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Some coffee, and maybe more than you wish to know.
Shabbat morning and Pesach morning dawn a cool 55° this morning. The combination of the two make for a Shabbat of Shabbats, or a high Shabbat. It was an interesting Passover meal we had last night, the first where we had no guests or children. The observance has been a teaching moment for Hebrew children since the time of Moses.
However, as two aging adults, what need of we to open the door to see if Elijah has come? Or to toss plastic vermin, lice and frogs as the story unfolds? There is no evil son to speak to disrespectfully, nor good son who inquires, nor a simple son who is taught, nor is there a son who does not know how to ask.
So it was a simple seder of drinking the four cups, the eating of the bitter herbs, and the dipping of them twice in the brine. But oddly, it was a mystical moment for us. A moment when life has come to full circle. The peace of the Shabbat descended on our modest home in the central grasslands of Texas.
And the morning dawns with the same peace, the same gnosis as that mystical moment last night as we ate breakfast. I forgot the day, however, and put biscuits in the oven. There is some debate as to whether biscuits have leaven in them or not. Nevertheless, we usually try to follow the wisdom of the sages in our observances unless we have a valid reason to reject a part of the ritual. I hold that biscuits are not leaven, but also are not matzah. The early Israelites did not have biscuits in popping cans, so they would not have made them in haste to leave. The biscuits went into the freezer.
Later today, we will go to normal Shabbat services. It is about 40 miles to the meeting place. They meet late in the day, around 3pm. I have grown to like that now that I have had a chance to get used to it. The mornings are spent in an unhurried brunch, then a little sitting around listening to music, and lastly, about 1 PM we start preparing for services.
So with this little good coffee post, I wish you good morning, hag sameach, Happy Easter Sunday, and for my atheist friends, I wish you a pleasant day.
Returning to blogster is like I had never left. The same battles are being fought by the same people, all whom have vowed to never forget nor forgive. The same hurt feelings. But then, I guess there is a comfort in that some things never change.
It has been a very good week, albeit a hectic one. We had guests over the weekend, which I am not used to. I am not much of an entertainer and don’t know what to do in the lulls. But medical science rode to my rescue. Much of the meds I take put me to sleep shortly after taking them, so I have a mid morning nap and a post prandial nap.
It gave me time to slip into the internet for brief periods, but not enough to compose thoughtful replies. So many of you got one-liners. Tough. I can’t always be on.
I am building a fairy house in my small front garden. Yeah. You heard me right. A fairy house. See? I do have a softer, gentler side.
I have a tree that has been badly pruned, and I like the idea of model building outdoors. This is my inspiration, although I can’t figure out what the dark things are hanging off the rope bridge. My bridge wont have those.
But it will have a nice two story cottage with a light in it and a proper front porch garden, and a stone path leading to the path to my front door.
I have grown so weak from my sedentary life that it is frightening. I really do need to work more to keep the strength up.
I am staying out of the current debates now. I am so damned tired of the easily offended. My decision is to silently listen to their bawling, but pull the rug out from under them without any explanation every time I get a chance. The bigoted bungheads really need their sails trimmed …
But aside from all that, the world reels on from crisis to crises. The sun sets softly in the west and I can once again sit out in the darkness and pretend that the world really does believe that Freedom is not the right to say foul words when you feel like it.
Evening!
Ophidiophobe – a hater of snakes
Shabbat dawns a cool and wet 54° as the winter/spring rains continue to fill the drought stricken reservoirs. Even with several weeks of slow rains, our reservioirs are only 67% full of the reserve level. But we don’t sneer at any kind of rain down here, and we fervently hope that this kind of weather persists well into summer.
We are attending a new congregation now, although it is about a ¾-hour drive from here. It isn’t so onerous however. They meet at 3:00 pm in the afternoon on Saturdays. At first we felt that was a bit late, but now that we have had a chance to visit several times, we have grown to like that time. It allows the morning to unfold naturally instead of the morning rush rush rush to arrive at the synagogue in time for services. Services end at five, and we stop for dinner on the way home. All very nice.
So what’s for breakfast? My blood sugar has been high for a few days, so I thought of a low-carb breakfast. However, it is Shabbat and I do allow myself to have a less stringent diet. So maybe a pecan waffle and some spicy turkey sausage. I buy a local brand that is actually quite good, though probably not as good as the pork variety. Nevertheless, I have been pork free for several decades now, and only get cravings for real ham and bacon a few times a year now instead of constantly.
Oysters were another love of mine, but finally one year after a preparing a magnificent oyster bisque, I broke out in hives from head to toe. I have never had allergies before, and it was really a shocker for me. So finally, I quit eating traif, or non-kosher foods. Not that I am very observant. Most orthodox would sneer in disgust at the level of my observance. Nonetheless, it fits my lifestyle and philosophy, so fie on them!
I am really getting the itch to garden this year, and have some ambitious plans for a small front garden. I am an Ophidiophobe – a hater of snakes, and try my best to not provide them with a comfortable spot to curl up in. Ergo, no dug in plants. Everything but the lawn must go into tall containers. I keep the lawn cropped short and I don’t kill the fire-ants beyond 20’ from the foundations.
Other than that, I am not going to be deterred this summer. First project will be a canvass gazebo for rest between chores. Then some plantings around a recently cut back acacia tree. In addition, I’ll plant new sod plugs of St. Augustine grass in the garden. It is a small area so the thirsty St. Augustine won’t break the budget.
Well, the first cup is history. It is time to prepare breakfast and have that second cup while I labor.
Good morning!
“Banality of banalities. All is banality …”
I know I warned last week that the coffee posts would be few during the summer, but today wasn’t as warm as I had hoped. So a little time for musing.
The first day of the week dawns a bit warmer, but still a bit too chilly for morning stoop sitting. But second best is my studio with a large window that looks out on the stoops, and of course, the coffee cup resting near my right hand.
In my religious tradition, the day is simply called the first day. A day when God brooded. A day when God separated the darkness from the light. Maybe it was the Big Bang. Who knows? There was no sun yet, no earth, no sunrise, no sunset. So one wonders how it could be called a day. Ah, sweet mysteries!
Kipper is demanding attention today. It is her bath day, and Snooks cleaned her cage and put the bath in. She gets one a week in winter, and two a week in summer. They really seem to cheer her up.
Linda is preparing for company in a few weeks. She seldom puts off ‘til tomorrow that which she had already done yesterday. She has dusted, vacuumed, shampooed and changed the linen in the guest room, shampooed the carpets, and at the moment is entertaining the dogs by picking up their lees in the yard.
She is in charge of packing and shipping, and the dogs are in charge of production. Sometimes the inventory of lees gets ahead of packing and shipping, and she ceases from her other household chores and gets the inventory taken care of.
The dogs seem to think this is quite amusing, and usually when she gets the last of the lees bagged and put into the bin, they leave a fresh deposit.
OK … on from the grossness of living with pets.
So today is my cooking day and I have no menus planned. There is frozen waffles from last weeks breakfast of sausage and pecan waffles. I have some turkey sausage patties made up, so maybe we’ll get that again today. Soup and a sandwich for a late lunch/early dinner, and there is plenty of snacks for the day.
And the sun has climbed another 7°, and I must be about my day.
Good morning.
Coffee, Ponderings, and Some Personal Theology
Preparation day dawns overcast and 57°. Later in the day, it will approach an ideal 72°. I am still trying to let the sun and not the clock govern my day, but it is still a bit disconcerting to have some man made device try to tell you that you are sleeping your life away. Daylight Savings Time does not save me one single hour of daylight, but the old meme persists.
It has been a good week, though a bit disappointing with the weather. Typically, by this time of the year we have had several gorgeous days to get the yard ready for spring. I have several rather ambitious plans, though most of them will not permit me to spend as much time at the keyboard as I do in winter. I am ready for a hiatus however.
The house smells good this morning. Snooks has prepared a savory stew that has started cooking in the slow cooker last night. Later in the day she will prepare the challah bread, and we will subsist on the stew through the Shabbat.
I did some research on “resting”. That God, of all things in the universe, would need a rest was a perplexing idea. But truthfully, the word in this instance isn’t rested from His labors, but rather ceased from His labors. The meaning is that everything was finished and put into motion.
This presents a lot of theological issues that I am not prepared to deal with in this little missive, but it has obsessed my thinking lately.
Anyway. This may be the last coffee and ponderings post until fall returns, though I’ll certainly post other offerings from time to time.
Good morning!
My second love … (throwback Friday)
I have no personal photos of my youth or early days. They are all moldering away in boxes in my sisters homes. But thanks to the internet, I can find snatches of my youth online if I search diligently. In looking at her pictures, my heart still beats a little faster, and dreams of becoming an engineer once again course through the synapses. Here is my contribution to Throwback Friday …
This is her, back when I was a lad. My second love. D&RGW T-10 Number 169. I chipped my teeth falling off of it, pinched fingers and toes on the controls, drove the people in the library in the brick building standing in the background crazy with the ringing the bell, hid out in the rusted out water tank.
Today, it has a fancy shed built over it with wrought iron fencing to keep kids from hurting themselves, but also it keeps them from falling in love with her. She sits like a bird in a gilded cage
She was rebuilt for 1939/1940 Worlds Fair in New York to represent the D&RGW railroad, and retired shortly afterwards. Only two T-12 are in existence today, and both may one day steam again. It will cost upwards of $400,000 to restore her to operating condition.
My first love you ask? Here she is. But she had a thing for that damned Pan. He was an asshole and treated her like shit, but she stayed with him. Yeesh! Wimmen! I was off women for seven years afterwards. Unlike choo choos, they had cooties, anyway …
Remembering Harper Lee
I have been thinking about the release of Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman. I met Truman Capote in the early seventies, just as he began his downward spiral, and unwittingly again in the late 80’s when I was talking to Joanna Carson about canine epilepsy. Yeah. Long story for another time.
Truman was staying at a high-dollar alcohol rehab center in Colorado. My good friend, known on the streets as Listerine Fred, had finagled his way into the center, which was quite a step up from his usual dreadful skid row drying out rooms. Truman took Fred under his wing and encouraged him to write a biography, and when it was completed, Truman said he would help him publish it.
Fred dried out and began writing. He wrote, I critiqued, and Truman commented. I know Harper Lee was around in some of those Friday night tête-à-têtes in the penthouse hospital, but oddly, I only remember her form, not face. All this was going on while I was recovering for the last time from alcohol and bad ideas. Getting the alcohol out was the easy part. I never completely recovered from the bad ideas, however.
Anyway, a few months later, Truman returned to California, Fred finished his manuscript of hundreds of pages hand written on yellow legal paper, and mailed his labor of love to Truman. Fred never heard back from him, and it depressed him so severely that he committed suicide.
I do remember Harpers soft voice from the shadows. I can see why Truman clung to her …
soft voice from the shadows. I can see why Truman clung to her …
Yeah … I suspect that I will read it …
My so-called friends have fallen under a spell
They look me squarely in the eye and they say, “All is well”
Can they imagine the darkness that will fall from on high
When men will beg God to kill them and they won’t be able to die?”
~ Bob Dylan ~ Precious Angel ~ 1979
So my morning starts with coffee and Bob Dylan, a bright and cheery sunshiny morning, a happy parakeet who loves any kind of noise, and a feeling of being well rested.
*sip!*
A mild back and forth with another blogster on Islamic Terror and Saddam Hussein. A comment here, a comment there. A new item posted in my labor of love, Akashaic, soon to be the Great American Novel. It is just as easy to wish for a billion as it is for five bucks, I guess.
*sip!*
Half of America is pissed at Benjamin Netanyahu speaking at Congress without getting the White House’s permission. The other half wonders where in the hell is it written that anyone has to get the Presidents permission to speak before Congress. I stand with the latter.
*sip!*
Another birthday came and went, marking yet another year of survival in my humiliating slow march to decay and death. There has been [mumble] sunrises and sunsets in my life. One great war, and untold military actions. Twelve Presidents. Two wives. Two arterial bypasses. Uncounted angioplasties and angiograms. 12,486 pots of Snookums flawless morning coffee.
*sip!*
Today is Sunday. My day to prepare the meals. It is time to begin Sunday brunch. I have a craving for waffles, but even the thought pegs the meter on my glucose reader. So. Ersatz sausage and eggs it will be.
Mz Muze and an Amusing Harem
I was sitting at my workstation in peptic distress after a gourmet dinner of Chinese takeout leftovers when I noticed her perched on my monitor, dimpled knees crossed properly so that I couldn’t see past them. Some days I am just lucky.
“Hello handsome. It’s been awhile.” She said throatily.
“It has, but I haven’t been much interested in writing.” I answered ruefully.
“You seldom are.”
“No thanks to you!”
“I see that you are working on Akashaic again. Getting bored?” She said, changing the subject.
“It seemed an interesting twist to the old formula. Boy meets girls, girls fall madly in love with boy in spite of his other six wives. Girls marry boy and all go off to live happily forever.”
“People like unusual stories, but this sounds like a middle aged man’s fantasy.” She said, cackling at her humor.
“I am no longer ‘middle aged’. I left middle age back in the dust somewhere.”
“Finally! We agree on something!” She cackled again.
“You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself!” I snarled
“Hey! I just manufacture fantasies, Dickens, I don’t live them.”
“You are a fantasy. A figment of my fevered mind.”
“Hey, Sigmund. I am not the one talking to a woman perched on your monitor. What’s your plan on the harem additions?” She shot back, as she quickly tried to change the subject again.
“This is a wind-down section after the hero’s epic battle with one of the Eternal Guardians. He almost loses the battle, and realizes that he needs to add to his harem to increase his power. It isn’t all about great sex and fantastic orgasms. It is about the symbiotic relationship he has with his many wives who are more than wives. It also serves to introduce a new element into the epic.”
“You’ve been trying to write without me. I had to throw in the new element to keep this tome from turning into a …”
“Yeah, yeah. A middle-aged male’s sexual fantasy. Have you any more clichés that you want to pass out?”
“Yeah. You are going to need me to help clear up this multi-dimensional epic. You are getting lost in the labyrinth.” She said, once again trying to re-direct the conversation.
“I am lost, at that. I have started writing it in yWriter, ® a writing aid. It helps me organize the tale on the fly. It helps a great deal, but a functional time-line would help. The dinner at the Prime Ministers mansion really pulled this section out of the mud, and I don’t think I would have seen the need for it without the guidance of the program”
“You noticed that?” She preened. “It was one of my better thoughts!”
“Ah come on now. That wasn’t you!” I replied.
“Yep, Hemmingway. It was all me!” she chirped.
“It couldn’t be all you. The Library of Congress couldn’t hold all of you!” I countered, gloating at the quickness of my retorts.
“You just don’t recognize help when you get it, you ungrateful bastard. You would still be rolled up in your day bed, sucking your thumb and wishing for spring if it wasn’t for me!”
“If it wasn’t for you, I might have finished at least one stinking novel before I died.”
“Pfft! Go back and read some of your earlier stuff, Captain Trite. When I found you, you couldn’t even write a proper grocery list. All you ever wrote was stinking stuff.”
“I still can’t write a grocery list!” I replied, a little embarrassed at my ineptness at common tasks.
“Well, anyway … you got one whole chapter outlined today. Not bad, my hero.”
“True. Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Rusty's Armory 