide is really possible. As another interpreter of dreams is said to have said: "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." I take that this way: what an object symbolizes to my mind may not at all be the same thing for yours (at least not in the context of a particular dream).

Dreams are extremely personal. I always urge my friends to keep track of their dreams, to write them down if necessary, and then spend time reflecting on them. Fears and insecurities make up a large part of many dreams. Other dreams can be quite constructive in nature. Elais Howe is said to have come up with the idea of putting a hole in the opposite end of the needle to make his sewing machine practical after a dream (to give just one of many well-known examples). I just feel our dreams should not be ignored or dismissed lightly.

I've had dreams of premonition in my life. Most often I chalk this up to the fact that the human mind takes in more information through our various senses than we are aware. Not only that, our subconscious minds are always clicking away, hashing and rehashing things. The way my mind works seems to be by putting all this received data into story form and them giving me the finished product in a dream. Now to be honest, most of the things I dream about aren't premonitions - or if they are they are failed premonitions! But it seems that much more often than not there is a point, a clear message in my dreams.

Perhaps the most troubling thing about the meaningfulness of dreams is that bizarre symbolism and outlandish scenarios make them too easily dismissed out of hand. Personally, I think this is a mistake. Or perhaps I should say I believe it is an incredible opportunity missed.

I honestly believe I have come to understand myself better through dream analysis. If I were a writer I think I could have employed my dreams for story writing. But sometimes my dreams are so intensely personal I just can't bring myself to share them with anyone. I wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea about me....

I Hope Your June 2nd Will Be Better

America was not always the tolerant land she is known to be today. Actually, I almost laughed out loud typing that. The suspicions so many people insist on laying upon the shoulders of Muslim citizens, Arizona's ugly little spectacle concerning their treatment of immigrants, and the continuing efforts to prevent extension of equality to gays makes you think we just switch around the victims from time to time.

But today is June 2 and as a bit of historical trivia I'll bring up another American black eye, this one from Colonial times, the Salem Witch Trials. On this day in 1692 the first accused witch went on trial, a woman by the name of Bridget Bishop. She was actually hanged on the 10th.

Marion Gibson's Witchcraft And Society in England And America, 1550-1750 explained it this way:

Bridget Bishop was the first of the Salem witches to be tried and executed. She was the first victim because others already examined had confessed, thus (whether they knew it or not) saving themselves from hanging. Bridget Bishop would not confess and, as Bernard Rosenthal argues is Salem Story, this may have been because she already had experience of being accused of witchcraft (in 1679-80) and knew that a suspect should not confess. This court, however was quite different (pages 210,211).

Bishop had been accused of "bewitching" five young women. This sounds utterly absurd to us today, but I swear some of the warnings about gays, Muslims, and Mexican immigrants are about as outlandish. But fear of people who are different knows no boundaries it seems. If any of you remember the old Twilight Zone episode The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street (I have it on dvd and watched it just the other night), you realize how much truth there is in Rod Serling's little parable.

Unreasoning and unfounded fear does bad things to a person's mind ... very, very bad things.

Please Come Back Tomorrow

After a good night's rest I sat down at my computer to do a little blog post before I go back to work after a relaxing three-day weekend. It was then I realized I had nothing in particular to say. Oh, believe it or not, that sometimes happens to me.

Sometimes checking out the day's news items will inspire me to render an opinion on something. Then again, I don't really have much to say about Oprah's self serving teaser release about her interview with the disgraced (again) Sarah Ferguson, who claims she had been drinking when she tried to make a little (well, really a lot) of cash off her ex-husband. I'd hate to think I had to earn a living at least partially off the pain in other people's lives.

When I signed on this morning a headline from my AOL screen caught my eye rather quickly: The Key to a Perfect Bun? Make it Messy. For a second I thought that might have possibilities. Then I noticed it was a discussion about a hairstyle!

Al-Qaida's number 3 official has been killed along with members of his family by a US missile strike. Sad to say but I'm a bit ambivalent about the matter. I mean, good riddance, but at the same time I sometimes think we are just playing tit for tat and prolonging this ideological war. But I don't feel like fleshing all that out.

Blogging about myself is easy enough to do. For example, I spent a good part of this weekend cleaning house, moving furniture around for a new look. cleaning window blinds and windows and putting up some new curtains I bought. I washed my curtains and moved some around that I replaced with the new curtains. In my little cleaning adventure I reaffirmed something I'd noticed before. Three things make up the most of my cleaning woes: dust, loose hair, old cobwebs. But who would want to read a post about that?

I guess it's a bit of a low for me getting back into work mode after a nice hiatus. I'm sure, however, that a day's work frustrations together with interactions with my always interesting coworkers will recharge my batteries for tomorrow's post, which I cordially invite you to return to read. Surely it will beat this one.