Well Done

Computer troubles continue so it’s hard to post during the day.  Might create a new one so I can, keep this one open for posterity sake…will let you know.

Well, Baby, kept hearing you call my name yesterday so I figured something was up.  Saw today the sod had been broken finally, congratulations, happy for you all…went into one of those creative dreams sequences wherein I lived there with you and all my experience in medicine helped me to fill in where there was a gap as a volunteer.  I’m happy for you, well done, good and faithful servant.  You looked cute there, and the people surrounding you in the picture looked like such lovely, regular joes and joettes.

It’s Friday, the end of an unbearably hot and humid day when walking out the front door felt like walking into an open oven door.  At the moment, I have freshened up, am in my jammies and just fixed the most chilled, ice-, cold pale chartreuse Margarita that is wonderfully refreshing.  I love Jose Cuervo’s silver Especial, made with blue agave.  The flowers on my back porch are becoming riotous and look beautiful from the street as I pass.

Charles Krauthammer, a conservative genius I have long admired, and did not always agree with, died yesterday from cancer.  He was 68.   He was genteel, but steel-spine strong, brilliant.  He had a saying that you were wasting your entire life if you didn’t say what you really thought bluntly without hesitation.  Not advocating obscenity, but you know…frankly, I don’t know how anyone could live otherwise.

I might talk about the awful hate that came from the left this week, i.e., Peter Fonda, but I don’t want to spoil the evening.  Perhaps tomorrow.

I have requested the two days after July 4 off.  I am teasing with the possibility of driving to New Roads and staying at a B&B right on the water…perhaps.  I miss you.  But lately it seems God has been telling me I don’t need you to do things I want to do…such as, go to Italy, to New Roads, etc. no point waiting for someone who will  never arrive, therefore, why deprive myself of happy experiences and new horizons?

 

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Paterfamilars

Happy Father’s Day, beloved fathers, patriarchs, Daddys, here and gone.

Sending a big thank you for God above for the wonderful Daddy he gave me, however short a time we had together, but so rich with love, laughter, understanding, and outings.  Remember…the four o’clocks bloomed because he was coming home from work.

Found my Gregorian Chant yesterday, remember, “Chant?”  Also bought a CD of the Brandenburg Concertos, and a copy of my other favorite book, “The Awakening,” by Kate Chopin.  After errands, just wanted to read so I ignored the mess and as it was rainy and cozy, settled down under Earl’s quilt and finished reading, The Dark Angel.  It was good, but I don’t like what Griffiths did as much with this one.  For one thing, most of it was set in Italy, and it sounds beautiful, but I missed the fog, mist, sea air and salt marshes of North England.  Additionally, in the previous book, Griffiths put a huge tease that despite the pregnancy of Nelson’s wife Michelle (who has been throughout the series okay but bland compared to Ruth) there was a possibility Ruth and Nelson would get together.  SPOILER:  Griffiths kills off a major character (not R or N), Michelle acts uncharacteristic heroism towards the end, but the real heroes is the character that get killed off, and Bruno, Nelson’s German Shepherd.  All in a set of circumstances that washes Nelson with intense guilt, and while he went to Italy because Ruth and their daughter Katie were threatened by an earthquake, Michelle and his grown daughter were placed in extreme danger by a madman he had put away in prison in his absence…and guilt took the place of Ruth and Katie.  The book was more cynical than the last, with a lot of anti-religious overtones in it that I didn’t think were necessary to the story.  The story still gripped me and I enjoyed reading it, but not as much as the rest of the series.  One thing I really liked, and related to, was that Laura, the daughter who nearly got killed, broke up with her boyfriend, Chad, because she realized she preferred being with Bruno, the dog, more than being with Chad.  And dreams of the day when she will find someone as kind as her dog.  Laura, who witnesses the death of the main character, sees his soul leave his body in the form of a vibrantly colored bird…the only person she tells about this is Cathbad, who completely understood.

Well, this morning I didn’t ignore the mess, and strained my back to the max to get most of it out of the way.  Beginning to consider I need to hire someone to maybe come in once a month to take care of the really hard core cleaning.  Cooking a pot roast in wine and onion; about to make lamb curry.

Last Sunday, I was prepared to spend the afternoon watching all the finesse things I had taped…Rabin with the Israeli orchestra, the Sistine choir, some episodes of Lark Rise to Candleford…so, do you know what I was glued to?  The good stuff:  “Magnum Force.”  Dirty Harry, a cultural icon.

You know what’s a good Father’s Day movie to watch:  “Tightrope.”  I wish Turner would show, Panic in the Streets.

June 16

June 16 is the day the entire book of Ulysses takes place  on, but in my little personal history it’s an anniversary of sorts I always remember with joy it was this date in 1984 at around 4AM on a Saturday that Mom, Earl, Tim and I piled into the old black Chrysler and headed for the mountains of Virginia via Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, DC, and then to the heights of the Blue Ridge overlooking the Shenandoah Valley.  This date always catches my eye and pulls me back.  It was a wonderful, wonderful trip…Harper’s Ferry, the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers, Washington and Lee  University, Front Royal, having blackberry sundaes in a meadow atop a mountain.  Earl’s little yips of barely contained hysterical joy when he realized we had pulled into our carport and were home.  The smell of pumpkin candles burning in that mountain air at night.  The flexibility of youth hiking up mountain paths with hardly any effort.  Have I really lived this long?  It’s good to remember something that feels like yesterday.

We went back the next summer, but Tim’s Mrs. accompanied us and therefore her pouting and pettiness and resentment no doubt fueled by a tearful phone call home to Mother, ruined the whole trip; luckily Mom, Earl and I had gone in a separate car.  But nothing can take away the magic of that visit in 1984.  I have always loved Virginia.

Mission today:  find Gregorian chant, church incense, the latter to help drive away the smell of the pot of spaghetti I burned–it’s almost gone, but needs a little push.  Need lights for the back porch, they’re burning out.   Time to go.

During The Days

It’s been a wonderful week so far.  I’m really feeling wonderful, strong and well. Just wanted to suggest here that since it’s hard for me to access this blog from another computer during the day, I can access my other site and can post.  So, maybe during the day, you can switch to the other site for posts.  Starting tomorrow.  I have something I’d like to post there but I’m ready to crash and so will post tomorrow.

On the way home, I had one of those moments you probably don’t like, but it was a freeze stare at the radio and something said, the next song will tell you what he feels for you.  It was a strange song, but…I’ll put the lyrics here and let you decide.  I found it very powerful, and it left me with an, if only…feeling.

Take Me to Church

Hozier

[Chorus: Hozier]
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

[Verse 2: Hozier]
If I’m a pagan of the good times
My lover’s the sunlight

To keep the goddess on my side
She demands a sacrifice

Drain the whole sea
Get something shiny

Something meaty for the main course
That’s a fine looking high horse
What you got in the stable?

We’ve a lot of starving faithful
That looks tasty
That looks plenty
This is hungry work

[Chorus: Hozier]
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
Offer me my deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

 

 

Contrast

Had to post before I jump into the shower and start the day ready for work.  I awakened early this morning, in time to see the news about the US and North Korean summit.  It was good news.  I also saw President Trump’s live press conference conducted, for once it seemed by a civil press corp that asked fair questions that Trump answered very well.  And, it’s funny, but since yesterday I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind that this pledge to denuclearize, this meeting, and this seeming capitulation had all been brought about because of the tragic story of Otto Warmbier–therefore, I got a lump in my throat when President Trump said at the press conference that he truly believed it was the story of Otto Warmbier and all that he suffered that brought this about.  He said, “Otto Warmbier did not die in vain.”  I’m so glad he said that about that young man, whose story of torture, the way he died, and how his family had to confront what was left of him once he returned home broke my heart.  What brave parents who brought his story to the world to show what the North Korean regime was capable of.  And Trump ratcheted up the sanctions, called  Un out and as so many past presidents seemed to have overlooked, the only  way to deal with a bully is to give them no quarter.   Bullies are cowards and fly in the face of courage.  And Trump gave him no quarter.  So, I was watching this rather remarkable moment this morning and all that Trump accomplished, and I thought of the Tony Awards the night before.  Robert DeNiro and his little F Trump at the podium, the cheers of the audience, and actually giving this slob and his slob talk a standing ovation.  Giving an ovation to a man like that for saying something like that as if he were Christ descending from heaven, and I compared it to what Trump just accomplished and I know they will just spew hatred at him because of it.  Once theater was associated with finesse, creativity, refinement…not so today.  What a pack of losers.  Robert DeNiro has only proven he is the dumb slob in real life that he plays in movies.  The last film of any quality that he made was probably, “Goodfellas.”  And he didn’t exactly shine in that one.  And to all those mongrels in evening gear who stood up for him, well, you’re mongrels.

I keep thinking about that African American minister whose church Trump visited when he was campaigning who placed that Hebrew prayer shawl over Trump and told him he was God’s anointed.  I remember the chills that ran over me in such a surprising way.  Brash, big mouthed, Trump, an unlikely servant of God, a real sinner…but who’s to say whom God will use…Paul was murdering Christians until he took that little trek down the Damascus Road and look how he turned out–and then there was St. Augustine, “Oh God make me chaste, but not just yet.”

Welladay, The Answer When Found…

…is usually simple.

Just had a lightning bolt of revelation–my internet has not been working because the device for the ethernet was unplugged.  I’m back online again.

It’s overcast but not raining although I hear thunder in the distance it hasn’t made it here yet.  Cooked moussaka for Sunday dinner with lamb in the recipe and roasted some asparagus to just perfect balance of crisp and tenderness.  This went well together.  I wish it would rain; I have one of those pounding, teeth rattling, low pressure sinus headaches.

A peaceful week and weekend.  The Investiture ceremony was very nice.  Dr. D., when he accepted this, made me cry–he started crying but warned all of us beforehand that he “was Italian and gets emotional.”  This man grew up in a shotgun cottage here, graduated from public school, and is such a genius at Pathology his advice is sought after from all over.  He remains at the faculty level of Associate Professor because, it is Tulane’s policy that  faculty members have to nominate themselves to be considered for the appointment to Professor.  Dr. D. has adamantly refused to ever do that, because as brilliant and gifted as he is, he is one of the most humble and unassuming men you could ever meet.  He writes out all of his meticulous and lengthy reports in pencil and longhand and has a unique penmanship.  I was one of the few who had no trouble reading it.  But now he has this most honorary professorship to his name invested upon him.

The Dark Angel–I’m just in the first few chapters.  There is an Italian Professor named Morelli, and his assistant, Marta walked into his office.  His thoughts went as such…”He never did feel very comfortable with Marta.  She was a good worker, painstaking  and thorough…but she was never someone he felt he could question about her love life or share a joke with…in fact, Morellia secretly suspected she was a practising Catholic.”

Please, Lord, let it rain!

Mid -Week

It was cooler today, a break from the humidity. A bit of an uneventful week and that’s okay. Good to get a second wind. The Dark Angel arrived and it is really very good . Funny thing happened today. An aerial view of your home popped up on my computer…does that mean you are across the pond for the summer.

Do you remember years ago my dream of you in your home, a beautiful lush place that I reached via a tree-lined long drive…you told me, in an arbor of fruit bearing vines that you needed me to come and help you tend your home…there is website the posted pictures of your home since…I want you to know, on Earl’s head, I was already familiar with the long drive pictured because it was the very one that had been in my dream.