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A sukkah, a bazaar, and a souk
Well, the sukkah is up and ready for decoration. Some of you have been following me as I decided to build one this year. I started out with really quite big plans for one, large enough to seat ten or twelve people, and to but a bed into it so sleep in.
As it turned out, I built a much smaller, more traditional one. Things always have a way of working out in spite of ourselves. Some men from our small congregation decided to step up to the plate to build a more decorative sukkah for our tiny synagogue, then make the rounds to build others.
So it was up at daylight, and over to the shul, as we call it, and put up the river cane as a decoration, then they went over to a members house to build theirs … and I hardly had time to settle down before they all pulled up in my driveway.
I wanted to show the construction in stages, but didn’t have time to stop and make the pics since the crew was making short work of the process.
The corners are of bamboo, the walls are made of reed fencing, and reed fencing is on the floor as a carpet. The roof is of river cane that was cut from a rattlesnake infested canebrake along the Little River, and the men went out and gathered enough for everyone. The rule for the roof covering is that is should be of material that can be pulled from the ground, as opposed to being cut from a branch or limb. Cutting cane is permitted, because theoretically, you *could* pull it from the ground. If you were the Hulk.
Sukkah, by the way, is a Semitic word for a rude hut, and it survives in Arab lands in bazaars, where the individual booths are called souks. It can be a merchants booth, it can be a tent, it can be a collection of branches. Sukkot in Israel is a fall observance in which the Bible commands Jews to dwell in tents (sukkahs) during the five day period. A sukkah in this sense protects one from the sun, not the rain. One must be able to see some of the stars through the roof. Some orthodox Jews do actually live in them, and even sleep in them when it is raining, but for most, it is a symbolic thing, and they simply eat the evening meal in them.
So … now the roof is laid, the walls are up a rough floor of reeds is laid, and I am ready for Sukkot.
A few pics:
A Walmart Mystic
I never wanted to be a mystic, and had I known what a mystic really was, I would have desired it even less. Nevertheless, there is something about hermetic Gnosticism that ever tugs at me, drawing down the arcane paths of esoteric knowledge. I have studied at the feet of evil men, holy men and even a few rogues. Oddly, the rogues were the more reliable teachers.
Visible magic is nearly always deceptive. It is the finger that appears to point toward God, but then the finger stealthily becomes the object of veneration, an idol, if you will. A mystic sees beyond the smoke, through the mirrors, and beholds the framework of the illusion. Though a mystic discerns the false, he commonly does not discern truth either.
This one-side discernment makes most mystics extremely unreliable guides. The mystics themselves become deceived with their myopic view, mistaking it for spiritual depth. Though they expose the lie, they misrepresent the truth, even when they have your best interest at heart.
Kabbalist (as opposed to the Madonna type hermetic Quabalism) sometimes reveal breathtaking clues into the vast mind of the Creator, yet fail to heal one person with their shadow, nor improve their relationship with that same Creator. They perceive the intricacies of the Grand Architect much the same way I perceive the x-rays of a microchip. The harmony of the circuit paths are awe inspiring in their sophistication, but I do not know what any of them do, nor do I know how to harness their intricacy.
Over time, I have harnessed great power, only to have that power quickly dissipate like smoke, and the knowledge of how I made things happen just disappeared. Few, if any, mystics today can maintain that level of authority.
I do know the secret, of course. My problem is the level of arrogance that resides in me. To me, true heroes never bow to any one or any thing. Instead of being a child who carefully watches his father and imitates him, I want to be the father and I want the universe to imitate me. I can’t seem to get beyond that notion for very long.
So on this day of atonement, Yom Kippur in the native tongue, I afflict my soul.
Good morning!
The beginnings of a sukkah
This is what a sukkah looks like when UPS delivers the basic construction elements.
10 – Bamboo poles, 3″ x 8′
4 – rolls of reed fencing, 8′ x 16′
And after the packages are opened, and laid out for inspection. It all looks good!!
The sukkah will be attached to this carport, and extend out into the driveway five feet. It is a large sukkah of around 10′ by 18′ … but one night during the festivities, I will host my congregation and expect around ten to twelve guests.
It will be substantially complete with the walls and roof supports up, then a day or two before the holy day, some of the men and women of the congregation will come by and put reeds on the roof. Another tradition is that one must be able to see the stars through the roof. Another tradition is that the roofing material needs to be ‘pulled’ from the ground, so using tree branches is out. Of course, I am not going to require that the river cane up be pulled up, but rather cut it close to the ground. We make our concessions ..
I will install a long table or two for the guest night, but the rest of the time I will have a much smaller table in it for meals. Meals will be prepared in the house and carried out to the sukkah
I will put my studio day bed in one corner and sleep there. It will also serve as a more comfortable seat than the folding chairs. A remnant of carpeting will cover the floor, and a grounded plug will provide power to a floor lamp for illumination. I may put white LED Christmas lights up in the river canes to provide additional illumination.
So begins the process of building up for the High Holy Days. Tonight is Rosh Hashannah, the New Year on the lunar calendar. I prefer to call the day Yom Truah, or day of the trumpets, because on this day throughout the world, the shofar, or rams horn, is blown in all the synagogues. Why? Because we are instructed to.
I will be posting progress reports when I begin constructing it …
A solution to aircraft overcrowding.
There has been a lot reports of travelers rage over the seat crowding by the airline bean counters. Now someone comes up with a seat lock to stop the hapless passenger ahead of them from reclining their seats.
I think that the airlines are missing something here. The old way of flying people does not lend its way to their problem of getting more passengers into the aluminum tube. I worked late through the night at a new plan for maximizing passengers on flights.
Kennels!
Yes! Just like the doggie kennels, the airlines should design people kennels. Each kennel could be the size of an average person, and everyone could take as much luggage aboard as they could get into the kennel with them and lock the door. Extra-large kennels could be sold for those needing or wanting the extra room. Of course, the airlines would need to charge more for the extra-large kennels so that they can keep the profits up. The kennels could be stacked six or seven high, and the luggage compartments on the aircraft could be removed. In addition, there wouldn’t be an aisle on the plane, nor any wasted room overhead since.
A small compartment in the kennel could hold an assortment of disposable bags that are designed to fit the average posterior for bathroom calls, and that would eliminate the wasted space restrooms take up.
The kennels would be loaded by baggage people, eliminating cabin crews entirely. The happy passenger could go to a special loading room that serves all the airlines, go through a thorough cavity search, x-rays and some charming harassment from the TSA, and then be loaded on a conveyer belt to an automatic waiting and sorting area until their flight is ready.
Of course, people would occasionally be sent to wrong destinations, but since they are already inspected and encaged, they could be quickly forwarded by the baggage handlers onward to their proper destination.
Passenger conflicts would be outdated because everyone is secure in their own space. Moreover, there are no stewards aboard to argue with. A complementary bag of peanuts would also be included in the small compartment. Of course, beverages and such would be a problem. Perhaps a self-service beverage cooler with credit card slot would take the place of serving carts.
I haven’t looked at every possible problem of course, but from a logistical standpoint, this is something that the profit savvy airlines should consider.
Not A Day For Rejoicing
“Woe unto you that desire the day of the LORD! to what end is it for you? the day of the LORD is darkness, and not light.”
From the comers of universe the watchers arrived to watch the return of the anointed one. Those awakened below slowly gathered their wits, their minds groggy with the millennia of sleep while those awake beheld his glory in the heavens above. War trumpets called to war trumpets, fierce peals of thunderous voices rumbled and flamed over the rent earth with cloven tongued messages of fire too frightening for frail humanity to bear.
This was not a day for rejoicing … it was a day for hiding.
Morning arrives with charlie horses and severe caffeine deficiency. If I do not keep myself sufficiently hydrated, the cramps will wake me early in the morning. There is only one way to ease the cramp, and that is to get up and walk around. The same with caffeine deficiency. Coffee is the cure.
So here I set this dog day morning. Aching calf and bleary eyed. I have not been writing much lately. I spend most of my time warring with Israel’s enemies. They are many. And lie they do. Really!
I halfheartedly read the journals and news feeds this morning. I have reduced myself to key word reading, scanning though the document looking for key words that will slow me down to read the passage. If a paragraph says “Hamas says”, I skip it. I already know what Hamas says.
So anyway. I think I’ll make sausage and eggs on a biscuit this morning. Quick and easy. And I have a half gallon of grapefruit sections chilled. Grapefruit is verboten for a number of reasons, diabetes heading the list, and its interaction with medicines. But one or two food sins a week are permitted, as long as I suffer remorse for the transgression.
Much is going on in the spiritual front. The dry spell is over, hallelujah! It has been a Trudge.
A rescue run was canceled today because they found a second ID chip in the dog. Seems that a second owner had lost him, and wanted him back. We don’t transport animals with a cloud hanging over them.
The ones needing transport to adopters are more than I can handle anyway. Still, you got to admire all the people who put their homes at risk by snatching dogs from certain death. They are a different breed of people.
So. Off to make a tray of biscuits and fry up some fixins …
Good morning!
~r
Vanishing Point
Preparation day again. The days, the week, the seasons and the years flit by me in disconcerting rapidity. Time has become a blur as I race toward Lethe’s waters to drink to oblivion, and await my Masters voice in Eternity.
I live in a very secure place, though the world is becoming a hostile place for me. I guard my steps. I guard my tongue. I guard my heart. I draw water from my own well that I hand dug during the dry places in life, and sip the droughts in secret spaces.
The day will soon enough come when I am totally abandoned even though surrounded by friends and family, and I will show Charon an oblose, but not pay him until he gets me to the other side.
‘Tis a strange gray morning in this land where bright sunshine pours in the window. The coffee cup is empty. The studio an olio of sounds from Kippur and air filters. Time to replenish the cup.
Jimmy
Today I got an update on a Bull Terrier puppy I transported some weeks ago. It was a short run that I combined with a longer run with a coon hound on its way to a sanctuary near San Antonio. Roy, if I remember the name the hound was given.
Home to Round Rock was a quick jaunt that morning, then back to Temple to pick up the hound, and off to a Wal-Mart parking lot just south of Austin, with a short stop in Round Rock where the receiver works to drop off the puppy.
Today the receiver sent me a picture of the puppy, now five weeks older and fourteen pounds heavier. ‘Jimmy’ is his new name, and his dad is an Englishman who has a business in the US. Jimmy apparently goes everywhere with him. The first pic is where I handed him off in Round Rock, the second was just sent to me by the same handler.
We don’t often advertise where dogs go and were we hand them off for legal and safety reasons. Sometimes it isn’t the best of situations. Still, the real heroes are the ‘pullers’ who tirelessly visit the kill shelters and adoption centers, and call for transports.
Today wasn’t a good day for me … I had to turn down two transports. One because I didn’t have sufficient notice, and one because the transport legs couldn’t be filled. If you have a decent auto and some time on your hands, you may consider this as a very rewarding hobby, and an opportunity to visit nearby towns and cities you may have cruised by, but never really seen. And you will meet some very fine people who put their hands to where their heart is.
~ r
To the rescue … this time for cats.
My second rescue attempt went well today. A mama cat found in Houston with her tiny kittens was spotted in a parking lot, and they needed to get her to a rescue organization just over the river from my house. It is always good to find neighbors ready and willing to step up to the plate. This isn’t a cheap way to spend your time. Trips are often over two hundred miles, they need to be checked over by a veterinarian, and they need to be fostered by people who will take the time to get them to adoption centers. This couple is doing yeoman duty, but they prefer to keep their profile low.
I didn’t think I would make the trip yesterday because the young lady who first spotted the mama cat had to go find someone to accept her. When she went back, mama cat had moved the kittens. So I was so surprised when I saw a facebook message that the cats were crated and would be on the way.
I am a drudge in the mornings, sitting in my studio in my underwear while I sip my coffee and go through the day’s emails, postings and news feeds. But I fired off a reply, telling them that I would need a bit of time to prepare, and that I was shocked to find the kittens were found after a lot of searching. Not much impresses me these days, but that sure did.
Normally I would have gassed up the car before, disinfected and cleaned the cages, put everything on a handy clipboard, and been ready when it was time to go. But this time, I rushed around getting dressed, discovered that the batteries in my hearing aids were dead. My hearing aids connect to my cellphone and I can hardly understand people without that lash-up working.
But after making the poor lady repeat herself frequently, we managed to locate a WalMart store in College Station, Texas that is about mid-way between my home and Houston. Just as I was about to leave, ‘becca da beagle decides to go for a morning stroll, sans leash. She is a very stubborn dog, and once her nose gets onto something, it disengages her hearing. So Snookums chased her down as I vacuumed the shipping crates and disinfected them, plugged the directions into the GPS, and went sailing off only to notice that the gas gage was about ¼ tank. So a few minutes lost there while I gassed up and took on another ½ gallon of drinking water.
Then I was off in earnest. The miles went by quickly, but the nag in the GPS kept telling me I was 28 minutes behind. I just could not make up any time running along at 75 mph. The cops here don’t give any grace with the higher limits, and 75 is just about the top of my reaction speed anyway. Growing old sucks that way.
Shortly after lunch I pulled in alongside my transport partner, mama cat and babies were put into my small travel cage, and away we went back home. They had a lot of construction around that WalMart and I couldn’t get on my road via that route. So I toured quite a bit of South College Station before finally getting back on the freeway. But we did it.
The trip back was pretty much the same as the trip there with a few delays for slow trucks and one for a tractor. I know farmers. They hate wearing out their breaks so when I espied him heading toward the road, I knew he would come right out. And he did, but I had already slowed.
Mama mewed a couple of times. I think she was a bit dry, but she was just going to have to live with it for a bit longer. My GPS fibbed a little bit on the final address, but a quick phone call got me back on track and I delivered mama and babies, and met my neighbors.
I have never met as determined, cheerful, hardworking persistent people in my life. They are the hero’s in this tale, and I am super impressed with them all. And they do it for nothing. Just for a love of animals. They’ll put a dog out seconds before they are euthanized, find a foster, find a transporter, find a vet, and find a home. Then go home and take care of their families.
I am proud to associate with them.
Roughing up the smooth edges, or smoothing off the rough edges. Something like that, anway.
My mutts felt that I slept in late enough this groggy morning. They have no sympathy for me. They get up several times a night and still manage to be up and at ‘before sunup. They are very intolerant of this low functioning dog as I fumble my way into the kitchen for my morning brew.
Snooks has been up for a while this morning, and was outside with the mutts while I slept. And a newly cleaned studio greets as I plop down in front of the Cyclops to chronicle my day. But a quick walk thru of my mind reveals much mush, and little substance. Shall I pass the morning memo today out of respect for my readers intelligence, or try to hammer something out in an effort to fool them once again with my sagacity?
OK. My respectful consideration of my readers loses. Onwards.
*sip!*
The world howls in outrage at the hostage … err … babies in the UNRWA school getting killed after a sniper fired a tank buster at a bunch of Israeli’s and missed. Lots of cryin’ for the babies, lots of outrage for Israel, not so much outrage at HAMAS who put them there.
Not a peep out of same said criers either for the three UNRWA schools that contained stored rockets for HAMAS. I am really sick of hearing all these ‘compassionate’ boo-hooers. It is war time. Ugly, ugly war time. Choose up sides and fight or remain safely behind the lines in a silent one-sided protest. You can cry later.
*sip!*
Lots of stuff about some jock who killed his girlfriend/exwife/wife … whatever. Pass by on this one. I really don’t want to hear more about badboy jocks.
Watched video of Israeli’s discovering a tunnel entrance in a mosque. Draw whatever conclusion you want. Also watched where tunnel stretching through built up area and on into Israel got blown up. Lots and lots of secondaries showing that heavy duty explosives were stored in the tunnels, and lots of houses and shops where the tunnel entrances were going up in bright funnels of flames.
I don’t hold the Gazan’s innocent. They voted for HAMAS because they promised to destroy Israel. Now that HAMAS is using them for shields and dead baby photo-ops does not move me. They picked a loser for a leader out of hatred for Jews, now they can live with it. They desired war, and they got it. In spades.
I am weary of hearing about the poor Gazans. You bleed for them. I shant.
*sip!*
I think now that the cleaning itch has run its course, it might be time to mow again. I don’t know why the place looks so good after a mowing, and looks like hell before it. One day, I set at my morning window, the grass is all at a nice even length for hundreds of feet in any direction, the next day it looks like an abandoned lot. Pah! Civilization!!
Took on some extra responsibility for the congregational website. Not a big one, since it only requires that I update it once a month. I have retired from my weekly cleaning of the building. I think I am going to miss that time most. It was a way to prepare myself spiritually. Now Snookums calls me to the Shabbat table sort of like she does for an ordinary meal. I’ll have to come up with something to remind me that it is a special day.*sip!*
Snooks just bid me bye as she is off for the annual put the boob in a vice observance. I am always a little apprehensive when that time rolls around. One time she went there for the exam, then got the dreaded callback from the doctors secretary to come in again. Yep. It was cancer. But blessings upon blessings, they felt that surgery would be sufficient. After many assurances that I didn’t marry her boobs, she had it one breast removed, and I got a few more years of use out of the gal.
Funny how things like that just come along. One day you are fine, the next day you are in a battle for your life. Man seems to be born for tsores (woes). Too much of an idyllic thing, and we need things roughed up a little.
Well, on to the day. Now that I have cheered you up, I hope your day goes well for you too!
Good morning!
~r
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