deeda-zoomlens

2012

2012-01-03T16:52:00.002-05:00

I welcome this new year with a full heart and a handful of purposes. Once again, without my fingers crossed this time, I am going to try to be faithful as a good and RELIABLE blogger! I may not visit this great sphere of busy keyboards every single day, but I promise to try and let the words play through my fingers at least once a week. Thanks to the encouragement of good and dear friends, and to some unintended scolding from one, I am reminded that we are given gifts to use and not to hoard. I cannot promise you golden words or great wisdom, but I do promise to share the perspectives and feelings that kindle my spirits. I look forward to some warm musings on long winter evenings. :) God bless you!

Cousins

2011-04-02T16:01:00.003-04:00

Somehow I was technically able to post the below pictures two times. I am amazing that way. All my mother has to do is look at a pc to break it; so, I am just following in good family tradition. Since I have not the slightest idea how to delete one posting without deleting its parallel and ghost twin, I will just leave the two sets of pics as they are.

These past months have been a wonderful time of rediscovery for me, a time when dear friends and relatives have tumbled back into my life. I am grateful for the gifts of their friendship and for the opportunity to redefine who I am in relationship to them. It is as if a centering has taken form, a balancing of dna that has rippled through my circulatory system and spread honeyed memories of the shared past and vital present. I hear their southern voices and am called home, again to wander through the world of dogwood petals and magnolias, of muscadines and pawpaws.

Eugenia Tennessee Heard, Mallorie Ogletree and Deirdre Schrader

2011-04-02T14:17:00.002-04:00

2011-04-02T14:17:00.000-04:00

Sisters

2011-02-06T05:58:00.005-05:00

Oh, Lazarus! Drop one tear into the Balm of Gilead. Share that quickened breath. Here is the need and now. Oh, to cover the eyes from searing light -- must be Beatrice up ahead. But, no; it is Lot's dread wife, addicted still to the glamours. No, matter. We will not leave her, or turn back or to the side, but move together as sisters, singing into the straight path, splashing laughter through our ablutions in the narrows -- as we spiral upward to be free: We carry Eve, as she lies dying, instead of Absalom, up and out of the Inferno.

Freedom

2011-01-14T16:32:00.002-05:00

Covered with your smiles, I pull the layers high and spinning in your warmth, let go the feelings as they fly and flow; gentle folds soothe the boned brittle day. Under the Comforter, inside the lines of space -- deep within weathered bits of time, dimensionally hued we bond and spark, glowing for a feathered moment inside the dark, a heart ring flares and trumpets sound. Dream writings, heaven breathed are finger spun, seen from The Cave, and found. It is done. Carved into the constancy of Now, four posts stand guardians of flame -- safe and spirit named. Covered with your smiles, I awaken, putting You on as my dressing gown and singing a song of freedom.

Hark!

2010-12-03T14:04:00.004-05:00

I took the day and moved it forward. Heard the call
and moved the pawn of self: Onward to the centered
fold of now.
Checkmate evaded, castled home spared and
bishop triangulated, I ride the wild horses
in tandem and jump the barbed wire fence,
lifting the pregnant queen to wide and circled safety,
ever and always one move away from the sanctified crown
of the annointed King. The story told the time of reaping,
time of deep winter comes a' keeping, humanity comes
calling -- kneeling down, close to ground -- searching
for light in the snowy night, searching for sound --
of bells jingling and crystalline, bright and clear --
for trumpets of angels with voices shining --
always close, always dear. Hark!

Open My Ears

2010-12-03T13:20:00.003-05:00

I am here -- waiting, listening. What are You whispering to me? Blow the breath with force. Sometimes I need a gale to hear, I think. They are all so thick, these acid tones that circle my days in tarnished sound; they wreath not greening holiday boughs but legacied rust -- entombed in ice, hardended moments of silence -- curtained with memories of tinsel days past, fragments sharp-edged and broken-bent --dead falling past advent, ripping toward the re-birth of spring. I am here -- waiting, listening. Close my ears to cacophony that they may be opened anew to Your rhapsody.

Flavor

2010-11-15T17:17:00.002-05:00

November days have the hush of whispered moments about them;
in a haze of dreamy recollections we overlap memories -- collages
of doorwayed wreaths and cornstalks announce our brief stay in the
land of Pilgrims past, as nutmegged pumpkin meat and crisp apple slices
slide deliciously into the bowled present, heaped and ready for the
last golden dollop of butter before the layering. Cinnamoned and sugared,
they fill our pie shell present with captured time -- past and future --
spooned together, sweetly, for the swallowing.
Filled with ancestral promptings we prepare and celebrate through
taste and smell. Touching yearnings past -- inside circled safety --
we dust off shared memories of harvest moons, apricot mellow and full.
We clothe our insides with virtual pantries stocked: Winter root cellars
sectioned off for squash -- Hubbard and acorn, and for hardscrabble
winter potatoes, breathing easy in gunny sacks. We gather and store gingered cucumbers and pickled fish in jelly jar rows, mixed willynilly with piccalilli
and assorted dried herbs, bright and bushy for the hanging.
Outside, the paper birch and cherry are cut and stacked with corded elm and oak,
balanced with pine remnants, just for kindling. The stove is mirrored, the chimney
cleaned -- the nests of birds and squirrels transplanted.
We air out the moth balls and pause -- resting in the hush of whispered moments,
to savor this fall, this time of collection and recollection, this time of
patriots' needs shared and gathered, sufficient for Thanksgiving.

Hold On

2010-11-05T11:33:00.004-04:00

In breath -- breathe in.
Take account; it is time.
Summer, long over now, has left its leavings,
colored by the fall,
wet and slick - lying in cylindrical slants
and piled up
-- heaped --
clinging together now:
Shivering in the November cold.
Take account; it is time.
In breath -- breathe in:
Light the torch and blow!
Red rimmed the edges
fall; heaps sizzle, scatter helter-skelter
giving up the ghost of time, they
part in fiery disintegration --
bedding embers for the maw of winter,
for the hungry nights in December.
But take my hand and hold on.
Take account inside the crucible
daily -- season to season --
scattering embers to light
once again, for promised grace:
Safe inside the deep womb of life
we approach the
peace-kept
Christmas candle.

I'm Not 'Fraid of No Ghosts!

2010-10-30T09:23:00.003-04:00

Should we vote? Should we care? Seriously, where IS John Galt? My telephone rings and I know it is one of the other machines calling my machine, which I won't answer because the machine will record it, and anyway I don't want to hear it: I don't believe any of the messages anymore. Did I ever? Yes, but I was 18 and that was before the assassin's bullet took Bobby down, and then again, oddly enough in a complete ideology turn, I believed in "compassionate conservatism." And now? And now I just want them to leave me alone. They have betrayed my sense of fairplay, and honor has become a word out of sync -- without meaning inside a time that allows Charlie Sheen to go scott free in the court of public opinion. No wonder the politicians are corrupt; they see society as expecting and accepting nothing more or less. We are all too old for the ad machine comic cut-out replications today. Nobody believes Ivory or anything else is 99and100% pure. So what do we do about this election Tuesday? Vote just to say we voted? There needs to be a man behind the curtain, you know. We can't in good conscience vote for the empty puppets in the magic show. Aside from all the corruption that is real, we keep picking away in our obsession with political correctness and finding faults. It is as if as a nation we are looking for Christ in our candidates, and when we find imperfections, we become one with the media as the message ... as the chants rise and the tar and feather sends a series of souls out of town, one by one..leaving only the caricatured figures like Charlie Sheen still standing, because somehow we didn't ever expect more out of people like them anyway. So where does that leave us? Atlas can't shrug; it just wouldn't do, but we don't have Christ to kick around anymore, either. Appropriate that the vote is this close to All Hallows Eve. Who ya' gonna' call?

September 10,2010

2010-09-10T17:19:00.005-04:00

Hello, blog world. I am back from my hiatus. It is an odd day to log back on -- September 10, the day before. Before. Nine years tomorrow. But we are still here, such as we are -- a little bent and wrinkled, worn down by internecine struggles, naivete exposed. People finding 15 minutes of fame with blusters over to burn or not to burn, to secede or not to secede. It is a different landscape we face, this new reality with tales of burkas and bail-outs, of tea bags and fatahs.

But we are still here, this good-at-heart America, trying to find our way. Seeing through a glass darkly, fighting over who holds the telescope and whether union labor made the lens, but we are still here -- waiting now for September 12 when we can breathe and say, "Whew."

No, we still do not really understand the why nor do we really believe in the adjusted world template. We lean on social networks and away from politicians; we lean on the Internet and away from the main stream media. We lean toward center -- toward each other, forever embedded with the internalized fact that whatever our divisions and whatever crisscrossed swords and spaces the normative world puts between us, we shared September 11, 2001 -- together as one, united. We Stood. We stand. America.

Annointing the Days

2009-09-01T11:33:00.002-04:00

God inhales. I feel it; the blind reaction of humanity builds. I await the exhale and the resultant babel. What breath is on the wind? What tides will turn and tables topple? As above so the mirror from below reflects again distortion -- partial prisms: Ganglia twist the view and break the brilliance of lanterened time. Traces of truth, trailing love throw light inside Plato's cave. But here we sit wearing darkened lenses inside our intersected nows, alternating our shadowed views -- sharing pictographed realities. God inhales. The Alpha and the Omega images. The Comforter spreads incense essence. Humanity is lit. Time and Nature obey. There will be an exhale. So be it.

Turn

2009-08-31T11:38:00.002-04:00

The sky, timeless and tireless, finds a slanted ray and my New England edges toward burnt umber and cinnamoned orange. The day lilies yawn. Butterflys and dragonflys laze, suckling swaddled nectar. Vigor fills the night air as mums awaken, brisk -- bounty unfurling. A soft haze falls into the day; sky-lit gold shimmers into gloaming as rolls of hay dot the fields and bands play last hurrahs at Hopkinton Fair. The vines, pumpkin filled, surround the sounds of sheep and hawkers. Labor Day, school has started, wood stacked for the burning. Brass kettles ready. New England waits for the crimson edges as summer leaves: Turn.

Herein lies the tail -- quite literally!

2009-08-17T18:45:00.002-04:00

The last time I saw Timothy he was making about sixty mph, racing us to the cellar door. He won. What can I say? We leave the kitchen door to the deck open while we barbecue. We first noticed that we had a guest when something bigger than an ordinary spider ran beside Mark and skittered into some remote invisible niche. A frantic hunt insued, with me sighting the mouse under the dining table; he looked to be pausing to turn, and right then he split for the fireplace and the wood box. I screamed, Bob and Mark came running and carried (it's a big copper pot instead of a box)container, wood and all outside. We left it there overnight and thought we had solved the problem. Next came the garbage compactor incident. It no longer works. There has been a Timothy sighting behind and in it. We think he either has a top part jammed or he chewed through the wires. What to do. No poison here with the grandkids and Sugar around, so that was out. Then we sort of got used to having a little guest. I named him Timothy because the grandkids used to love a movie with a main character of that name. It just made the little rascal more personal, more individual, more -- tender. So, just awhile ago I went into one of my drawers for some napkins and to my surprise, there lay about 6 of Sugar's dry food pellets, or whatever you call them. A closer look and I noticed my measuring cup was filled also, as was half of a basket toward the back of the drawer that we use for miscellaneous gadgets. I thought Sugar was alot more hungry lately! Bob is expounding on how he can build Timothy a little house. I told him Timothy already has a house! I just hope he doesn't go looking for a Mrs. Timothy!!!

Today

2009-08-17T13:17:00.003-04:00

May your eyes shine with the peace that passeth understanding. May your footsteps be joyful and your heart carry no load but the lifting of love's sweet song. May tears and sorrow flee from you and your enemies turn toward you with understanding. May you forgive yourself as Christ forgave Peter. May you see trial and tribulation as purification and turn your face to the shelter of the Most High. May you abide in our Lord forever.

Sighting the Real Enemy

2009-08-01T13:11:00.005-04:00

So there was a serpent in the garden and he whispered negativity and self pride, weaving themselvs into the ages of man. Green tendrils of gossip and confusion spread into tangled snarls and broke the circled hearts; the desert flowers cast off their blooms, withered like the fig tree and scattered into dust. But this is not our fate. Seek the voice of the Lord and find the healing well; sit awhile beside the Rock and cry a sadness, then rise in joy anew! "To all things there is a season." After repentance,Peter was forgiven three times. And we are told, "Love one another as I have loved you."

These Precious Days

2009-07-31T11:45:00.003-04:00

Noise and clatter: Webkins and Playstation. Time is spun with the Wheels of Fortune accompanied by water colored bulletin boards, sporting dragonflies and our happy face stick figure family -- sand drawings and playdough elves painted red and green. A mishmash of joy with a ring of hearts, scored and hung on the refrigerator, turns the wheel: We play. "I win! I win!" ..."Na-na-na-na boo-boo!" Miranda paints; Tessa pours the hourglass sand; Julia reads. Mark laughs. Sugar wags her puppydog tail and chases a merriment of balls. God is good.

Are We There Yet?

2009-07-29T10:16:00.002-04:00

Hurly gurly, up down, back forth filled, of two minds -- our collective Dorian Gray stories played out in Time. Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the most defined one of all? Destination Now, one in Love with Him, pieces put back together inside the puzzle fit and the picture is 2 and 2 makes 5, parts essenced greater than the whole of us. Humanity rises and falls, but the motive point moves ever now, ever prescient, ever into the presence: I was before I am.

Jesus, a Love Letter

2009-07-13T12:34:00.003-04:00

You are beside me, holding my hand; I remember you from my younger eyes, when I saw you clearer. But what matter is that, you are still here, though my eyes darkened for awhile, I found that after my rain and clouds passed, you were still there, shielding me still and always with your smile -- keeping me safe from elementary pain, dark fire,dire rain. I find you now in bird and flower, in sunny slopes and happy hours of life as it wanders on into You and the infinity of Presence. I yearn to catch a glimpse, a wink. Sometimes you send surrogates to my dreams with Noah or Moses riding high, having conversations in the sky. But the other night I felt your kiss; my forehead tendered by the soft-spread touch. I know I tell you this repeatedly, but still, it thrills me as the words purify -- melt my heart, washing away the tattered self each day anew: I love you.

Sleep with the Angels

2009-07-12T22:58:00.003-04:00

You are all around me, you know, perfuming my days and scattering your petals close to my heart at night, colored waves of joy flowing safe swaths around my pillow, annointing my dreams with ancient frankincense and myrrh. Worthy and worth more than gold or mammon's vacant call, I drift into the land of Nod with Sunflower Sharon praying her songs of praise while White Camelia Carol organizes the dance and Mia binds together lilacs into veils for Kate to dance her wild Hibiscus red-sunrise into being, as Donna litergies from David's golden scrolls. I find Marilyn coming up from behind with her troop of pressed roses, trailing age and beauty. Karen wafts in -- her bluebonnets woven into starnet wreaths,and the dance is just begun. Such love, such fun, such sisters. And all I had to do was go to sleep!

Mike asked, "What is your purpose?"

2009-07-08T14:34:00.002-04:00

Purpose? What is that? Ambition? NO. The drive, the inner yearning for life... to do? I will do what my hands find to do, the keys under my fingers type words to places and people unknown, who yet are connected and intimate, bound into the tapestry. I am purposed to love. To help. To serve. It shifts as a wildfire from person to person and task to task...enveloping me, incinerating self, it purifies. God writes the story and moves the life. I try to walk along and not walk into walls, to live along and not make enemies, finding secret paths along the way -- to find the right word or the right soultouch. To dream the right dream. To be awake when sleeping and not sleeping when awake. To be. To be good. To be good in God. To hold Christ's hand when I don't know the purpose. To listen to whispers in the wind. I write. I love. It is more than enough.

Smoke and Mirrors

2009-07-07T14:27:00.002-04:00

Mirror imaged and through that mirror darkly, satan's tree sends out subterranian roots to grow dark tendrils around our souls, breaking through the ground of trust in each, one from the other: It separates promises and hearts. Tangling its way inside our thoughts, it twists words inside our minds as it seeks out each one's vulneraiblity, the secret place where our fears hide: It tempts the pure of heart, breaking all the rules and laughing at confusion; it pours forth acid sap to pull us toward infinite musings,lashing the mind with duplicities and arrogance. Its just mirrors --smoke and mirrors. Leave it to die by itself, starving and shrunken -- already defeated; it is a relic of the past,it's worldy crown the hand of death --vanquished on Calvary. Breathe the light. Laugh. Trust. Dance. Sing. Live, for this is the day that the Lord, and no other, has made!

Mia asked, "Who planted it?"

2009-07-06T12:08:00.003-04:00

Trees are good, ancient in wisdom. They talk to me, their tales turn my heart to smiles and my heart to prayers. Hemlocks are especailly slow, but also deeply thoughtful. Willows are full of fancy and I dance as we sing together. Oaks, well there are so many kinds...and to find the spokestree is not always easy. I fancy Threegreenia myself, but then our history together is a long one. So many trees, so many songs, so many stories. But The Tree. No, I do not believe it was planted; rather, it IS -- God formed, formed of God, sword shielded from stolen glances -- full of wormswood if we turn our minds to pick from it. It's not that the apples are bad; the evil is in the pride of stealing ownership. One bite and then Death.

War

2009-07-02T12:16:00.002-04:00

I watched a war film last night with my husband and my son. As I saw the blood soaked ground, I thought of Cain -- of Abel. And I was sick with the sight of slaughter. I remembered that long black line of death in Washington, with names and flowers -- teddy bears and tear stained letters falling at its cold,mute foot -- Vietnam. And I wondered. Thousands of years and still we make the ground bleed with each others blood, cursing the earth, cursing ourselves inside our feet of clay. And then as I thought of Afganistan the roles switched. Cain was Abel and Abel was Cain. Our self defense, our family towers attacked. Not revenge, not testosterone adventures of men for glory and fame, but suvival. I will not worship idols or have my grandchildren wear burkas. Let us be honest for a change; we do not bow to Allah. Onward Christian Soldiers.

This Fourth of July

2009-07-01T16:10:00.003-04:00

A kaliesdescope of tears prisms through
splintered lenses. Fear reigns,riding
close behind the pale horse. The media
spins black-widowed webs and we writhe --
poisoned en masse. It is enough. In God We Trust.
The weekend brings the Fourth of July and fireworks,
families circled in celebration. Time to come
together and throw off the shackled mind bands,to
honor our heritaged courage,our stand against
tyranny,laughing at nihilism and embracing again
our One nation under God.

Inspiration

2009-07-01T10:54:00.002-04:00

Words dropped down like pick-up sticks --
fall, scattering feelings and illusions
broken over coffee. But we turn our ears,
lift our heads to the sky, waiting -- leaning toward
eternity. Before the heat a rush, and then:
Voice traced words find the tongue -- fire.

Julia

2009-06-30T12:29:00.003-04:00

And her eyes are true blue.
Her hair a golden autum sun.
Long limbed, her body still half fawn,
springs tentatively over the homonal threshold
dragonflies light on her palm, coming to rest
safely on chipped polish,child-bitten fingernails.
Laughter leaps,breathless in abandon, from her honest
tongue -- spirt filled, spirit spun -- heart of my
heart -- Julia.

Plastic

2009-06-24T12:29:00.004-04:00

Time was when plastic meant a hard substance, not people. Time was when modern meant current,not out-of-date. Real time meant Greenwich,not streaming. Today the world plays inside post-modern fantasy. God and moral tradition are thrown out with the flick of a jaded brow. My elitist daughter's daughter tells me with twelve year old certainty, "Oh, duh. Of course I know about Adam and Eve; Mom gave me a book with myths from all over the world." Modern or post-modern, brittle plastic breaks: It is only a matter of God's real time.

A Conversation with the Holy Spirit

2009-06-23T12:23:00.007-04:00

So, he said to me, "Do you play chess?" Not well enough to play with you, I thought but dared not say. "OK, I'll try a move or two." He said, "I'll be white, but you can go first." I said, "No fair; that was your first move!" And He just smiled. I didn't want to sacrifice the pawns, much less the beautiful knights or triangulating bishops, so I focussed on the castles, and then decided that was pretty risky. All that was left of course were the King and the Queen and I knew I needed them. "So, hmm..." I paused for a decade or so and muddled around, testing theories inside my own pictured head, and then when all my strategy was null and void, I sighed and said, "I know the game; I like to play, but I lost the rulebook along the way: Tell me the forfeit that I must pay." He looked at me with those inside eyes and just breathed. So, I laughed at his checkmate and the game was over, but Life had just begun, and the neat part was that we both won. It was easy afterall.

This Good Man, Joseph

2009-06-21T14:40:00.007-04:00

And so now comes Father's Day and I think of Joseph. This loyal man who blunted the sneers visited on Mary, this brave father who taught his own manhood as shadow example and earned the daily bread for the Son of the Father; what humble courage to embrace the adopted son and keep the Saviour safe, to hold faith with the messanger, abandoning his home to save the baby son -- the seedling life of the living Vine. What a blessing to all humanity that this father, this often overlooked carpenter who now and then is mentioned in a history or as a figurine, in vignette or a nativity, is the father that loved the Son. How blessed was he for all time,not only for the swaddling cloth, but for the cloth of honest humanity that protectively he spread and knotted safe inside the visage of his workman's brow: The daily cares of family fell from the eyes of the skilled craftsman as his storied hands built the home where Jesus lived. Certainly tendered by the touch and yet as certain Joseph's calloused hands were blessed, fingers that had the kingly honor to trace the first smiles across His face, to hold the baby Son of God -- Joseph's little boy who is our great I Am.

Time Outside Time

2009-06-16T12:39:00.003-04:00

Softly our prayers are said and on pillowed down we lay our heads...to dream. Life somehow billows around us in the golden now of soul-to-soul, awake outside the earthly shackles, inside sleep. I am not surprised then to see my grandfather's eyes, shining again, or my father sitting in his plaid cotton shirt. I do not weep to see the sight; it is just right. And then the central theme of me switches focus and I see the circle of friends by my side, vignettes of women far and wide are near and dear inside my nights -- rays of light that sparkle and play into God's tomorrow and my new day. Space does not limit, nor place confine this precious sisterhood of mine so dearly embossed inside life's gordian but circleted knot, entwined safely together in Christ's central cross.

God's Beauty

2009-06-12T13:16:00.003-04:00

We think of honeysuckled flowers; we think of spiderweb sparkles shimmering in the morning's dew. We think of valleys deep, verdant and green, and mountains peaked with power supreme. These things are beautiful to our eyes, precious to our memories. But. The here music, the now wonder is the truth of people and their hearts, shining inside our lives: The bagboy at the grocery store with the limp who rambles on but smiles at you; the cranky lady (now a friend) at the video store with the sad eyes and old hair dyed too red; the walmart cashier who tells you about her kids through pierced lips, but soft eyes -- because you asked; the 5 toothed tatooed man at the food pantry who winks a confidence that he slips tracts about Jesus into the bags; the roadworker who flashes a hesitant sweaty hand because you waved. God's beauty is his image in us. God bless.

Community of Souls

2009-06-11T12:36:00.002-04:00

So as I sit here on a late spring chill day in New Hampshire and with a stroke of a key from my den, safe inside these granite cliffs, I reach out to South Africa, to Chicago, to Nevada, to Florida, to the Mississipi Gulf Coast and points in-between. Such a miracle, this blending and bonding of minds and hearts and spirits. This fellowshp, this community of souls -- a priceless touchstone; the 'net,'like a net of stars, twinkles us into each other -- shared hopes and dreams, with pasts and futures, and the now of life in-between. The filigreed phantom of Dan's unicorn sightings pulls us on, soaring heart-to-heart, keeping the simple church alive in fellowship until our collective sites and hearts collide in three wonderfilled experiences with hooves beating and hearts running in time to meet in unicorned splendor Sundays at Northland online!

Today's Storm

2009-06-09T08:27:00.003-04:00

Birds fly in the face of our storm, but we sit and stare in awe, primal memories mesmerized, knocking on our universal door of consciousness, unconsciously locking us in place with counterpointed time to the moment Noah said a final goodbye and the heavens raged. Through the thunder's roar,we remember -- relieved, comforted by promise of a rainbow. Morning passes into afternoon within rivuleted force until evening when the pelting softens and drops not fury but fans out into sprays that gentle our minds and dance like points of diamond-dew through the signpost trees; responding simultaneously the birds reappear out of invisible mist. They sing and flash their wings in ablution and we exhale the seed of warning, turning back into life as usual -- forgetting the past and the promised fire.

Listen

2009-06-08T16:34:00.003-04:00

Some days are meant for reflection. Today has been one of those days. I was spurred to thought by muscles aching from yesterday's kayaking, and today's emails from a dear friend. We have the same pastor and she had recorded two of his sermons. I just "happenned" to decide to download the messages today, even if my pop-up blocker wasn't happy; today all of a sudden my meager computer knowledge worked. As is oftentimes the case, God shows up in unexpected moments: Those two sermons addressed two different concerns that had been lingering inside my heart. Having now taken appropriate soul action, I thought it might be a good idea to talk about it -- about the unexpected times that God whispers to us through a dream, a friend, or a song, or the way the sun slants ...and all of a sudden we are reminded of a memory that shines light on a current dilema, etc. It is so easy for those small whispers to get muffled into silence underneath early morning coffeee and the rush for the day or in the clamor for our attention to the responsibilities of work or family -- so easy not to have 'ears to hear.' The call of the world has a much louder and more strident voice! But those whipers from God, those moments when He is trying to answer our prayer of the previous night, those are the most important moments of the day...or maybe even of the life. It is important for me ... and for you ... to listen. Thank God I did. Here's hoping you heard your whisper of the day today and that all of us listen in our tomorrows as our bodily temples are intersected by God's loving answers.

Sundays after Church

2009-06-07T13:00:00.002-04:00

Sundays after church, how universal a feel in these robin's egg blue days of children's laughter and barbecues. To share in watermelons and hotdogs, and in kayaks and paddle boats, and through sand-in-my-eyes and ants a' plenty -- to share in the sunshine of family circled love, after filling up and out with God's good Word, how thankful I am for the beauty that graces our joint Jungian moments in the sun. I treasure them as memories, place them inside my book of paged life to dry and keeep as reminders that life with all its troubles is good; that a child's laugh can curl up inside your heart and heal any tears, and that "a little child shall lead them."

Your Will

2009-06-07T08:08:00.003-04:00

Pink for blue and cans for boxes, funeraled biers and death night watches. There are times when one can't sleep, times to remember and weep when thoughts abandon and words fall and falter. But you lean inside the breath of God as you pass the bonehand potter, waiting instead for the rush that comes --of exhaled Word, of healing water; co-mingling with your heart's counterpoint beat, you bend and say "Your will not mine be done."

Say Hello

2009-06-04T08:17:00.003-04:00

Here is the awakening -- every morning it sings to us, shines on us, prisms through windows and falls gently on our faces, lighting our eyes -- charging our world. Tenderly it passes through coffee talk and hairbrushes, caressing our lives in waves of sheer love, whether we welcome it or not, whether we argue through it or not, whether we speed through it or not, whether we worry through it or not; always: God is Now.

One Glimpse

2009-06-03T19:49:00.003-04:00

Have you ever thought about time? Do you consume it or does it consume you? Can you watch as it flows around you, or does it flow through you, leaving a trail of future twists and bends and flows? Back away near sleep and watch the earth form and move as it grows with human mass, the wars rising up in concentrated tips and then flowing down into smooth-lined sloughs, all brown or granite ...or then the green of spring and the stars sing a net of sparkly songs and you are drawn to one oak tree with one solitary man running his breath out and in over a silver flute as the white rabbit tips a pink ear and both join in the jig of now....and you can hear their echo in liquid tones, golden to your heart. And it's so good you cry as the forested leaves shine their happy faces back at you because Jesus swallowed time and freed us from the otherness. So, because of him, Time is not and All is Now. Amen.

It is Raining Tears

2009-05-29T10:23:00.003-04:00

It is raining tears. My grandchildren, caught inside the spider's web until the court date, until Jesus saves. My son,cutting himself out of the cocooned strands, poison painfully draining away from his tired face, until the court date, until Jesus saves.
And I prayed, waiting for their freedom, trying to forgive the lies, trying to forgive the woman and her 'sister' accomplices who would flash the scarlet letter with self-pride dripping inside secular smirks.
But in the dark of night the oldest grandchild jumped up to investigate; awakened by suspicion and unfamiliar noise, she flew from her stuffed animal room into the hallway and saw the stranger.
But I pray and wait, heart pounding with the urge to call vengeance,but somehow holding my tongue, trying to give judgement over to God. Through the raining tears I know that there will be an end to the agony and Jesus will save.

Days of Fear and Fearing Not

2009-05-19T12:36:00.004-04:00

Dan Lacich posted an excellent message on his blog today: It was about fear and how we allow it to gain control over our emotions...and about how God tells us so many times that we are not to be bound with intimidating/frightening emotional shackles, that we are safe with and within Him. It is not often, in my ongoing fight with self pride, that I would say I could not have said something better, or added more, or taken away a dot or a tittle, but this is one of those times. The address is http://provocativechristian.wordpress.com
I would suggest that anyone passing my way today should follow that link. The topic addresses our tendency to let fear gain the the upper hand, a timely subject as we live inside the collective mindset gripping both the country and the media today. It is a healthy, healing, and empowering read.

Just an Update for Week's End

2009-05-17T18:48:00.003-04:00

It's been raining today. The sky is meeting the leaves with a light greening. Magnificant,the overpouring of grace. You can almost taste the flowers drinking it all in. We laced the morning with Storyville Coffe and then after church and hellos to friends far and near, we lazed the afternoon away talking of our future and the purpose of purpose; underneath our windchimed canopy it was a kind day for thought. Hope your week ended as tenderly and that all of us share a tomorrow full of the thrill of travel toward rainbowed ends, which are only the beginning of the arc, you know.

Mother's Day

2009-05-04T19:18:00.003-04:00

It's almost Mother's Day. Funny, that didn't used to mean much to me at all -- just a spring day with the family. Now all my thoughts seem to flow into broader concepts -- s'pose that has to do with age and time; most things do. This year I'm rather in a mood to think of Mary, the mother of my best friend, Jesus. Now she was one lady who had it hard. What a path to tread, how to raise a God, how to watch your son die before you -- and of His own choosing, His own acceptance of the unwanted cup. People say, who in history would you like to meet. I would like to meet Mary. I'd ask her how to tame the anger and the bear the pain -- to find peace when such a wrong was done. How could she have loved mankind after that? But you know she did. What was the real importance of that wedding to her when she asked her son to see to the wine? And for her, for the love of His mother, He complied although it was time out of sync. Or was that all symbolic for He is really the wine anyway and she had to know that. I would like to see her face to face and have a heart to heart. Each time I have had a child inside the birth pains I have held onto Binah, Mary -- the protecting arms that mother me and all other women who take the pain and mantle, choosing to serve as mothers. Mother's Day, yes, I will see the family and I will be tenderly and joyously happy for and inside the warmth of my own nest and nestlings, but my larger self, my ME ME will be sitting at Mary's feet and hoping to catch a drop of wisdom from a tear of joy or laughter that falls from her on her day: Mother's Day.

Storyville Coffee Gives Away May Profits!

2009-05-03T16:19:00.002-04:00

This is such a beautiful development. This coffe company in Seattle, which I know absolutley nothing about incidentally, is giving away its profits in May to the IJF; in addition, the company is sponsoring something like songfests with live bands in cities around the country -- also to raise awareness. I do hope everybody goes to their website and orders...The present deal is that you pay 39 dollars and you get two mugs and some packages of coffee over a period of time. To tell you the truth, I didn't check on how much coffee or over what period of time...I don't care whether the coffee is the best in the west or tastes like mud! I'd like to help the company because they in turn want to help IJF.

IJF is a foundation that helps victims of trafficking. The buying and selling of anyone, but especially the abuse of children just breaks my heart. The IJF has people who function as interventionists and then provide aftercare for the little victims. They also have attorneys who try to work within the international community to stop these creeps by attempting to get the legal system in the various countries to become more aware of the problem and to incarcerate the monsters who make millions of dollars off of their flesh trade. I don't care how the coffe tastes. $39 is not much to pay to stop a child from having to scream for help...So, please help! Both websites have alot of information. I hope people click their links alot in May...and beyond. We need to rid the earth of this scourge.

Biblical Passages

2009-04-29T17:55:00.004-04:00

Words are such nifty things -- useful, utilitarian, all-purpose. Yesterday someone told me that I seem to have too much, (was it just alot of) time on my hands. Such innocent words, said in a quip inside a lifelong friendship. But they (my friend's words) even though said at least partly :) in jest did set me to thinking as is my wont and some would say my curse.

Time on my hands: Yes, look at them, the fingers not as straight, Solomon's rings wind deepening swirls around the wrists. Oh, Lord, the knuckles. Well, the secret is that in fact they don't hurt and that we will see them as 'protrubances of dignity,' as my dear friend Ms. Yee would say -- if her breath were still on this side of the beyond. And then she would add "shu-shu" and click her tongue not to worry about the palms' lines. I am sure they would be fronds and not lines to her anyway. Besides, on her 84 year old skin Nivea really did make miracles.

But not on mine. I don't care, though. The lines, though deep, are like a very map to me... a clean and clear chronicle of my yearly passages.

Yes, Pamela, Happy Days friend, we shared the beginnings, just girls, not really understanding women yet or how that word would come to change for us or for our children or grandchildren -- such times ... magical nights with moutons over green evening dresses and sleepovers in baby doll pajamas while we sat eating popcorn, of scouring our faces with OJ's Beauty Lotion and listening to "In the Still of the Night" and of sharing secrets from our separate "My Diary" pages!

Oh, yes, I have lots of time on these ...........and I deeply and truly and vociferously desire plenty more 'cause what an adventure my unmapped hands were heading off for way back then...and none of us truly had a clue, not really. And what is ahead??? More luscious times in Time. Mama is 87 and wow does she have time on her hands; her maps are so full, they approach the sacred. In a reverential way, I would say that both my friend Ms. Yee and my mom have biblical hands. That's what I want. Mama looks at her hands, her maps, and she knows exactly where she is.

Certainly Not a Dog!

2009-04-29T12:54:00.003-04:00

Muffin is buried under a pine tree in the back yard; it was a good week before I could stop crying -- had nightmares, too or just could not sleep except for a wink and a nod .... and then I'd startle myself wide awake with the image of soft spaniel brown eyes in front of me. Sixteen years old, she was -- never wanted another dog.

Three years later I flinched and in bounced SugarPlum: Hyperactive, chew- everything-in-sight(including $400 glasses), attacking-you-when-you're-asleep, you-don't-go-to-the-bathroom-outside-so-why-should-I ...... SugarPlum! And I don't think we could live witout her! She yawns "I love you," howls Happy Birthday with the family, washes herself like a cat, is ferocious with children (especially the more dangerous pre-schoolers) and is terrified of plastic bags and soda bottles.

Muffin was totally black; you couldn't tell her from a shiney piece of coal. SugarPlum is tri colored, mostly white with big black patches and honey brown eyebrows. And yes, sometimes, "Muffin!" does slip out. But more often now it's "Damn it, Sugar!" So, life does go on, and it is good. Smile: Sugar owns the house and the family...and she loves all unconditionally -- including her sweet self!

End of the Rainbow

2009-04-27T20:21:00.004-04:00

I catch the doubled rainbow in my mystic cross palm

and

flinging prisms back at you -- entwined, the couplets arc and rhyme

lending honey-suckled hues to Time --

nectar blending.

I wait inside the curve of interstellar me,

interlaced fingertips

templed in prayer

pulsing inside soul cupped beats,

goblets of gold.

Sunday in the Park

2009-04-27T11:08:00.004-04:00

It wasn't the refrigerator cold tupperware box of freshly sliced cucumbers or the napkins sailing like miniature paper kites in the breeze that made Sunday at the baseball field crisp and fresh; instead,it was the sheaves of fairy feathered lashes flashing laughter over blue and hazel, and green and brown -- eyes of God winking through the open skies of grandchildren -- mana from heaven.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

2009-04-20T08:53:00.005-04:00

Yesterday the dual birthday party was disastrous fun. Batteries did not come with a truck for one and a memory stick was needed for the camera of another, but both siblings had immediate gratification from ice cream cake, pizza, and family; giggles and happy shrieks of friends added to the flavor of the day at the blowing out of candles -- a safely familiar touchstone time for children living their new normal inside the turbulence of divorce.

Today is both the same and a completely a different Monday for the stepping stair four: The three girls wriggled out of beds, brushed teeth and hair, snuggled into clothes while eating breakfast and flew to the school bus, after kissing their little brother and their Dad goodbye....then Daddy left the house so Mommy could go back to the house until Tuesday when Daddy comes back again -- until Wednesday until Mommy comes back until Friday when Daddy comes back until next Monday when Mommy comes back...until....

So next weekend for our son and grandkids is Hannah Montana weekend. With our family circling around them, we will try to help the smiles go further than skin deep. "Suffer the little children...for such is the kingdom of heaven."

A House Divided

2009-04-15T18:21:00.004-04:00

Every spring there are these fresh, hyacinth-tipped days, always beckoning me forward toward joy -- anticipated delights -- like the sounds of a million winter-hard hibernations awakening with delighted yawns and laughing trills, or of energies breaking free in bursts of color waiting to dazzle --of Life yearning to Be.
I know those things are outside -- outside right this very second within the yellow sun-slant of the afternoon and the boisterously happy barking of the dog. She tracks birth-prints with oxymoronic serious abandon -- innocent in her hapless hunting.
But I am still tired, a stretched thin tired. I saw the nest you see and I thought, oh, well...it will pass...I should not make too much of it. I am probably being too harsh. It was a stupid mistake, but I was tired;last year was hard and the winter long and barren. And of course, there's the part about peace and not being judgmental. Sad justifications all: Now the snake is loose and its plots are hatched, and for people I love...there will be hell to pay. Spring will have to wait.

Transition

2009-04-14T09:20:00.003-04:00

The crackly switches and piles of wintered brown round my yard scatter into jigsaw puzzled heaps,break into haphazard flight with the wind and tumble down as birch and elm and maple pick-up-sticks -- finding rest at the lake -- caught inside the participled now. The ice thaws and my earth swells;little sprigs of spring wink green. God winks back: Time to paint.

Saturday, the Wait of Time

2009-04-11T17:05:00.003-04:00

This day before Easter Sunday is waning. There was a buzz about its meaning in the blogosphere today. I think it's fair to say the upshot is that these hours, this life of mankind measured in years and months and days, was changed in one last breath after Jesus said "It is finished." And then the waiting, the Saturday of mankind began. Always drawn toward the morning star, we stumble and search for sight to find our way out of the collective darkness.

Tomorrow with the Light once again there will be a rising and inside all creation there will be joyous noise from bird and bee and man for the fulfillment of the great I AM, and the great I AM THAT, and the great I AM THAT I AM -- the Alpha and the Omega --death and the weight of Time defeated, trinity complete and eternal love offered by the Son. It's gonna' be a good day.

Divine Discontent

2009-04-08T18:45:00.005-04:00

Yesterday somebody got me to thinking about divine discontent. He was in favor of it. I hear caution bells. Discerning the difference between the personality's desire and one's spiritual desire is a Solomonaic task I believe, one requiring much soul searching and prayer. It is easier to act impulsively with a rush of good emotion; that often times ends up with the unintended consequence of having a large ego blast as a hangover!

If one is to get mobilized to action or fired up for some cause, it seems to me that the script of the drama ought to be a spiritual one -- not to be confused with a psychologically/politically correct Morals play that has one cast as saving the world: Christ already did that.

Action prompted by spiritual drive is not worldly, by definition. The result most assuredly would reverberate in the world, but the originating idea put into action... ahh...there's the rub: Judas got that mixed up...and he was not alone. A good many well meaning Jews thought Jesus came to be their physical king so that their lives and the worldly kingdom would change. Not so.
Our egocentric selves feel grand and holy when we are part of a great cause, a drama for the world... giving money or time to a poverty stricken tribe overseas for example. Not that that is a wrong use of casting our bread on the waters, but why is it harder to put our hands out in friendship with a burger to the hungry person loitering at the dumpster 'round midnight at McDonald's? That kind of act would be facing the poor up close and personal in all the gritty reality, stripped of any attendant glamor. It could be scary AND nobody would see you. Nobody would know except that one lost sheep and ...of course, the Good Shepherd.

How many times a day do we have chances to sing in harmony with our divine purpose and we don't hear the notes because ...well, because maybe they don't seem quite grand enough?

I think we should question our own motives about so much emphasis on the big picture until the little picture is tenderly nurtured... That focus could be a major rationalization. What is the saying? "Bloom where you are planted." God planted me here in this nation that does still have problems -- in this state that does still have problems -- in this town that does still have problems -- in this family that does still have problems...inside this "me" that does still have problems!

Divine discontent ends when one accepts that Christ is the way and that He lives in you. You are no longer disconnected from your source or your god ... because of His grace, because of Calvary.

I wonder if a motivational speaker urging worldly action is feeling his/her own need for spiritual maturation deeply enough to mistake the personal desire with a spiritual calling...and then attempt to urge others to save-the-physical-world.....perhaps there is some vicarious need being filled. Perhaps that speaker is the one who needs to act instead of preaching action ... I don't really know...Just wondering if perhaps at the crux of the matter is that the cross tends to urge all of us to shift roles as our understanding deepens and/or our comfort level gets a tad too comfortable. Might be worth thinking about...

Back to Blogging!

2009-04-07T16:46:00.003-04:00

Seems worlds away from where I was the last time I wrote here. My birthday has passed and so has my husband's. The AARP continues to want to be our new bff.

Our new president was sworn into office at the same time that our prodigal son returned; both are setting their houses in order, literally! (By the way, I see no point in opposing President Obama because he is not as pro life as I am. He is the president and I have this very old fashioned notion that God IS in control; so, let's give the president a chance; you don't know where God's hand will lead him.)

My family discovered Facebook, found some dear old friends, and made some new ones, including one of the cohosts of Midday Connection, which comes online live at 1:00 est -- Moody Broadcasting Network. It's really a good program, especially for those of us who are of the female persuasion.

God Tube turned into Tangle, a family friendly site for silly and serious videos and song ...and blogs, which made me remember this one...Thot' I'd dust it off, break the winterized coverings, and let the spring shine in! So, here's to the Holy Week and Easter, or Resurrection Sunday -- whichever you prefer. I don't think Jesus cares about our religious correctness any more than He does about our political correctness. I believe he just cares that we consciously accept Him as the way, the truth and the life...and that we accept his gift of grace as we try really to fathom the depths of what 'grace' really means.

The little blue rectangle at the bottom of the screen automatically pushed iself into its "save now" mode. Today is two days until Good Friday -- so Save Now sounds right to me! :)

Three Prayers for the Three Children

2009-02-10T11:01:00.007-05:00

Psalms 33:18..."Behold, the Lord's eye is upon those who revere and worship him, who wait for him and hope in his mercy and loving kindness." And so in this day when miracles still do happen, having had my prayer answered, I wait for His eye to continue to guide my insight -- so that I become a true and clarity filled expression of mercy and loving kindness in this dark, but promise filled moment for my own prodigal son. For this day and night, and for the inevitably difficult talks in months to come, I pray for wisdom in Jesus name, Amen.

For my daughter a different verse: Psalms 34:1..."I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My life makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble and afflicted hear and be glad. Oh, magnify the Lord with me and let us exalt His name together." So I pray for my daughter of Eve's time of conviction to come so that she will find peace and take not umbrage but comfort in being her brother's keeper ... I pray in Jesus name, Amen.

And for the eldest: Luke 24:1 ..."But on the first day of the week, at early dawn the women went to the tomb, taking the spices which they had made ready. And they found the stone rolled back from the tomb. But when they went inside, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. And while they were perplexed and wondering what to do about this, behold, two men in dazzling rainment suddenly stood beside them. And as the women were frightened and were bowing their faces to the ground, the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among those who are dead?" He is not here, but has risen!" And so my son, our erstwhile Billie Budd, as you are already at the doorstep, do not travel to Emmaus, but travel on to Jerusalem to be with your family! I pray in Jesus name, Amen.

Give Hope a Chance

2008-11-05T14:33:00.003-05:00

The die is cast as were our votes. I don't know who President Obama will be, but if he stays true to the spirit of his victory speech last night, America is in very good hands. Maybe we can ignore the media and actually pull together as a country again. Give hope a chance.

Uncommitted

2008-10-28T09:18:00.007-04:00

My head was still on the pillow this morning when I decided I was absolutely not going to be lured by Obama. I threw the covers off with a big whew-I'm-glad-that's-over sigh of relief but as soon as I visualized McCain, I flinched. I wonder how many other people out there are just like me.

Our daughter asked us to watch a video about Ralph Nader. I kept telling her we knew about Nader, but I guess she thinks we're too old and addled to figure things out the postmodern way. Unfortunately Nader is still Nader except that it appears his ego has grown abit and while he was a superlative advocate for consumer safety, I don't think I want him setting foreign policy.

Sigh. So, considering that Bob Barr reminds me of Mr. Potter and Nader won't do, that leads me back to Mr. Flimflam and Mr. Tunnel-vision. Drats.

It's Almost Over

2008-10-26T23:47:00.006-04:00

The blogosphere seems a bit sleepy today! I think all of us are burned out from the constant electioneering by the media who are just reporting -- their slants.

Here we took the time off to get away into our safe backyard islands of self and family. It was a comfortable corduroy fall weekend -- just warm enough today to get outside, inside all the unraked leaves, and replace the TV and the telephones with the neighbor's barking shelties and the pond's honking ducks.

Hope all of you had a good weekend, too. It was a good 'take a long, deep breath' interlude. Tomorrow it's back to the crazy quilt stock market panic and another (thankfully the last full) week of politics before we vote. We are some kind of cool and tough people to put up with all this mess! Cross your fingers and say a prayer, maybe we're through the worst of it. At least we know the election is going to be over!!!

Um..oh, yeah, Acorn. Oh, well, I don't want another Florida and I haven't heard much of an appetite for that spectacle from anybody else, either. Maybe ... just maybe... the partisans on both sides will lower the volume and the real people of America who are overwhelmingly decent and honest will outnumber the lawyers that both sides have lined up!! And then we will have a new president elect ...and the stock market will settle down....uh...yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and Frank Capra is my hero. So let's get through next week and go to sleep after whatever decision there is on Nov. 4th. with visions of sugarplums ... and Jimmy Stewart going to Washington in our heads.

Empty Portfolios and Full Pantries

2008-10-24T10:50:00.003-04:00

So, oh woe is us! We've all been worshipping at Mammon's altar and its let us down. Stock market? We can't get any real stock there,you know, unless we think that side bets on derivatives are worth having for dessert. Time to push that chair away from the imaginary 'futures' table and return to an old staple --a loaf of bread and vintage wine; sustenance from the Lord's Supper and a pantry filled with calming grace will satisfy -- en vigor -- clarify body, heart, and spirit mind. From now on, maybe we should concentrate on saving.

The Fall

2008-10-23T23:22:00.003-04:00

I forgot last night and now the begonias out on the deck that were so pretty and luscious and red all summer -- are toppled over on themselves and quite definitely dead. It wasn't really an early freeze or even a hard one, but then begonias are fleshy.

So are people. Paper says the homeless shelters here are filled in this time-out-of-kilter year of constant surprises.

Most of us are still busy carving pumpkins and hoping for Indian summer. We path over our mallard heavy backyard ponds -- glory in our New England crimson fens peaked with burnt orange and burnished gold of turning leaf and yawning limb.

It is humiliatingly long before winter splays its hoary sleep over this normally self sufficient granite land -- a sad time for begonias and people who have already fallen.

The Eyes Have It

2008-10-21T17:19:00.003-04:00

As I was sitting here reviewing a recent telephone conversation, I think I found my answer, or at least the required question. The caller had been a polite lady from a local Obama headquarters. I had told her I am still undecided and she had asked if there was any information that would help me decide. I blurted, "Are you old enough to remember the Dukakis moment?" to which she answered, "Oh, you mean the tank?"

No. Of course that was not the moment. The moment was when some reporter or other asked how Dukakis would feel about the death penalty if Kitty had been raped. It was a horrible thought, but it was unscripted and the nation saw clearly into the heart of the man who would have been president. The nation judged that heart too clinical.

It is that kind of ineffable question I need answered about Obama. He is too cool. Is that real or is it a perfect facade to protect his soul and his loved ones from the piranha media? Whichever the answer or whatever the blend of the answer, I hope someone asks him a bone marrow question that makes his eyes flash warm or cold -- before I go into the voting booth.

A Gazillion Second Thoughts

2008-10-21T17:00:00.004-04:00

So yesterday I had finally sort of settled on Obama but then yet another pollster called and asked thought provoking questions. I was still pondering my wishywashyness when I got an e-mail from my brother bashing Sarah Palin as Minnie Mouse. Is it just because I am female that immediately I felt protective for the poor woman who got lobbed into this totally unfair ping pong media game, or is it just that I have some deeply buried and surely somehow Freudian loyalty to the innate decency of Annette and all the erstwhile Mouseketeers? Hey there, hi there, ho there.

The People's Houses

2008-10-20T15:03:00.006-04:00

We had a birthday dinner for my daughter the other night, a perfect time in a battleground state to take a family poll. I am relatively certain that "None of the Above" could handily win our family circle in November.

As it stands though, one person really is voting for a third party, one is voting for McCain and the rest of us are maybe/probably/unless-something-weird-happens planning to vote for Obama. I wonder what the conversational results are around all the other tables this fall.

Funny thing, most of the adults in my family like the VP choices better -- as gaff prone and controversial as they are. Maybe that's because both of them appear more human and familiar, even if sometimes in chalk-on-a-blackboard ways. I just heard that Biden has predicted within the first six months after Obama wins, there will be an international crisis the likes of the Cuban Missle one. I can just see the handlers begging Biden to go take a rest for awhile and frantically praying for laringytis to visit the sonorous one until after election day! You know, as 'duh, I shoulda' never said that in public' as he probably feels, old Joe is probably right. Of course our enemies will test an idealistic tenderfoot, green president. Do we feel safe about that? Hmm...more aptly put is how unsafe do we feel -- and just which enemies and what kind of test? None of us ever wants to see anything resembling another 9/11.

On the other hand, we are in a rather serious economic period. I do believe that McCain did finally notice ... just before he spazzed out and turned every-which-way but toward the middle-class. I think he thinks he addressed the middle-class, but coming from somebody who has that many houses, he just didn't connect. His mindset is in another world. He can't help that, but then neither can we.

My husband and I went back and forth over which candidate and which party to back as we were trying to finish building a small balcony off our dining room before winter sets in. It's a special addition because we did it together and we did it ourselves. If we had several houses, we wouldn't have one central hearth and heart and home for our memories. As for Obama, I can't see a do-it-yourself project co-existing well inside his millionaire perfect world either. No, neither candidate can really address the middle-class.... Isn't that what's at the bottom of so much of our discontent? When have we really ever elected "one of the people?" When have we ever had the opportunity?

Hmmm

2008-10-16T10:40:00.002-04:00

Well, I'm no longer a suspect for doing whatever it was I didn't do. That's good, I guess. It seems awfully arbitrary that a person can have a blog and it can just be cut off for no reason and then cut back on with no explanation -- high-handed indeed. Makes me feel abit tentative about all this. I wonder if there is a way to own your own words in a more definitive manner -- like a blog provider that does not have omnipotence... or at least one where you can email to ask why and get a real person to answer you. Anybody have a suggestion?

So, what kind of game is this?

2008-10-07T17:06:00.001-04:00

I don't get it. Yesterday I tried to post and I got this strange notice over my blog that said it was locked. I tried to figure out why and I tried to respond -- couldn't find a real, live person to talk to, though. I doubt that this will post, but thought I'd give it a shot and see what happens...Well, it did post. (I'm using edit.) At least I think it did. Now I keep having to type in word verifications. Does anybody out there know what is going on with this mess?

Breaking News

2008-10-06T11:47:00.003-04:00

It's that the DOW is down or the politician that was the least offensive to you just got bombed with an expose, or everything you eat is either going to send you to the hospital immediately for food poisoning or eventually because the latest study negates the previous study that made you change your habits so you could avoid the trans fat and so you decided to eat what is now considered highly carcinogenic in the long run, etc.

And I say don't be stuck in silly-head land. Breathe in that apple crisp air. The sky is still blue and not only that, it's a downright drop-dead miraculously clean slate with just tracings of picture clouds for effect -- lit with that rich slant of autumnal sun. The squirrels are nearly as brisk as the wind and the leaves are fire dancing again. Forget the media for a moment. We are all so blessed. God's in his heaven and all's right with the world.

Global Federalist

2008-10-05T22:20:00.005-04:00

I did keep a straight face when he said it. Definitely pompous, but was it more elite than arrogant, or the other way 'round? He laughed about how small the website was and mocked himself with such aplomb that I knew in my bones he actually had not made it up ... and that it was no laughing matter to him at all.

So after the goodbyes and the I-had-a-nice-times were over and he (who will have to remain unnamed) and his party were safely out the door, I skipped my usual put everything that's out of place either into the dishwasher or the hamper routine and instead beat feet and fingers to the net. They are called Democratic Globalists, it seems. Kumbaya, world court, universality of the rights of all to to be equally proud of being ordinary, or ignorant and impoverished because capitalism isn't a global calling and democracy is just another word for nothing else to lose, and one must give equal credence to say, the philosophy of Iran or Venezuela because who can say their concepts are not as valid and as relevant as those of the materialistic and provincial Judao Christian screed that is the heritage that spawned those ugly Americans?

WHO CAN SAY IT? I CAN. American Exceptionalism leads the world for more than a few reasons. Some of the most easily thought of are by- products of the integrity and sanctity of individual human life and its flowering in a free and democratic society. From those precious individuations come innovation in art and science, jurisprudence and technology, but more important, more rudimentary, more inside the fiber of our existence is a moral courage, a belief that we are intrinsically good and that ultimately good overpowers evil, whatever the guise -- whether it is a Civil War to be fought or a War on Poverty -- or a race to the moon or a race to eliminate HIV Aids. Where there is a challenge and a moral calling, where there is need for excellence, where having heart counts...that's where you'll find Americans.

Democratic Globalism -- I wish it had been a joke. It seems, however, to comprise a set of existential tendrils that tangle crooked paths through post modernism and have become an apologia for the average and for the politically correct disintegration of European/Canadian society. Too bad. Well, at least I know it wasn't the pizza making me sick to the stomach!

Bailed Out

2008-10-03T15:37:00.003-04:00

OK. So they passed it. Alrighty then. I didn't see the heavens open or hear the thunder. In fact the stock market's initial reaction was a very jaded pretend shrug.

Uh, and by the way two companies are fighting over who gets to buy Wachovia?! But of course our government gets to make the call on that I do believe -- and why? It's not that I don't understand why; it's just that I don't understand the big why -- you know, our country being capitalist and all that.

We should buy all of the 'players' Monopoly games. It would be alot less dangerous ... and much cheaper. And by the way, did you see how morbid Bush looked on the steps with Paulson? Nice legacy.

The Debate

2008-10-03T15:10:00.004-04:00

Biden looked tired. He sounded tired. I don't think his heart was in it. He'd have been a good VP pick for Clinton. (I really got furious at Obama about not even vetting her.) Shoot, I'd even vote for Sarah and Joe.

Sarah. Hmmm. I don't remember exactly what spurred me to jump off the couch with a thumbs up and a "You go, girlfriend!" Whatever it was, was just part of my overall impression that she had been cut loose enough from the handlers' chains to get back and give out a bit of her own breath.

Who are these faceless handlers anyway? What on earth have they done to ole' Joe? I don't believe I've ever seen him look so passionless. Good thing for the reps that Sarah escaped hers and unfortunate for the dems that Joe is still in time-out. Authenticity matters.

Joe made me frown. Sarah made me smile and these days in American political life, smiles are worth more than the paper the money is written on!!!

From Tea to a Pickle

2008-10-01T14:28:00.005-04:00

I'm in one -- a pickle, that is. The thing is, I don't know what to do. I used to be a democrat until I moved to NE and found out that my dad wasn't crazy afterall when he ranted about socialism coloring the erstwhile rank and file. Yes, I knew Carter was a catastrophe. I had fallen for the bluejean populism bit a tad before we were all tying yellow ribbons on trees and wishing for January when Reagan would actually DO something and then well, somehow Reagan was just never really a republican to me. He was Reagan, although sometimes the 'Bedtime with Bonzo' aspect would peek out. He did do-in the Evil Empire.
Then Dukakis and poor Kitty. George the elder would never have answered that way. Barbara Bush was comforting and made plain vanilla appealing. The first Gulf War was short and we were in one big Coca Cola commercial with all the other countries singing along. OK, so he threw-up on the Japanese dude; coulda' happened to anybody but it somehow reminded me of how poor old Gerald Ford was always getting photographed falling and looking like a ditz in general. This was of course at the time when I still had no clue that the msm was constantly cycling their Orwellian tapes to their prayerful mantra"The medium is the message!" (Alot of us were slow on the uptake about that. I mean, photoshop didn't even exist then!)
So, everybody who watched Larry King found Ross Perot -- for about two months. Too bad. Time moved forward and Clinton moved center. I just couldn't swallow his what seemed to me to be a familiar old time southern snake oil salesman act. I did like that he was going to give the back of our collective democratic hand to China, though. Oh, well. I sure would like to know what changed his attitude. I mean I think his mind was still on the country then, or am I remiss in my The 'First Time Ever I Saw Your Dress' Lewinsky moment? Moving right along because I know what "is" is.
And then there was Bush.
He hooked me. He was like Reagan with a stutter. I mean, I have kids. The culture seemed to be going to hell and there was this Will Rogers acting guy ready to be a social conservative. I think it was during that campaign that I began to see some of msm's spin. During the hanging chad and subsequent business I drifted from CNN to CSpan. Hmmm. There seemed to be a difference in reality and perspective. I had always believed that news was really that -- news, honest reporting. Well, silly me. So, I'd tell my husband and he'd say that no, NPR agreed with CNN. Hmm. So we fussed until 9/11 when we were frantically searching for news..constantly...like everybody else on those mornings when we awakened to find out that we had survived the night and that we hadn't yet suffered another attack and the anthrax was being contained, too. Where to find the most up to date and accurate news? Searching.. searching...Aha! There was something called FOX.
Well, I had found a media home through whose pro America window I could see to guard my country with my worries and my prayers. I held my breath when with the marines in Tora Bora, and cried that the devil got away to plan for another day. Yes, I realize that McLuhan is alive and well on that network, too, but he casts his shadow in opinion pieces. And life was somehow the 'new normal.' I thought Bush was great.
Then
Iraq.
Not Iran?
But we're not through in Afghanistan I thought. And then,OK, you're keeping us safe and well if there's wmd...wow...but make it quick.
Hurrah! We won!
I yelled at my husband, "Who is the idiot letting the Iraqis keep their guns and letting them go and why don't we have enough troops and ..WHAT? And how long?" Well of course it got to be an important place. What about Afghanistan? Big, gigantic sigh for the loss. Certainly, Iraq's important now; we made it important.
So, here we are at another election...and it's bailout time, to boot.
I'm undecided.

Tea and Taxes

2008-10-01T01:34:00.002-04:00

No bailout without representation! When was the last time your congressman asked you if you needed help with your monthly liquidity? I rest my mainstreet case for just now while I make a cup of tea and wonder if those present at the Boston Teaparty were as fed up am I am.