Quite a few German tourists have come to Memphjus, since they heard that Octoberfest is still going on in Periwinkle County. Actually, it's not still going. It only started in February, since the Periwinklians felt October was already too busy.
Randall Nathan came home and told Claire he had an entirely German conversation at The Mills of the Gods Coffee House. This surprised her. He is proud of his language skills, but he does not seek out conversations.
"Won't this lose you points in the Hottie competition?" she asked.
Actually, it's HOTY, Hermudgeon of The Year competition, but she likes to call it "Hottie." [An hermudgeon is a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, or maybe it's the other way around.]
"I don't think so," he said. "He said, 'Bier hier?' and I pointed at The Whistle and Thistle and said, 'Ya.'"
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Vollyball & Remembrance
Randall and Claire Nathan went to see their granddaughter, Betsy, play vollyball. [See "Betsy Joins a Team," 1-26-10] Betsy is tall and beautiful. She is also new to vollyball. But she was quite good, as 8th grade girls go.
Claire and Randall both marveled at Betsy and her teammates. They usually didn't know where the ball would go when they hit it, but they leaped around the floor with such quickness and flexibility. It took Randall and Claire longer to get down out of the stands than it took the vollyball girls to play a game.
Randall could remember when he had been that age, playing basketball and baseball. He had been that flexible. He could play all day. He thought it would last forever.
Now he sits in the stands, and is glad to have someone to watch, to remind him of when he could play all day, and think that the days were never long enough, but that they would last forever.
Claire and Randall both marveled at Betsy and her teammates. They usually didn't know where the ball would go when they hit it, but they leaped around the floor with such quickness and flexibility. It took Randall and Claire longer to get down out of the stands than it took the vollyball girls to play a game.
Randall could remember when he had been that age, playing basketball and baseball. He had been that flexible. He could play all day. He thought it would last forever.
Now he sits in the stands, and is glad to have someone to watch, to remind him of when he could play all day, and think that the days were never long enough, but that they would last forever.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Seymour in the Kafka Checkout Lane
Ben "Seymour" Bottoms is a professor of Sociology at Cratchit State U. Yesterday he stopped at the Super Bunny IGA on his way home, to get some sparkling water, since his daughter is coming for the weekend. She likes anything that sparkles.
There were surprisingly few customers in the Super Bunny. Five checkout lanes were open, but only two were in use. A woman with bright red hair and two full carts was checking out on # 3. The clerks from 2, 4, and 5 were standing together at the end of # 3, pretending to bag the red-haired woman's groceries but actually trying to keep customers from realizing that their numbers were lighted. There was a young woman in the express lane, but she had only a container of large curd cottage cheese, so Ben knew she wouldn't take long. He stepped in behind her. That's when things went bad.
She wanted to pay for the cottage cheese with a credit card. It took a long time for her to find the card in her purse. Then she couldn't get it swiped correctly. It took her two tries to sign the electronic pad. Then she waited. So did the clerk, who wore a name tag that said she was Jennifer, except she was staring over at the other clerks, wishing she could join them, for by now, the red-haired woman was checked and bagged and out the door and clerk # 3 had joined the others for a discussion of when they would take their breaks. Finally Jennifer's brain returned to the express lane, where she noticed that the cottage cheese woman had failed to tap the "Accept" button on the credit card processor. She reminded her to do so. She did.
Normally Prof. Bottoms tries to take an academic approach to these incidents. It's field work and research, he tells himself. After all, his main areas of research are education and stupidity, and checkout lanes are a wonderful laboratory for at least one of those. This time he couldn't help himself.
"My God, what is wrong with you people?" he shouted to the entire store. "Don't you know that method of payment is what speeds or slows a checkout lane? It's not number of items. Look at lane # 3. That red-haired woman with the two full carts checked out faster than this woman with only cottage cheese. This isn't the Express lane. It's the Kafka lane."
"Well, you're the one who chose this lane," said Jennifer. "You should have seen that she was a large curd person. And my name's not Kafka."
There were surprisingly few customers in the Super Bunny. Five checkout lanes were open, but only two were in use. A woman with bright red hair and two full carts was checking out on # 3. The clerks from 2, 4, and 5 were standing together at the end of # 3, pretending to bag the red-haired woman's groceries but actually trying to keep customers from realizing that their numbers were lighted. There was a young woman in the express lane, but she had only a container of large curd cottage cheese, so Ben knew she wouldn't take long. He stepped in behind her. That's when things went bad.
She wanted to pay for the cottage cheese with a credit card. It took a long time for her to find the card in her purse. Then she couldn't get it swiped correctly. It took her two tries to sign the electronic pad. Then she waited. So did the clerk, who wore a name tag that said she was Jennifer, except she was staring over at the other clerks, wishing she could join them, for by now, the red-haired woman was checked and bagged and out the door and clerk # 3 had joined the others for a discussion of when they would take their breaks. Finally Jennifer's brain returned to the express lane, where she noticed that the cottage cheese woman had failed to tap the "Accept" button on the credit card processor. She reminded her to do so. She did.
Normally Prof. Bottoms tries to take an academic approach to these incidents. It's field work and research, he tells himself. After all, his main areas of research are education and stupidity, and checkout lanes are a wonderful laboratory for at least one of those. This time he couldn't help himself.
"My God, what is wrong with you people?" he shouted to the entire store. "Don't you know that method of payment is what speeds or slows a checkout lane? It's not number of items. Look at lane # 3. That red-haired woman with the two full carts checked out faster than this woman with only cottage cheese. This isn't the Express lane. It's the Kafka lane."
"Well, you're the one who chose this lane," said Jennifer. "You should have seen that she was a large curd person. And my name's not Kafka."
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Recalcitrant Technologies
Randall Nathan tried to sign up for Twitter so he could follow the great Andy Borowitz whenever he tweeted. He got to the final step and received the message, "Something is techincally wrong. We're trying to fix it..."
It got him to thinking about old and new technologies. When he was growing up on the farm, if Old Duke, their horse, didn't want to work that day, when he saw Randall or his father coming with the bridle, he ran and stood in the middle of the pond. It was necessary to go off and wait until he forgot why he was in the pond and what he was trying to avoid. Then you could walk up, put the harness on him, and he would pull the plow.
If a computer doesn't work, the technicians say to turn it off and go away and leave it alone for a while. Then harness it up again and see if it will work.
Once Randall's father had gotten Old Duke harnessed up, he would kick him in the behind. Then he would do it again. He called it "rebooting."
It got him to thinking about old and new technologies. When he was growing up on the farm, if Old Duke, their horse, didn't want to work that day, when he saw Randall or his father coming with the bridle, he ran and stood in the middle of the pond. It was necessary to go off and wait until he forgot why he was in the pond and what he was trying to avoid. Then you could walk up, put the harness on him, and he would pull the plow.
If a computer doesn't work, the technicians say to turn it off and go away and leave it alone for a while. Then harness it up again and see if it will work.
Once Randall's father had gotten Old Duke harnessed up, he would kick him in the behind. Then he would do it again. He called it "rebooting."
Wally Prepares for Spring Training
It's just a matter of days before Wally Wagler goes to spring training fantasy camp with the Baltimore Orioles.
Fantasy camps are for middle-aged guys who always thought they could play in the bigs if they ever got a chance. They pay big bucks to get out onto the field in the warmth of FL or AZ, with the heroes of their youth, and a few of the current players.
Wally has wanted to do this for a long time. It has now gone to the top of his bucket list. He is a life-long Reds fan, so he always dreamed of being in Sarasota for spring training. Now, when he is finally going, the Reds have moved to AZ. The Orioles, though, have moved into the Reds' old digs in Sarasota, and he admires Cal Ripken, Jr, who is slated to make at least an appearance, so it's off to Sarasota very soon now.
He's much older than the top age limit for the camp, so he is preparing by doing a pushup every day and getting his hair dyed. His granddaughter offered to do the dye job, and you don't say "No" to a granddaughter, so now his hair is a rather bright pink. He is hoping that the Orioles will think that only a very young guy would wear pink hair with an orange cap.
Fantasy camps are for middle-aged guys who always thought they could play in the bigs if they ever got a chance. They pay big bucks to get out onto the field in the warmth of FL or AZ, with the heroes of their youth, and a few of the current players.
Wally has wanted to do this for a long time. It has now gone to the top of his bucket list. He is a life-long Reds fan, so he always dreamed of being in Sarasota for spring training. Now, when he is finally going, the Reds have moved to AZ. The Orioles, though, have moved into the Reds' old digs in Sarasota, and he admires Cal Ripken, Jr, who is slated to make at least an appearance, so it's off to Sarasota very soon now.
He's much older than the top age limit for the camp, so he is preparing by doing a pushup every day and getting his hair dyed. His granddaughter offered to do the dye job, and you don't say "No" to a granddaughter, so now his hair is a rather bright pink. He is hoping that the Orioles will think that only a very young guy would wear pink hair with an orange cap.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Claire Grooms the Trails
Claire Nathan has been watching the Olympic sking. She has decided that she would prefer to be the groomer, so that she could have the fun of going downhill, but slowly, inside the cab of one of those big rolling machines. It's no surprise to her husband. The skiers in their life have come down the hill fast, with excitement. But it's only because Claire has first groomed the trail for them, slowly pushing away the debris and making smooth the rough places.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Motel Hall Walking at Funerals
Randall Nathan has been out of town. He went to Dallas for the funeral of his cousin, Daniel. He had not seen him since they were Randy and Danny.
In the morning, before the funeral, he walked the halls of the motel. He has walked an hour a day for as long as anyone can remember. In the winter, he has to walk inside. He doesn't mind the cold, but he doesn't want to take another fall on the ice and end up in the hands of the Physical Terrorists. When he is at home, he does winter walking in the Possum Trot Mall.
Claire said she hoped he had not gone to his long-unseen cousin's funeral just to get good weather for walking, since Dallas got a record 22 inch snowfall. He was stuck with walking the motel halls.
He does that more and more, walking in motel halls, because he goes to funerals of relatives and friends a lot.
When he remembers Uncle Ned now, he sees the green diamonds of the hallway carpet in a Super 8. When he remembers Aunt Ola, he sees the maroon triangles of the hallway carpet in a Comfort Inn.
He hopes that when he dies, his relatives will stay at the Blue Bird Inn, so that when they remember him, they will see blue birds laughing up at them.
In the morning, before the funeral, he walked the halls of the motel. He has walked an hour a day for as long as anyone can remember. In the winter, he has to walk inside. He doesn't mind the cold, but he doesn't want to take another fall on the ice and end up in the hands of the Physical Terrorists. When he is at home, he does winter walking in the Possum Trot Mall.
Claire said she hoped he had not gone to his long-unseen cousin's funeral just to get good weather for walking, since Dallas got a record 22 inch snowfall. He was stuck with walking the motel halls.
He does that more and more, walking in motel halls, because he goes to funerals of relatives and friends a lot.
When he remembers Uncle Ned now, he sees the green diamonds of the hallway carpet in a Super 8. When he remembers Aunt Ola, he sees the maroon triangles of the hallway carpet in a Comfort Inn.
He hopes that when he dies, his relatives will stay at the Blue Bird Inn, so that when they remember him, they will see blue birds laughing up at them.
Friday, February 19, 2010
To Ad or Not To Ad
My granddaughter has encouraged me to let Google put ads on the Periwinkle Chronicles page. Since I am a wealthy retired preacher, I have no need of more money myself, but it would be nice to make a little to give to my charities. [If we do allow ads, we cannot say that the money goes to charity, since Google is not set up to send it directly to a charity and cannot verify how it is spent once it goes to the blogger.]
Google, or AdSense, will select which ads to use, "according to the content of the web site." It's hard to imagine what ads would be appropriate to the content of PC!
Google will not say exactly how much they pay per "click," but just that they want the blogger to make more money than s/he would elsewhere. In my case, of course, that's not difficult.
I started writing PC just for fun, mine and yours. I'm hesitant to complicate the PC prophet motive with the profit motive. However, it would be nice to tap outside sources for money for good causes.
So, please, my faithful Followers & readers, let me know what you think. You can use the Comments box, which sometimes doesn't work, or contact me directly via email or Face Book. Thanks.
Google, or AdSense, will select which ads to use, "according to the content of the web site." It's hard to imagine what ads would be appropriate to the content of PC!
Google will not say exactly how much they pay per "click," but just that they want the blogger to make more money than s/he would elsewhere. In my case, of course, that's not difficult.
I started writing PC just for fun, mine and yours. I'm hesitant to complicate the PC prophet motive with the profit motive. However, it would be nice to tap outside sources for money for good causes.
So, please, my faithful Followers & readers, let me know what you think. You can use the Comments box, which sometimes doesn't work, or contact me directly via email or Face Book. Thanks.
Olympics, Metrics, & Cold Comfort
Jake and Jenny Newland were watching the Olympics. "I had no idea Vancouver is such a big city. 2 million." Jenny said. "Yes," said Jake, "but they use the metric system there. In the US, that would be only 1.24 million."
When Jenny was working out later at Lumps For Women [1], she explained this to her fellow Lumpers. They assured her they were only laughing WITH her, but that was cold comfort.
Now that Clara Wembley has turned 3, she has permission to walk down to the Newlands to visit Franklin and Eleanor, their pot-bellied pigs. [No one else knows Clara has this permission, but she figures that since she is moving from the Autonomy vs Shame and Doubt stage of psycho-sexual adjustment to Initiative vs Guilt, she should continue working on autonomy and also sieze the initiative.]
When she returned, she announced to her nana, Kate Bates: "Wow, Mrs. Jenny is being really nice to Mr. Jake. She's even letting him eat supper in the back yard with Frankin and Elnor."
[1] For an explanation of Lumps, see "Zorro's Nana," Jan. 4, 2010.
When Jenny was working out later at Lumps For Women [1], she explained this to her fellow Lumpers. They assured her they were only laughing WITH her, but that was cold comfort.
Now that Clara Wembley has turned 3, she has permission to walk down to the Newlands to visit Franklin and Eleanor, their pot-bellied pigs. [No one else knows Clara has this permission, but she figures that since she is moving from the Autonomy vs Shame and Doubt stage of psycho-sexual adjustment to Initiative vs Guilt, she should continue working on autonomy and also sieze the initiative.]
When she returned, she announced to her nana, Kate Bates: "Wow, Mrs. Jenny is being really nice to Mr. Jake. She's even letting him eat supper in the back yard with Frankin and Elnor."
[1] For an explanation of Lumps, see "Zorro's Nana," Jan. 4, 2010.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Periwinkle Olympics
Periwinkle County's favorite son, Percy Smith III, "The Flying Persimmon," is participating in the Olympics in Vancouver, trying to win a medal in the Hammel Biathlon, which is building a snowman while sking downhill. It is named for the writer who created the sport on his very first ski run. Also, Percy's grandfather, Percy Smith I, "The Flaming Persimmon," is participating in the sauna competition.
This has inspired those left behind in PC to stage their own version of the Winter Olympics. The Hurling competition is held in the parking lot of The Whistle & Thistle Biker Bar and Tea House. The 3-legged ski race is going on in The Tetons Bleu Mountains, on the east side of Periwinkle, adjoining Alps County, or Alpo County, as the Italian-Americans in Verdi County call it. And, of course, there is the famous Reverse Dog Sled races, in which people pull the sleds while the dogs ride.
Most importantly, though, there is The Sinking Pickup event. Drivers go out onto Lake Winamedal and drive at great speeds, looking for the place where the ice is thin enough to swallow the pickup. The first pickup driver through the ice gets the gold medal, plus a prize of 3 days at the Indiginous Idiot Treatment Center.
This has inspired those left behind in PC to stage their own version of the Winter Olympics. The Hurling competition is held in the parking lot of The Whistle & Thistle Biker Bar and Tea House. The 3-legged ski race is going on in The Tetons Bleu Mountains, on the east side of Periwinkle, adjoining Alps County, or Alpo County, as the Italian-Americans in Verdi County call it. And, of course, there is the famous Reverse Dog Sled races, in which people pull the sleds while the dogs ride.
Most importantly, though, there is The Sinking Pickup event. Drivers go out onto Lake Winamedal and drive at great speeds, looking for the place where the ice is thin enough to swallow the pickup. The first pickup driver through the ice gets the gold medal, plus a prize of 3 days at the Indiginous Idiot Treatment Center.
Monday, February 15, 2010
On The Way Home
A poem for Valentine's Day...
I walked him home.
We did not touch,
there never was that need,
not even now.
"Sixty years... it isn't bad,
not many couples will make that" I said.
Close to his cloudy eyes
he held the small red rose.
My hand had pulled it from the graveside bower,
not his.
He gave it back.
"Love is never long enough," he said.
I walked him home.
We did not touch,
there never was that need,
not even now.
"Sixty years... it isn't bad,
not many couples will make that" I said.
Close to his cloudy eyes
he held the small red rose.
My hand had pulled it from the graveside bower,
not his.
He gave it back.
"Love is never long enough," he said.
Last Train Before the Snow
Robert "Chuck" Judd moved back to Periwinkle County from Montana last fall, as an 80th birthday present to his daughter. It was his 80th, not hers, but he thought it would be an exciting present for her. It was so exciting she spent three days in the hospital, on "the sixth floor," if you know what I mean.
Robbie, as he was known as a child, grew up on Western movies and couldn't wait to be in them himself. He ran off to Hollywood at age eight and played "Little Woodchuck" in a series of movies that featured Autry "Flip 'Em High" Rogers, "The Cooking Cowboy." Through the years "Little Woodchuck" got shortened to "Chuck."
After his movie days he moved to Montana and was a real working cowboy, as well as a well-known "cowboy poet," writing in the usual vein of cowboy poets, disclaiming about "piles on the prairie" and similar themes.
He brought his three horses with him, Simmie, Puddin, and Dense, all named for his favorite persimmon meal, and also for their own qualities. You can see all three, any day, munching contentedly at the trough in his daughter's back yard.
The County Council, or "Gang of Eleven" as they are popularly known, soon named him "Poet Lariat" of the county.
His daughter thought he might feel too confined in Periwinkle County, now that he was an official poet, and encouraged him to take a trip to New York to find a publisher. He did. She worried quite a bit. "He might get lost and never return," she said wistfully.
He didn't get lost, but he got disgusted with New Yorkers. They got a 20 inch snow storm and thought it was a big deal. That was nothing compared to the storms he had weathered in Montana. So he took the train back to Periwinkle County. His timing was good. He got the last train before the next storm came. On the way home he got out his guitar and began to write a song...
The snow's real pretty if you've got windows,
But it uglies up fast when it howls and blows.
The snow's sort of cozy if you've got some walls,
But it's downright tricky if there's calves down in the draws.
The blizzard's coming, it's time to go
You'd better get the last train before the snow.
You got to pull the calves out or they're going to die
So put on your mackinaw and give a big sigh
And go out to the coulees with your horse and rope
And noose 'em real gentle and pull 'em up the slope
The blizzard's coming, it's time to go
You'd better get the last train before the snow.
Before he got home, Amtrack had contacted him about appearing in a TV commercial.
Robbie, as he was known as a child, grew up on Western movies and couldn't wait to be in them himself. He ran off to Hollywood at age eight and played "Little Woodchuck" in a series of movies that featured Autry "Flip 'Em High" Rogers, "The Cooking Cowboy." Through the years "Little Woodchuck" got shortened to "Chuck."
After his movie days he moved to Montana and was a real working cowboy, as well as a well-known "cowboy poet," writing in the usual vein of cowboy poets, disclaiming about "piles on the prairie" and similar themes.
He brought his three horses with him, Simmie, Puddin, and Dense, all named for his favorite persimmon meal, and also for their own qualities. You can see all three, any day, munching contentedly at the trough in his daughter's back yard.
The County Council, or "Gang of Eleven" as they are popularly known, soon named him "Poet Lariat" of the county.
His daughter thought he might feel too confined in Periwinkle County, now that he was an official poet, and encouraged him to take a trip to New York to find a publisher. He did. She worried quite a bit. "He might get lost and never return," she said wistfully.
He didn't get lost, but he got disgusted with New Yorkers. They got a 20 inch snow storm and thought it was a big deal. That was nothing compared to the storms he had weathered in Montana. So he took the train back to Periwinkle County. His timing was good. He got the last train before the next storm came. On the way home he got out his guitar and began to write a song...
The snow's real pretty if you've got windows,
But it uglies up fast when it howls and blows.
The snow's sort of cozy if you've got some walls,
But it's downright tricky if there's calves down in the draws.
The blizzard's coming, it's time to go
You'd better get the last train before the snow.
You got to pull the calves out or they're going to die
So put on your mackinaw and give a big sigh
And go out to the coulees with your horse and rope
And noose 'em real gentle and pull 'em up the slope
The blizzard's coming, it's time to go
You'd better get the last train before the snow.
Before he got home, Amtrack had contacted him about appearing in a TV commercial.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Frozen Valentines
Claire Nathan stormed in from the garage.
"I'm trying to get the bulbs started in the persimmon hatchery in the basement," she groused, "but I left the manure in the garage, and now it's frozen."
Her husband was delighted. He just remembered that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and now he can go out and buy her the perfect gift.
"I'm trying to get the bulbs started in the persimmon hatchery in the basement," she groused, "but I left the manure in the garage, and now it's frozen."
Her husband was delighted. He just remembered that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and now he can go out and buy her the perfect gift.
Alone Again...Naturally
It's Saturday night, and Bobcat Whistle has radio station WTBP, "The Big Persimmon," turned up just loud enough that each person at the bar or at a table can hear it. It's time for "Alone Again," the humor show for anyone who doesn't have a date for Saturday night.
No one knows who the host is. He just calls himself "your host for a dateless Saturday night." The theme song, "Alone Again, Naturally," is playing, and so all the dateless denizens of The Whistle & Thistle are eating or drinking quietly as they prepare to listen to the host's hilarious tales of romantic woe. It is time for what Bobcat calls "radio silence." Tonight the radio silence is especially poignant, for tomorrow is Valentine's Day.
The host sings sad songs of lost loves, with funny twists, and tells stories of his dates, and what went wrong with each. The girls he dated have names like Ura Hogg or Ann Tietam. Tonight he tells how he took Ann to a Civil War re-enactment, but she ran off with Abe Lincoln.
But he also tells the story of his first date as a college student. It wasn't actually a date, it was just an invitation. He asked a girl--he just calls her Susie--if she would go on a date with him, but she said, "Of course not. You're so old-fashioned you might as well date the radio." So that's what he's been doing, every Saturday night since.
It gets even quieter at the W&T as "Alone Again" plays the show out. People suspect that the story of Susie is true.
They don't know that the show is taped. They don't notice the stranger in the corner who gets up and leaves when the show is over, the one who, like all the rest of them, came to the W&T to listen to the radio, together, even if alone.
No one knows who the host is. He just calls himself "your host for a dateless Saturday night." The theme song, "Alone Again, Naturally," is playing, and so all the dateless denizens of The Whistle & Thistle are eating or drinking quietly as they prepare to listen to the host's hilarious tales of romantic woe. It is time for what Bobcat calls "radio silence." Tonight the radio silence is especially poignant, for tomorrow is Valentine's Day.
The host sings sad songs of lost loves, with funny twists, and tells stories of his dates, and what went wrong with each. The girls he dated have names like Ura Hogg or Ann Tietam. Tonight he tells how he took Ann to a Civil War re-enactment, but she ran off with Abe Lincoln.
But he also tells the story of his first date as a college student. It wasn't actually a date, it was just an invitation. He asked a girl--he just calls her Susie--if she would go on a date with him, but she said, "Of course not. You're so old-fashioned you might as well date the radio." So that's what he's been doing, every Saturday night since.
It gets even quieter at the W&T as "Alone Again" plays the show out. People suspect that the story of Susie is true.
They don't know that the show is taped. They don't notice the stranger in the corner who gets up and leaves when the show is over, the one who, like all the rest of them, came to the W&T to listen to the radio, together, even if alone.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Birthday Invites Are Not Required
David Balkum is the new young pastor at Forsythia Lutheran. He is a student at Discordia Lutheran Seminary in Capitol City. He comes down on the weekends. This week he has come a day early to get ready for Lent.
He called on both Fred and Herb Heltzog to tell them they are welcome at the Ash Wednesday service, but they cannot take communion because "if your brother has something against you," you cannot "come to the altar until you go, and make it right with your brother." [Matthew 5:23-24]
That united the brothers in at least one way: they both got very angry at the new young pastor. After all, they had been going to Forsythia for 20 years now, sitting on opposite sides, not speaking to each other there or anywhere else, and no previous pastor had ever brought up the idea of loving one's brother as a requirement for communion, or anything else.
Pastor Balkum tricked them into coming to yell at him at the same time. That made them even madder. They sat on opposite sides of his little office, with their backs turned to each other, arms folded across their chests. They looked like bookends of discord.
"Look," the young pastor said, "I don't like either one of you, but I'm still a Christian, because I love you. Loving doesn't mean touchy-feely stuff. It means hoping and praying for the best for the other person. I wouldn't invite either one of you to my birthday party, but every day I pray for you. I don't pray that you'll reconcile with each other, or that you'll be nicer so I won't feel bad about not liking you, or that you'll put as much in the plate as you tell the IRS you do. I just pray for you. 'Bless Fred and give him a good life,' I pray. 'Bless Herb and give him a good life,' I pray."
"He prays for me first," said Fred.
"That's because you need it more," said Herb.
"I wouldn't go to his birthday party even if he did invite me," said Fred.
"You certainly don't need to eat any more cake," said Herb.
Pastor Balkum was very pleased. He had won $5 from The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard). He had gotten Fred and Herb to speak to each other.
He called on both Fred and Herb Heltzog to tell them they are welcome at the Ash Wednesday service, but they cannot take communion because "if your brother has something against you," you cannot "come to the altar until you go, and make it right with your brother." [Matthew 5:23-24]
That united the brothers in at least one way: they both got very angry at the new young pastor. After all, they had been going to Forsythia for 20 years now, sitting on opposite sides, not speaking to each other there or anywhere else, and no previous pastor had ever brought up the idea of loving one's brother as a requirement for communion, or anything else.
Pastor Balkum tricked them into coming to yell at him at the same time. That made them even madder. They sat on opposite sides of his little office, with their backs turned to each other, arms folded across their chests. They looked like bookends of discord.
"Look," the young pastor said, "I don't like either one of you, but I'm still a Christian, because I love you. Loving doesn't mean touchy-feely stuff. It means hoping and praying for the best for the other person. I wouldn't invite either one of you to my birthday party, but every day I pray for you. I don't pray that you'll reconcile with each other, or that you'll be nicer so I won't feel bad about not liking you, or that you'll put as much in the plate as you tell the IRS you do. I just pray for you. 'Bless Fred and give him a good life,' I pray. 'Bless Herb and give him a good life,' I pray."
"He prays for me first," said Fred.
"That's because you need it more," said Herb.
"I wouldn't go to his birthday party even if he did invite me," said Fred.
"You certainly don't need to eat any more cake," said Herb.
Pastor Balkum was very pleased. He had won $5 from The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard). He had gotten Fred and Herb to speak to each other.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Valentine Exchanges & Forebodings
Johnny Kendy needed a big coffee can, without the coffee, with a slot cut in the lid, so his classmates could drop Valentine cards into it. His mother had been to Slo-Mart to buy a gross of Valentines, or maybe she thought "Be Mine, You Swine," the type of romantic couplet on most of them, was gross--hard to tell which, because the word "gross" always followed her trips to Slo-Mart...
Anyway, he had the Valentine cards to drop into the coffee cans of his classmates, but he needed the receptacle for his own, because his parents do not drink coffee, so his Grandpa and Grandma not only provided a fair-trade coffee can for him, but actually walked into his classroom with it just before school ended, and handed it to Mrs. Scheiny, which is not a good name for a teacher, because of what it rhymes with, and then they hung around and waited for him, while all his classmates looked on in wonder, because Grandpa is the fashion leader for the whole town, until class was over, because it was their day to take him and his sister to their house after school, which was a good thing, because Grandma always had her famous homemade pizza and chocolate chimp cookies for them, which is a perfectly balanced after-school snack, but it meant he had to listen to Grandpa tell about Valentine card exchanges when he was Johnny's age, and Grandpa's 11-year-old romance, which involved a girl named Stella.
Johnny and his sister, Betsy, do not normally take Grandpa's tales of past romances seriously. After all, his girlfriends all had names like Mary Christmas and Ann Droid and Dee Light and Flora Duh. Except for this Stella, whose last name was simply Richardson, so it sounded real, and she had long curly brown hair, and was very pretty, except it had been so long that Grandpa couldn't remember exactly what she looked like, which sounded a bit suspicious, since his memory had been quite sharp until Grandma walked into the room right after the curly brown hair part.
The way Grandpa described Stella, she sounded a lot like Ellen in Johnny's own class, but who, besides Grandpa, would think about doing something like taking all his birthday money and buying a heart-shaped box of chocolates and then walking six blocks in the dark and cold to deliver it to a girl like Ellen, who wasn't even all that pretty, except in comparison to all the other cooty-laden girls in the whole school.
It was all very embarrassing and ominously foreboding.
Anyway, he had the Valentine cards to drop into the coffee cans of his classmates, but he needed the receptacle for his own, because his parents do not drink coffee, so his Grandpa and Grandma not only provided a fair-trade coffee can for him, but actually walked into his classroom with it just before school ended, and handed it to Mrs. Scheiny, which is not a good name for a teacher, because of what it rhymes with, and then they hung around and waited for him, while all his classmates looked on in wonder, because Grandpa is the fashion leader for the whole town, until class was over, because it was their day to take him and his sister to their house after school, which was a good thing, because Grandma always had her famous homemade pizza and chocolate chimp cookies for them, which is a perfectly balanced after-school snack, but it meant he had to listen to Grandpa tell about Valentine card exchanges when he was Johnny's age, and Grandpa's 11-year-old romance, which involved a girl named Stella.
Johnny and his sister, Betsy, do not normally take Grandpa's tales of past romances seriously. After all, his girlfriends all had names like Mary Christmas and Ann Droid and Dee Light and Flora Duh. Except for this Stella, whose last name was simply Richardson, so it sounded real, and she had long curly brown hair, and was very pretty, except it had been so long that Grandpa couldn't remember exactly what she looked like, which sounded a bit suspicious, since his memory had been quite sharp until Grandma walked into the room right after the curly brown hair part.
The way Grandpa described Stella, she sounded a lot like Ellen in Johnny's own class, but who, besides Grandpa, would think about doing something like taking all his birthday money and buying a heart-shaped box of chocolates and then walking six blocks in the dark and cold to deliver it to a girl like Ellen, who wasn't even all that pretty, except in comparison to all the other cooty-laden girls in the whole school.
It was all very embarrassing and ominously foreboding.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Mayor Paler Calls for Resignation of Randall Nathan
As some know, Pastor Randall Nathan began putting (Ret.) after his name, the way retired personnel of the military and circus do, so that people would know they could not ask him any longer to do pastoral offenses, I mean, offices, like weddings and potluck prayers. That's how retired generals avoid ordering people into battle, and retired acrobats avoid the high wire, that simple little (Ret.) after their name.
When a child asked him, though, if (Ret.) means Retard, he decided that it did, since in Periwinkle County, "retired" is pronounced "retard," and since retard in music means "slow down," which is what he is doing in retarment. So he has been writing his name as The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard).
Now, though, Memphjus' mayor, Sara M. Paler, has learned of this and called for his resignation for using "The R word," which, she said, was sure both to be insulting and to "upset the public order," and which he had not used in a satirical way, which would have made it okay.
He would be glad to resign, if he had anything to resign from, but he's not about to stop using "Rev."
When a child asked him, though, if (Ret.) means Retard, he decided that it did, since in Periwinkle County, "retired" is pronounced "retard," and since retard in music means "slow down," which is what he is doing in retarment. So he has been writing his name as The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard).
Now, though, Memphjus' mayor, Sara M. Paler, has learned of this and called for his resignation for using "The R word," which, she said, was sure both to be insulting and to "upset the public order," and which he had not used in a satirical way, which would have made it okay.
He would be glad to resign, if he had anything to resign from, but he's not about to stop using "Rev."
Faster Down Hill
"Have you noticed," Claire Nathan said, "that everything goes faster downhill?"
"I think even Einstein noticed that," her husband, Randall, said.
"No, I'm talking about growing older. When you're young, you literally run up that hill, trying to get to the top. As you get farther up, you go slower. It's steeper, and you have less energy. The top is rounded, and when you crest it, you don't notice at first how it's sloping down on the other side. But then you start down, and you gain momentum, and pretty soon you're out of control, windmilling down, going so fast that getting out of bed and getting back in just sort of blend together."
Her husband thought about it and decided to go to bed.
"I think even Einstein noticed that," her husband, Randall, said.
"No, I'm talking about growing older. When you're young, you literally run up that hill, trying to get to the top. As you get farther up, you go slower. It's steeper, and you have less energy. The top is rounded, and when you crest it, you don't notice at first how it's sloping down on the other side. But then you start down, and you gain momentum, and pretty soon you're out of control, windmilling down, going so fast that getting out of bed and getting back in just sort of blend together."
Her husband thought about it and decided to go to bed.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Jake's New Pants
Jake Newland has discovered there is something wrong with his new flannel-linbed pants, the ones he wears out in public. After he gets someplace where there are people, like Buddy Mutts or The Whistle & Thistle, they unzip themselves. Since Jenny got them for him for Christmas, he is sure this is part of her campaign to drive him crazy so she can have him declared. That's Jake's story, and he's sticking to it.
The Mayor Deals With Bear Behinds
Mayor Sara M. Paler, known to her foes and family as Vlad, has called an emergency meeting of the Memphjus Town Council for tonight. It's their regular meeting night, anyway, but she likes to call emergency meetings. This one is to consider what to do about Bear Behinds.
Mayor Sara M. Paler attended worship at The Methodist yesterday. She is a member at Harvest Time Worship Center & Pumpkin Stand ["Two Screens, No Craning"], but being newly elected, after a short stint on the Dog Pound Board, followed by another short stint on the Ice Cream Vendors' Certifying Committeee,she has been making the rounds of the churches.
She is herself a tongue speaker, both in church andd Town Council meetings, so she was probably the only person at The Methodist who was not surprised that Pentecost broke out even before the Honda Prelude was over. [The Finance Comm. has been selling naming rights to various parts of the worship service.]
She was, however, incensed that the Methodists were trying to act like real Christians instead of the Niceness Creed, scum-loving, sinner-forgiving liberals everyone knows them to be. If they were real Christians, they would spend their time predicting the end of the world and making lists of those who will be left behind when the Rapture comes.
This confusion was the result of Flo Critten and her Bear Behinds, and what that grizzly on Bessie Bandervilt's denim dress did to poor Zygmund Froid to cause him to break out in tongues, so, according to Mayor Sara M. Paler, something has to be done. Tonight she will introduce her ground-breaking, ceiling-shattering legislation: No Bear Left Behind, which will take care of the Bear Behinds problem and Leftists at the same time.
Mayor Sara M. Paler attended worship at The Methodist yesterday. She is a member at Harvest Time Worship Center & Pumpkin Stand ["Two Screens, No Craning"], but being newly elected, after a short stint on the Dog Pound Board, followed by another short stint on the Ice Cream Vendors' Certifying Committeee,she has been making the rounds of the churches.
She is herself a tongue speaker, both in church andd Town Council meetings, so she was probably the only person at The Methodist who was not surprised that Pentecost broke out even before the Honda Prelude was over. [The Finance Comm. has been selling naming rights to various parts of the worship service.]
She was, however, incensed that the Methodists were trying to act like real Christians instead of the Niceness Creed, scum-loving, sinner-forgiving liberals everyone knows them to be. If they were real Christians, they would spend their time predicting the end of the world and making lists of those who will be left behind when the Rapture comes.
This confusion was the result of Flo Critten and her Bear Behinds, and what that grizzly on Bessie Bandervilt's denim dress did to poor Zygmund Froid to cause him to break out in tongues, so, according to Mayor Sara M. Paler, something has to be done. Tonight she will introduce her ground-breaking, ceiling-shattering legislation: No Bear Left Behind, which will take care of the Bear Behinds problem and Leftists at the same time.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Bear Behinds
Bear Behinds is the creation of Flo Critten, who used to run The Danville House.
It started as a home for unwed mothers and expanded to housing homeless women and children, too. It's an old hotel at the edge of downtown.
Flo needed something for the residents of the house to do, so they could earn some money and some self-respect, so she had them embroider cute little teddy bears on the bottoms of kids' underwear and sold them to grandparents. It became quite a sensation. Flo had to expand the operation into the abandoned Bulgarian Baptist Church complex.
Now they have expanded the line as well as the facility, to adults, and to overwear as well as underwear, and to real types of bears, like brown and black and ursus minor.
Bessie Bandervilt wore a Bear Behinds denim skirt to church Sunday. It featured a grizzly that smiled beningly when she was standing still during coffee time in the narthex before the worship service. When it came time for worship, Bessie started for the second pew, where she always sits, because the hearing aids are there, and she knows which set of earphones picks up the truckers CB channel during worship.
As she walked down the aisle, the previously benign grizzly snarled and gnashed its teeth.
It was quite traumatic for Zygmund Froid, who was being pushed down the aisle in his wheelchair behind Bessie, so that her Bear Behind was right at his eye level. It was the first time anyone at The Methodist had ever spoken in tongues.
It started as a home for unwed mothers and expanded to housing homeless women and children, too. It's an old hotel at the edge of downtown.
Flo needed something for the residents of the house to do, so they could earn some money and some self-respect, so she had them embroider cute little teddy bears on the bottoms of kids' underwear and sold them to grandparents. It became quite a sensation. Flo had to expand the operation into the abandoned Bulgarian Baptist Church complex.
Now they have expanded the line as well as the facility, to adults, and to overwear as well as underwear, and to real types of bears, like brown and black and ursus minor.
Bessie Bandervilt wore a Bear Behinds denim skirt to church Sunday. It featured a grizzly that smiled beningly when she was standing still during coffee time in the narthex before the worship service. When it came time for worship, Bessie started for the second pew, where she always sits, because the hearing aids are there, and she knows which set of earphones picks up the truckers CB channel during worship.
As she walked down the aisle, the previously benign grizzly snarled and gnashed its teeth.
It was quite traumatic for Zygmund Froid, who was being pushed down the aisle in his wheelchair behind Bessie, so that her Bear Behind was right at his eye level. It was the first time anyone at The Methodist had ever spoken in tongues.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The "Just Before" Sale
As part of the Octoberfest-Ground Hog Celebration in Periwinkle County this weekend, The Methodist is having a "Just Before" sale, where everyone can bring the stuff they bought just before they no longer needed it. Basements and attics and closets are full of "just before" stuff.
Jake Newland bought a new bowling ball just before he could no longer walk. Marv Dolan got a hearing aid just before the radio station started carrying Rush Limbaugh. Bessie Bandervilt bought a set of steeel pots just before she got "rheumatiz" and could no longer lift them. Maurice Mann bought a whole box of 9x12 tablets just before he got a computer. George Petrosky bought a lawn mower just before he had to move to an assisted living apartment. Val Linder bought rope sandals just before she got toe fungus.
Three-year old Clara Wembley heard about the sale during the announcements at worship last Sunday. Nobody else listens to the announcements, since they are printed in the bulletin and they can read. They take the opportunity to make grocery lists. Clara, though, a non-reader, was quite intrigued by what she heard.
She decided to put her bow and arrow into the "just before" sale. She had stolen them from her brother, Marp, who was originally Mark, but Clara could not pronouce that, just before she realized she needed something more effective to wreak revenge on Shingles, the dog, who was originally Jingles, but Clara couldn't pronounce that, either, for stealing her blankie on Christmas Eve.
She is not allowed to watch the Discovery Channel at home, but she was visiting her nana, Kate Bates, and "Old Daddy Nana," Ben "Seymour" Bottoms, Kate's husband, was watching a show about dynamite and did not notice when Clara slipped into the room.
Clara knows that mostly-retired undertaker, Jake Newland, keeps dynamite in his garage for "digging" graves in the winter. She also knows that Jake is the kind of old man who will give a little girl anything she wants, without questions. And she knows just what she will give Shingles, and where, whether he wants it or not.
Jake Newland bought a new bowling ball just before he could no longer walk. Marv Dolan got a hearing aid just before the radio station started carrying Rush Limbaugh. Bessie Bandervilt bought a set of steeel pots just before she got "rheumatiz" and could no longer lift them. Maurice Mann bought a whole box of 9x12 tablets just before he got a computer. George Petrosky bought a lawn mower just before he had to move to an assisted living apartment. Val Linder bought rope sandals just before she got toe fungus.
Three-year old Clara Wembley heard about the sale during the announcements at worship last Sunday. Nobody else listens to the announcements, since they are printed in the bulletin and they can read. They take the opportunity to make grocery lists. Clara, though, a non-reader, was quite intrigued by what she heard.
She decided to put her bow and arrow into the "just before" sale. She had stolen them from her brother, Marp, who was originally Mark, but Clara could not pronouce that, just before she realized she needed something more effective to wreak revenge on Shingles, the dog, who was originally Jingles, but Clara couldn't pronounce that, either, for stealing her blankie on Christmas Eve.
She is not allowed to watch the Discovery Channel at home, but she was visiting her nana, Kate Bates, and "Old Daddy Nana," Ben "Seymour" Bottoms, Kate's husband, was watching a show about dynamite and did not notice when Clara slipped into the room.
Clara knows that mostly-retired undertaker, Jake Newland, keeps dynamite in his garage for "digging" graves in the winter. She also knows that Jake is the kind of old man who will give a little girl anything she wants, without questions. And she knows just what she will give Shingles, and where, whether he wants it or not.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Octoberfest & Ground Hog Day
Everyone in Periwinkle County is gearing up for Octoberfest this weekend. Everyone was just too busy to have it in October. Besides, Feb. is a better time for sausage making, and so they can combine Octoberfest with Ground Hog Day.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Mutual Birthday Day
Today is Mutual Birthday Day, although the mutuals don't know it.
Bonita Ungress is 93. She is wondering if there will be peaches for lunch, at the Blau Harr Home for Dessert Days Living, overlooking the parking lot of the Marmoset IGA.
Jesse Pool is 73. He is wondering if his grandson will call before he goes to basketball practice at Blue Ridge U.
Del Ecklor is 53. He is wondering if he will live to be 54.
Shirley Blackwell is 33. She is wondering if her husband will remember.
Betsy Kendy is 13. She is wondering if anyone will ask her to the dance.
Clara Wembley is 3. She is wondering if anyone will notice if Shingles, the dog, disappears.
Bonita Ungress is 93. She is wondering if there will be peaches for lunch, at the Blau Harr Home for Dessert Days Living, overlooking the parking lot of the Marmoset IGA.
Jesse Pool is 73. He is wondering if his grandson will call before he goes to basketball practice at Blue Ridge U.
Del Ecklor is 53. He is wondering if he will live to be 54.
Shirley Blackwell is 33. She is wondering if her husband will remember.
Betsy Kendy is 13. She is wondering if anyone will ask her to the dance.
Clara Wembley is 3. She is wondering if anyone will notice if Shingles, the dog, disappears.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Starting With Love
Randall Nathan heard about the debate at The Whistle & Thistle, the debate about the greatest novel of the 20th century, brought on by the death of J.D. Salinger. He was lothe to disagree with the selection of "The Little Engine That Could" over "The Catcher in the Rye," except for one thing: "Little Engine" starts with power; "Catcher" starts with love.
It's a bit unfair to say that "Little Engine" is only about power. Love is in that story, too, or at least friendship. But an engine of any size runs on a narrow track. The story of the little engine that could is easily co-opted into that lie that "you can be anything you want to be," if you just try hard enough. Have you ever noticed that those "anything you want to be" stories are not about being a great parent or teacher or neighbor? They are always about making a lot of money or winning a gold medal. They are about power, not about love.
That was what Randall Nathan was thinking as he tried to remember the movement of the story of Holden Caulfield, the protagonist of "The Catcher in the Rye."
He knew most people would be surprised, at the least, to hear him say that Catcher is about love. J.D. Salinger was not a very loving person. He avoided people as much as he could. He was a poor husband and father. Most authors, though, including those of the Bible, write about their hopes, not their realities.
Holden had this recurring dream about being the catcher in the rye. There was this big rye field. It was a pleasant place, and children played in it. But it was on the edge of an abyss. Holden ran along the edge, pushing the children back into the field if they got too close to the edge. He was the catcher, keeping them from harm.
He is around 17, as Randall remembers the story, and is fed up with all the "phoniness" around him. He decides to run away, to escape the phoniness. Before he goes, though, he wants to see the one non-phony person in his life, his little sister, Phoebe, one more time. She agrees to meet him. Where was it? The museum? The library? Some place like that, Randall is sure. When she gets there, she is dragging her suitcase. She's going with him. How old was she? About 12? Yes, probably. And just what any teenage boy wants when he's running away, his little sister with him.
Holden tries to get away from her. He walks away. She walks after him. He yells at her to go back. She doesn't say anything, just keeps trudging along, dragging her suitcase. Finally he gives up. They go to Central Park. He buys her a ride on the carousel. As the carousel spins, she keeps reaching for the brass ring, the one that will give her a free ride. It's a dangerous reach, and she almost falls off. He wants to yell at her, to tell her to be careful. He is, after all, "the catcher in the rye." But then love overcomes power. He says, "I guess if a kid is going to reach for the brass ring, you've just got to let them reach."
It wasn't Holden who was the catcher in the rye, it was Phoebe. She didn't do it with power, pushing her big brother back into the field. She did it with love, by saying, Wherever you go, I go, too, even if it's over the edge, even if I've got to drag this damn big cross, I mean, suitcase, with me. You've got the freedom to reach for that brass ring, and if you grab it, or if you fall, I'll be there.
Randall Nathan sits there and thinks that J.D. Salinger solved the problem of theodicy, why God lets bad things happen. Theology always starts with the power of God--omnipotence, and all that. But Jesus starts with the love of God.
Starting with the power of God actually limits God's power. God can't love, because love requires letting go of the power, not pushing the kids back into the rye, but giving them the freedom to try for the brass ring. Love without freedom is called rape. It's about power. Jesus knew that God's power was love, in letting go of the power, in giving freedom to reject. But the one choice we don't have is to be where God is not. The love is in God's presence, not in hisher power.
God is really a little sister with a suitcase.
It's a bit unfair to say that "Little Engine" is only about power. Love is in that story, too, or at least friendship. But an engine of any size runs on a narrow track. The story of the little engine that could is easily co-opted into that lie that "you can be anything you want to be," if you just try hard enough. Have you ever noticed that those "anything you want to be" stories are not about being a great parent or teacher or neighbor? They are always about making a lot of money or winning a gold medal. They are about power, not about love.
That was what Randall Nathan was thinking as he tried to remember the movement of the story of Holden Caulfield, the protagonist of "The Catcher in the Rye."
He knew most people would be surprised, at the least, to hear him say that Catcher is about love. J.D. Salinger was not a very loving person. He avoided people as much as he could. He was a poor husband and father. Most authors, though, including those of the Bible, write about their hopes, not their realities.
Holden had this recurring dream about being the catcher in the rye. There was this big rye field. It was a pleasant place, and children played in it. But it was on the edge of an abyss. Holden ran along the edge, pushing the children back into the field if they got too close to the edge. He was the catcher, keeping them from harm.
He is around 17, as Randall remembers the story, and is fed up with all the "phoniness" around him. He decides to run away, to escape the phoniness. Before he goes, though, he wants to see the one non-phony person in his life, his little sister, Phoebe, one more time. She agrees to meet him. Where was it? The museum? The library? Some place like that, Randall is sure. When she gets there, she is dragging her suitcase. She's going with him. How old was she? About 12? Yes, probably. And just what any teenage boy wants when he's running away, his little sister with him.
Holden tries to get away from her. He walks away. She walks after him. He yells at her to go back. She doesn't say anything, just keeps trudging along, dragging her suitcase. Finally he gives up. They go to Central Park. He buys her a ride on the carousel. As the carousel spins, she keeps reaching for the brass ring, the one that will give her a free ride. It's a dangerous reach, and she almost falls off. He wants to yell at her, to tell her to be careful. He is, after all, "the catcher in the rye." But then love overcomes power. He says, "I guess if a kid is going to reach for the brass ring, you've just got to let them reach."
It wasn't Holden who was the catcher in the rye, it was Phoebe. She didn't do it with power, pushing her big brother back into the field. She did it with love, by saying, Wherever you go, I go, too, even if it's over the edge, even if I've got to drag this damn big cross, I mean, suitcase, with me. You've got the freedom to reach for that brass ring, and if you grab it, or if you fall, I'll be there.
Randall Nathan sits there and thinks that J.D. Salinger solved the problem of theodicy, why God lets bad things happen. Theology always starts with the power of God--omnipotence, and all that. But Jesus starts with the love of God.
Starting with the power of God actually limits God's power. God can't love, because love requires letting go of the power, not pushing the kids back into the rye, but giving them the freedom to try for the brass ring. Love without freedom is called rape. It's about power. Jesus knew that God's power was love, in letting go of the power, in giving freedom to reject. But the one choice we don't have is to be where God is not. The love is in God's presence, not in hisher power.
God is really a little sister with a suitcase.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Most Important Novel of the 20th Century
The death of J.D. Salinger at the age of 91 didn't change his relationships much. No one ever saw him before, either. But it did cause a spirited debate at The Whistle & Thistle Biker Bar and Tea House about The Catcher in the Rye, during Sadness Hour yesterday.
"The most important novel of the 20th century," Bobcat Whistle proclaimed.
"Hell, no," protested Ray Don Davidson, the leader of The Heaven's Demons Biker Gang, Inc, as he scratched his armpit with his pool cue. "It's nothing compared to Bob Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."
Jim, of the brothers Jim, at the W&T to avoid getting ready for the supper hour at the Buddy Mutts Cafe, was playing a mountain dulcimer softly in the corner. "No," he opined. "It wasn't Catcher or Zen, either one. It was Jack Kerouac's On the Road."
Pastor Patty had stopped in to be sure Del Ecklor, the secret alcoholic, was there. He only drinks alone, so as long as he's at a bar, he's okay. Pastor Patty is young, so she said, "No, it's Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius."
Astrid Withehold was sipping Earl Grey from a Vera Lace China cup in the Episcopal Ladies corner. She sniffed and stomped, which was more like a tap, one of the bone pumps that perfectly matched her linen suit and skin. "I cannot let these canards pass," she sniffed. "You Neanderthals and your ilk know nothing of literature. The death of that perverted Salinger this week has totally obscured the death of Hugh Auchincloss. His The Rector of Justin was by far the most important book of the 20th century."
"That doesn't make sense, Miz Withehold, begging your pardon," said Ray Don, scratching his other armpit, "but Mr. Auchincloss couldn't be the most important because he just wrote about real rich New York ilk. They're not like the rest of us."
Astrid tap-stomped her other pump and twirled her pearls. "But that was his genius, you Zen-stained wretch. He showed that the problems of the rich are just like those of everyone else. You can have all the money in the world and still be miserable."
"Yeah, tell it to Bernie Madoff," said the other brother Jim, who was using a chisel to let David escape from the giant persimmon he was sculpting.
"But nobody has even mentioned John Updike or Saul Bellow," said Ben "Seymour" Bottoms.
"And what about Alice Walker or Toni Morrison or Barbara Kingsolver?" his wife, Kate Bates, put in. "I still get chills from that Poisonwood Bible."
"Hell, you get chills from The Little Engine That Could," Ben laughed.
That stopped everyone cold. Before long, Bobcat and Edith, standing on a chair to augment her stature, were holding high the neon Periwinkle Persimmon Wine sign so that the impromptu conga line could use it as a tunnel. Ray Don was leading. Astrid had taken off her white gloves and grabbed the handles of his "I Brake for Bars" tee-shirt. Then came Jim, and Pastor Patty, and Jim, and Del, and Kate and "Seymour," and all the others, their hands kingpinned to the waist in front of them, legs pumping like train wheels, chanting, "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can..."
There was no longer any question about the most important novel of the 20th century.
"The most important novel of the 20th century," Bobcat Whistle proclaimed.
"Hell, no," protested Ray Don Davidson, the leader of The Heaven's Demons Biker Gang, Inc, as he scratched his armpit with his pool cue. "It's nothing compared to Bob Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."
Jim, of the brothers Jim, at the W&T to avoid getting ready for the supper hour at the Buddy Mutts Cafe, was playing a mountain dulcimer softly in the corner. "No," he opined. "It wasn't Catcher or Zen, either one. It was Jack Kerouac's On the Road."
Pastor Patty had stopped in to be sure Del Ecklor, the secret alcoholic, was there. He only drinks alone, so as long as he's at a bar, he's okay. Pastor Patty is young, so she said, "No, it's Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius."
Astrid Withehold was sipping Earl Grey from a Vera Lace China cup in the Episcopal Ladies corner. She sniffed and stomped, which was more like a tap, one of the bone pumps that perfectly matched her linen suit and skin. "I cannot let these canards pass," she sniffed. "You Neanderthals and your ilk know nothing of literature. The death of that perverted Salinger this week has totally obscured the death of Hugh Auchincloss. His The Rector of Justin was by far the most important book of the 20th century."
"That doesn't make sense, Miz Withehold, begging your pardon," said Ray Don, scratching his other armpit, "but Mr. Auchincloss couldn't be the most important because he just wrote about real rich New York ilk. They're not like the rest of us."
Astrid tap-stomped her other pump and twirled her pearls. "But that was his genius, you Zen-stained wretch. He showed that the problems of the rich are just like those of everyone else. You can have all the money in the world and still be miserable."
"Yeah, tell it to Bernie Madoff," said the other brother Jim, who was using a chisel to let David escape from the giant persimmon he was sculpting.
"But nobody has even mentioned John Updike or Saul Bellow," said Ben "Seymour" Bottoms.
"And what about Alice Walker or Toni Morrison or Barbara Kingsolver?" his wife, Kate Bates, put in. "I still get chills from that Poisonwood Bible."
"Hell, you get chills from The Little Engine That Could," Ben laughed.
That stopped everyone cold. Before long, Bobcat and Edith, standing on a chair to augment her stature, were holding high the neon Periwinkle Persimmon Wine sign so that the impromptu conga line could use it as a tunnel. Ray Don was leading. Astrid had taken off her white gloves and grabbed the handles of his "I Brake for Bars" tee-shirt. Then came Jim, and Pastor Patty, and Jim, and Del, and Kate and "Seymour," and all the others, their hands kingpinned to the waist in front of them, legs pumping like train wheels, chanting, "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can..."
There was no longer any question about the most important novel of the 20th century.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Women Were Created First?
Claire Nathan said this morning to her husband, Randall, while they were on their morning coffee break--they don't really have anything to break from, since they don't do anything, but it's traditional to call mid-morning coffee time a break--that she thought women were created first, since as soon as men got here, they would want food, and do you really think men would go to the kitchen and cook anything, and besides, women always had to go first anyway, to discover empty tombs and such, and besides, all babies start out in the womb as female, but some can't cut it so they switch to the other side before they're born, and...
It almost made the retired pastor sorry he no longer has a pulpit, so he could preach all that. It would be a lot of fun; it would upset so many people...
It almost made the retired pastor sorry he no longer has a pulpit, so he could preach all that. It would be a lot of fun; it would upset so many people...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)