Quincy Pilgrim

Speaking of "ships coming in"...

2010-12-02T16:58:00.003-06:00

Last Sunday I drove to Rockford and surprised one Ms. Andrea Rodger at church.

Yes, complete with gasp and squeal and hug. Comment from the gent she was sitting with: "Here let me move over here, I don't want to get run over."

So we're sitting there listening to the pastor ask for "joys and concerns" and I sneak the box out of my pocket and slowly tease it in front of her. She opens it and reveals the ring, whereupon I whisper in her ear "Will you marry me?"

The pastor says "Does anyone else have a joy to share?" so i stand up and say "Andrea just said yes...again!"

Andrea Lynn Rodger. From 10/21/89 to sometime in 1993, Andrea Lynn (Rodger) Payne.

As of 10/22/11 once again to be Andrea Lynn (Rodger) Payne.

I have it bad. I am so in love with this woman, and didn't realize it for 17 years--and vice versa.

It will be a road on which we will have to cooperate, serve each other, and strive always to love (love is a verb) but it will be worth it. We'll find new ways to screw up, for sure, but this time we intend to persevere.

Thank you Lord for not giving up on us and bringing up back together.

My ship literally has come in again--same ship, too!

More ACW Naval Gaming

2010-07-18T00:07:00.003-05:00

My ships came in.

Wait, that doesn't sound quite right.

My little 1/2400 American Civil War ironclads arrived and I've done some work prepping them for gaming.

Here are a handful of pictures. Sorry they're not great images, the only camera I have is my phone.

First we have the ships I've mounted so far. The bases are mostly 1.5mm thick, 15mm x 30mm wood from Litko Aerosystems, painted a muddy brown, with a hint of dark blue in the middle and cream color astern to simulate the action of screw, stern and sidewheels. I then cover the base with clear tape which gives a bit of that water shine, and finally glue the ship into place. The name is pasted on the bottom of the base.

Next here are most of the unmounted ironclads awaiting their turn. I do have a handful of ships that don't fit the small bases and am using larger (20mm x 50mm) for them. Unfortunately those bases are much thicker but what can you do?

You don't look like you're bored enough yet, so here are some ironclads pretending to fight it out on part of a map from 3W's "Shot and Shell" (the Yaquinto "Ironclads" maps were in the other room but pretty much look the same as this). You have the USS Cairo and USS Carondelet in the foreground preparing to blow the bejeepers out of the Arkansas (I think), the General Bragg and the Queen of the West (captured from the Union in 1862, IIRC).

And finally my current workspace, which is a TV table in my living room. Yes that is a fireplace in the background but it doesn't work. The fan was necessary, not due to fumes, but because IT'S FLIPPING HOT AROUND HERE THESE DAYS!!!

For those who care about such things, I have decided to use David Manley's "Iron & Fire" rules. I like the balanced level of complexity/realism/fun. They'll also be cool for use with (someday, when I can afford them) Thoroughbred 1/600 ironclad minis--remember, 1/1200 is twice as large as what I have, and 1/600 is twice as large as the 1/1200s. My eyes aren't young anymore...

Now get your boat out of my waters before I get my crew to pumpin' 9" Dahlgren smoothbore shells at ya! (Look it up, seriously :)

Three roles I would like to play...

2010-07-17T16:30:00.002-05:00

..before I die.

1. Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof (I was born to play this part!)
2. Cervantes/Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha (probably will always be "too large" for this one.)
3. Ben Franklin in 1776 (used to want to be John Adams but again, too big a fellow, plus my gout experience makes me a natural for Ben :)

Note those down, Dominic. :)

It's too darned hot!

2010-07-17T16:23:00.002-05:00

And in honor of the high temperatures and high humidity, I offer for your enjoyment (just a couple of weeks late), the opening from the musical 1776, which includes such wonderful lines as:

"Someone oughta open up a window! No no no too many flies!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HD1x_kZRQQ

'Nuff said. (Great show, BTW, especially the restored film with "Cool Conservative Men" and other bits disliked by R. Nixon when the movie came out in the early '70s.)

12 Things to know before visiting an Orthodox Church

2010-07-16T17:13:00.004-05:00

Okay, so this is a little bit of a cheat since I neglected to post yesterday. Consider this my Thursday post.

Anyway, this is a great article about things you can expect when visiting an Orthodox Church, by the inestimable Frederica Matthewes-Green.

Enjoy!

http://www.frederica.com/12-things/

Running behind already

2010-07-16T12:51:00.003-05:00

Yikes, I missed posting on Thursday. I guess I'll have to post twice today.

I had a nice dinner time chat Monday evening with a local well-known attorney. Actually I had finished my lasagna just before he came into the eating establishment, and then sat with him while he finished off a plate of delicious-looking spaghetti.

The convo began with a query about my thoughts on healthcare, since I have just completed about $250,000 worth of stents and chemotherapy.

My reply was that I was certainly grateful to have insurance which is covering the vast majority of the cost, but I was still iffy on the whole "government mandates you must, and you can be fined if you don't" bit.

I drew the comparison to car insurance, remarking that there is really no comparison because you can choose not to have a car and therefor not to have car insurance. But you cannot choose not to live (well you can, but that's a different discussion), and thus I find the mandatory nature of healthcare reform to be troubling.

To my surprise, my friend (and I hope I may be privilieged to call him that now) agreed with me to some extent.

From there the conversation turned to a remarkably rapid series of observations and anecdotes, ending (of all places) discussing faith, religion, and committment to discipline (aka the Methodist Book of Discipline, or Orthodox teaching on sacraments such as confession, or communion, and whether or not you could "pick and choose" what you chose to believe and still be a member-in-good-standing of the church or confession of which you purported to be part.

My position was "if you want to be a Rotarian, you have to abide by the rules of Rotary". So if you can't accept the clear teaching of your faith confession, then perhaps you'd better look elsewhere.

At that point we both had places to go, things to do, and in my case a city council meeting to attend. But it was a very pleasant way to pass time, conversing with my friend. I hope we can do it again sometime soon.

Thanks TC!

Ugh

2010-07-14T19:31:00.002-05:00

Is there anything worse than a summer cold? Especially when it's so hot outside?

Two days now, hacking and coughing and feeling like a bus hit me. Back to work Thursday, though.

Made Day Three of Post-a-Day-30, though it's just a complaint about summer colds. :) Nothing deep, and nothing hobby-related.

Now to take a long, warm, soaking bath.

Naval gaming the ACW

2010-07-12T23:29:00.005-05:00

That's "American Civil War".

I've just invested in some ironclads to play games based primarily on the Mississippi River and tributaries during the 1861-1865 time period. I was fortunate during the 25th annual QuinCon convention in Quincy last month to play in two games of a ruleset titled "Raiders & Blockaders" and had such a great time I decided to do some ironclad games of my own.

So, I hear you ask, what do you mean ironclads?

These:

(That one's from David Manley, a UK wargamer and naval aficionado.)

(And that's from Scott Mingus, newly into the era, like myself.)

The Manley ship is 1/1200 scale. The Mingus ships are twice as big, at 1/600.

I'm going with 1/2400, which is half the size of the Manley ship. Yes, it's pretty small, but they are also inexpensive ($1.50 each), whereas the 1/1200's run from $4 to $10 apiece, and the 1/600's run from $18 to $26 apiece. They're more detailed, but I can't justify the expense.

Plus I can use the 1/2400 ships with a board wargame I already own titled "Ironclads" and thus don't have to buy a new set of rules.

OTOH Mr. Manley has a superb set of rules titled "Iron & Fire", and I did enjoy "Raiders & Blockaders" at QuinCon.

When I get my own painted and some riverbank terrain modeled, I'll play a game and take some pictures for the blog.

So many minis, so little time. :)

Quincy drivers

2010-07-12T14:56:00.002-05:00

When I moved to Quincy in 1996, I was amazed at how courteous 95% of the drivers were.

If you were trying to get into traffic, you didn't have to wait long before someone would let you merge; if you were trying to cross the street there would always be someone that let you slip across without getting run over.

People also seemed to be more careful drivers too.

Unfortunately in the last couple of years I have been seeing less and less of that courtesy, and more and more of people not paying attention to their driving.

Case: I was pulling out from in front of a local business, had checked the mirrors, the blind spot, etc., signaled and began pulling out when a driver squeals around the corner and comes very close to plowing into my rear end. Of course he honks, and flies the bird. News flash--it woulda been your fault, hitting me from behind.

Case: Trying like the dickens to get over to turn right on Broadway before 24th, and no one in the right lane would let me in. I finally had to come to a dead stop in the left lane and wait for everyone in the right lane to pass.

Those are not isolated instances either, more's the pity.

So come on Quincy drivers, you were doing so well for so long. Don't mess it up now.

PS. Yes, I was in an ax in Feb, 2009 and it was my fault for not paying attention as I should have. So it goes for me, too.

Let's try a new project

2010-07-12T14:54:00.002-05:00

We'll call it "Post-a-Day 30".

I'll try to post SOMETHING each day for 30 days.

It may be light, it may be serious, it may be funny, it may be sacred, it may be most anything--just I have to write something and post every day between July 12th and August 12th.

And this one doesn't count. :)

A Visit from St. Nicholas

2010-05-20T19:03:00.002-05:00

No, not Clement Moore's poem.

This is the real St. Nick, the Bishop of Myra in Lycia in Asia Minor, the one who tossed bags of gold through the window of a poor man so his daughters could get married.

Today, my priest visited me to tell me an anonymous person gave to the St Raphael Church Charity Fund for the purpose of assisting me in my financial bind while being treated for cancer and unable to work.

The amount is immaterial though not insubstantial, and will help with the cost of living until I get back to work in June after my final chemo treatment.

Glory to God, thanks to St. Nicholas and his servant, who have blessed me immensely with their support and love!

As an update for those wondering about my health: a PET Scan two months ago showed the cancer much reduced and inactive, so there is one more scheduled treatment on June 9th. In fact the cancer (non-Hodgkins lymphoma) hasn't really caused me much trouble--it's been the ancillary issues such as severe gout, a massive kidney stone, and the reaction to the chemo that's kept me from working.

Hopefully after the chemo is done I will bounce back quickly. My hope is to be back full time by the beginning of July and county fair season (so our Jim Dewey can focus on Farm Director duties and I can handle news once more).

On the positive side, I'm down almost 100 pounds since December, and feeling good about that. A 56 inch waist is so much nicer than a 66 inch waist, though all my pants are too baggy now. I hope to get a real exercise program set up as well as seriously watching what I eat. The goal over the next year will be to get down to about 240 pounds. 50 and fit, that's where I'm headed! :)

Anyway, once again thanks be to God and to my saviour Jesus Christ, to St. Nicholas and my anonymous benefactor, as well as to the doctors and nurses and staff and family and friends who have helped me through this.

God bless you all!

An update on the Pilgrim

2010-02-26T14:10:00.002-06:00

Hello all.

Many of you know what's been going on with me, and many do not.

I thought it might be helpful to let you know where I've been and where I'm going--especially for those who hear me regularly on WTAD and wonder why I have been on so infrequently of late.

Don't worry, I'm still a WTAD news reporter, just kind of on the sidelines for a bit.

In December, after a delightful run of Miracle on 34th Street, it was discovered I had four blockages around my heart and stents had to be placed. That slowed me down a bit.

Then in January after fighting an infection, it was discovered that there were growths on or around my kidneys. Looking back at CT scan from December, there was a small growth on or near the left kidney, so it grew very fast.

Diagnosis was aggressive large cell lymphoma and we moved pretty fast to get me into chemo, though we had a few speed bumps along the way (reaction to the initial treatment, an episode of blah blal with blood, sunken and exploding blood pressure) but finally got through the first chemo without further incident.

I'm home now, more or less, and resting. My treatment cycle is every 21 days and it doesn't appear so far that the side effects will be too debilitating. Yes, I'll lose my hair, I've had a few aches and pains, I've had to have a shot to improve white blood cell count which makes me feel a little flu-y, but hopefully future treatments will have less effect.

The plan is to go back to work (at least part time and with the approval of the good folks at WTAD) at the beginning of April.

The chemo will be for six to eight treatments every 21 days.

And that's where I am.

By God's grace and the love of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit, I am uplifted each and every day, and you prayers will help speed my recovery and return to active service.

A gift, by way of KKwtDR

2009-12-15T02:54:00.003-06:00

This was just too joyful to ignore, especially at this season of the year.

Consider it a Christmas smack upside the head from ol’ Kris Kringle WTDR to:

a) Don’t take it all so seriously

b) Love life

c) Sing and dance just a little each day (and rejoice in the Lord, if that's what you do--yes, I do!)

d) There is no point d.

Kris Kringle(with the DARK roots, baby!)

Nepotism, nepotism everywhere...

2009-11-10T17:00:00.002-06:00

...and because they're related to one of the High-and-Mighty, they must ipso facto be unqualified! String 'em up! Shoot 'em down! Evil! Evil! The Quincy Nepotism-Witch Trials!

Yeesh. You people need to get a grip. Figure out the fights that NEED to be fought and leave the ancillary issues alone.

I have lived in truly corrupt communities--Quincy ain't even close. Insular, yes, provinicial in may ways, yes. But corrupt? You ain't seen nothing, my friends.

Hmmmm, I just had an interesting thought apropos of the discussion.

I work for STARadio. STARadio is media sponsor for the Quincy Community Theater 2009 season. I am cast in a big role in Miracle on 34th Street.

Nepotism? Whaddaya think?

Buy a ticket and come see whether I am truly qualified to play Kris Kringle, or if it is clear that I only got in because of my "privileged relationship".

A little something from a wise statesman

2009-07-16T11:49:00.003-05:00

In light of recent developments in some areas of Quincy government, here is a reminder of just what a representative should be doing in serving.

Thank you, Edmund Burke.

------

Edmund Burke, Speech to the Electors of Bristol

3 Nov. 1774

I am sorry I cannot conclude without saying a word on a topic touched upon by my worthy colleague. I wish that topic had been passed by at a time when I have so little leisure to discuss it. But since he has thought proper to throw it out, I owe you a clear explanation of my poor sentiments on that subject.

He tells you that "the topic of instructions has occasioned much altercation and uneasiness in this city;" and he expresses himself (if I understand him rightly) in favour of the coercive authority of such instructions.

Certainly, gentlemen, it ought to be the happiness and glory of a representative to live in the strictest union, the closest correspondence, and the most unreserved communication with his constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him; their opinion, high respect; their business, unremitted attention. It is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasures, his satisfactions, to theirs; and above all, ever, and in all cases, to prefer their interest to his own. But his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgment, his enlightened conscience, he ought not to sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men living. These he does not derive from your pleasure; no, nor from the law and the constitution. They are a trust from Providence, for the abuse of which he is deeply answerable. Your representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion.

My worthy colleague says, his will ought to be subservient to yours. If that be all, the thing is innocent. If government were a matter of will upon any side, yours, without question, ought to be superior. But government and legislation are matters of reason and judgment, and not of inclination; and what sort of reason is that, in which the determination precedes the discussion; in which one set of men deliberate, and another decide; and where those who form the conclusion are perhaps three hundred miles distant from those who hear the arguments?

To deliver an opinion, is the right of all men; that of constituents is a weighty and respectable opinion, which a representative ought always to rejoice to hear; and which he ought always most seriously to consider. But authoritative instructions; mandates issued, which the member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to the clearest conviction of his judgment and conscience,--these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise from a fundamental mistake of the whole order and tenor of our constitution.

Parliament is not a congress of ambassadors from different and hostile interests; which interests each must maintain, as an agent and advocate, against other agents and advocates; but parliament is a deliberative assembly of one nation, with one interest, that of the whole; where, not local purposes, not local prejudices, ought to guide, but the general good, resulting from the general reason of the whole. You choose a member indeed; but when you have chosen him, he is not member of Bristol, but he is a member of parliament. If the local constituent should have an interest, or should form an hasty opinion, evidently opposite to the real good of the rest of the community, the member for that place ought to be as far, as any other, from any endeavour to give it effect. I beg pardon for saying so much on this subject. I have been unwillingly drawn into it; but I shall ever use a respectful frankness of communication with you. Your faithful friend, your devoted servant, I shall be to the end of my life: a flatterer you do not wish for.

-----------

My favorite political quote is from this:

Your representative owes you, not his industry only, but judgment; and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion.

From my brother

2009-05-20T09:55:00.002-05:00

This is a post that my brother Matthew made on Facebook today. For a Christian, what he has done is supposed to be something we are open to doing everyday, but I expect we all worry about--both the doing and the "whether" we should do it.

Anyway, Matthew Payne shares about:

Sincere or scammed?

I did something yesterday you are not supposed to do. I picked up a hitchhiker.

I was returning to Appleton from Fond du Lac and a morning in the archives. As I was going down the ramp, I saw a hitchhiker at the bootm. Female, about late 30's, early 40's. She had nice clothes on, a small black travel bag and a red purse. She seemed out of place, so I figured "Oh, why not." I believe in carpooling.

When she got in I could tell she was wearing perfume, had some tasteful jewelry. She looked like she was going to a job interview. She told me she was going to Appleton to apply for jobs at the mall in Appleton.

I won't bore you with the entire story, but the trip was spent trying to assess was this person sincere, or was she scamming me. She lost her job in Indiana, had spent her savings, decided to try things out in a different part of the country. She had her luggage stolen and her laptop was gone too. I checked to see if she had friends in Appleton. Nope. Did she have someplace to stay? Did she need some clothes? Nope and yep. But she never asked for these things.

I felt pretty confident this was a person down on their luck and not a scammer. I paid for her motel room for one night (cash...I am not naive enough to give out credit card info to a stranger), took her to a mall and left her with enough money for something to eat and bus fare. I wished her luck.

I woke up this morning wondering how she was doing. She was a person needing help, but not a person in need. I offered to get her into contact with the usual agencies for assistance, but she wasn't interested, probably felt it was beneath her.

It has been a while since I helped a complete stranger like that, outside of planned activities through church or another service organization. This was just me, one on one. I am not sure what the whole experience means, but it's one that seems to be sticking with me.

Thanks bro, for the reminder.

John Tripp: Memory Eternal

2009-05-16T20:31:00.003-05:00

I was deeply saddened today to learn of the death of John Tripp, aged 59.

I cannot say John was among my friends, for he was not. He was an acquaintance, with whom I conversed a few times first as a news reporter and second as a guy involved in music who performed in a couple of shows with his daughter Meredith. But without hesitation I say, I would have been proud to have been his friend.

If there was ever a man who could have borne the mantle of Mr Quincy after the passing of Joe Bonansinga, John Tripp would have been a prime contender. Perhaps he could even be called Mr Tri-States, for his involvement and committment extended far beyond the border of Quincy. Take his many years of devoted service to Culver-Stockton College in Canton, for example.

John is an example all of us could do to emulate. Certainly he blogged far more than I ever seem to find time to do. His weekly "Up Down and Around our Town" was routinely cheery, thoughtful, and well worth the few minutes it took to read each Monday. If I may, John displayed great wisdom, the kind that few of us attain. John was blessed.

I will miss him and his quiet optimism.

It is appropriate that his final posting on Monday May 11th was about the departure of Culver Stockton president Bill Fox. It is appropriate that the new president looks rather like John Tripp (to the point of "separated at birth?"). John surely got a chuckle out of being told the resemblance was uncanny.

It is even more appropriate that he began that posting thus:

"So many of us die with our music still in us", as Oliver Wendell Holmes so aptly put. His words were designed to make sure that we share all of our gifts as often as possible with those that are close. It speaks of making sure that those special talents are developed, shared and most of all, improved upon. Such is the challenge of living in a fast-moving society. Reality tells us that there will always be starts and stops; it's the journey that really counts the most.

John, your music was lovely and not long enough, but you shared your talents freely with the kind of largesse made famous in song and story. Your journey will be remembered by the many whose lives you touched.

Memory eternal. Memory Eternal. Memory Eternal.

Great Lent begins Monday, March 2nd

2009-02-26T22:35:00.003-06:00

Yes, I know Roman Catholics and Protestants began on Wednesday. We figure the date of Easter differently, which means we start Lent differently as well.

But that's not why I'm posting this.

My friend Ron Fritts has a decent article about "giving something up for Lent" over on QuincyNews.Org. You can find it here.

I don't always agree with Ron but he pretty much has this one down pat.

Fasting and prostrations (the two big Orthodox penitential activities) are meaningless without a heart that is willing to change, and an attitude of repentance and intention to do better, and a firm resolve not to observe the letter without embracing the spirit.

The Orthodox during Great Lent generally refrain from meat, dairy, fish, wine, and olive oil. On Saturdays we are allowed fish, wine and oil, usually. On Wednesdays and Fridays we are asked to fast all day (and that actually applies all year round, not just in Great Lent) and break our fast in the evening with very simple fare.

The point is not to obsess over "oh I can't buy this product at the store because it has milk by-products!" The point is to use the time you would usually spend preparing and eating on spiritual food--reading Holy Scripture, or the writings of our Christian fathers and mothers, or in prayer, or in helping others. The point is to use these ancient spiritual practices to help YOU to grow to be more like God: loving, forgiving, calm, full of grace.

If you miss a day, move on and try to do better. If your non-Orthodox parents offer you a meal that includes your favorite steak and blue cheese, do not insult them by refusing, but accept their hospitality humbly and with a glad heart. Fasting from food doesn't mean you fast from right treatment of others.

We say a special prayer during Great Lent, and we say it often. It's meant to focus us on the real meaning of what we're doing--not as a duty to be borne, but as a means to "deification", an aid to that "narrow way", a staff (if you will) upon the path to "theosis".

It is the Prayer of St. Ephraim the Syrian, and it is replete with prostrations. But look past that to what it says, and what we are saying when we submit to God and to letting His power help us overcome the things which hinder us:

The Great Lenten Prayer of St Ephraim:

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despondency, lust for power and idle talk.
(Prostration)

But grant unto me, Thy servant, a spirit of chastity, humility, patience and love.
(Prostration)

O Lord and King, grant me to see my own faults and not to judge my brothers and sisters. For blessed art Thou unto ages of ages. Amen.
(Prostration)

O God, cleanse me a sinner. (12 times, with as many bows, and then again the whole prayer from the beginning throughout, and after that one great prostration)

Perhaps if you say this prayer you will not do a single prostration. Personally I think you will be missing an incredibly powerful spiritual exercise (not to mention physical :), but just focus on the words all the same.

Therein lies a great gift of God's grace.

One other thing, the Orthodox don't do the Ash Wednesday thing. But we do have Forgiveness Vespers. This Sunday after the Divine Liturgy (although more properly at sundown) we will pray the Vespers service and end by going to each member of the congregation, embracing them and saying "Brother (or sister), forgive me."

This simple act begins our Lenten walk, and the spirit in which we participate colors the entire season.

May God grant that I freely and openly forgive anyone I have offended, and that I humbly and with great compunction request their forgiveness for my many faults.

Glory to God unto the ages of ages.

Reader Nikolai Kevin Payne

Finding old friends

2009-01-31T08:34:00.003-06:00

I resisted as long as I could, but some insistent friends finally convinced me to sign up on Facebook. Or actually, since I signed up about 4 years ago, they convinced me to actually USE Facebook.

I have, in the space of about two weeks, reconnected with a host of old friends from high school through college to today.

It's amazing.

People I haven't thought of in years but instantly remember when I see their name (although the pictures tend to be a bit off :), and it's as if the intervening years hadn't happened, we're yacking and laughing as if we'd just stepped away for a few.

Of course I keep getting "OMG you don't look any different!" which I actually hate to hear, probably because for the most part I can't reciprocate. I find most everyone looks older, and that's not always polite to say.

Still, linking up again with so many people I remember with great affection is a real blessing.

Thanks for the push, my friends.

Living up to one's name

2009-01-30T12:54:00.002-06:00

I am laid up today after taking a tumble last night while covering a story. Then I made it worse by standing around for an extended period after that meeting talking shop with one of the confraternity of local media folks.

I'd already had a twinge of gout in my left ankle yesterday and made a doctor visit to get something done for it. Of course in my "king klutz" routine I also bunged up my left hand.

Anyway, I'm off the foot for today, propped up and working on blood flow since the gout has kicked in big time. I will spare you a description of the swollen glory of my ankle. The wrist isn't too bad, though.

The killer is I can't take ibuprofen because of my high blood pressure medicine, and tylenol doesn't relieve much of the pain. I am reminded of Bill Cosby describing his wife's "natural child birth": I WANT MORPHINE!

I also hate missing work since it means an exta load for Jim and Mary, and today it also means an extra call for something I was to cover this morning as well as figuring out how to get coverage at the 1844th homecoming tonight (after 5:30 p.m. at the armory for those who want to go and thank these great folks for their service).

At least it is a good opportunity to rest and recuperate, and spend some time in prayer and meditation on dealing with adversity. Practice on that last is sometning we could all use these days, I daresay.

Have a good one, my friends. And may God bless you and keep you.

It's not supposed to apply to ME

2009-01-29T23:07:00.002-06:00

You may take that title any way you like. Considering today's action in the Illinois Senate, you would be justified in thinking it is a currently unemployed guy's lament.

But no, really it's all about ME.

You see, my predecessor as "reporter on the spot" at Quincy City COuncil meetings had (still has) a rep for pulling out the watch at "go-time" and announcing "It's 7:30 Mr. Mayor!"

I had no such tag line when I started covering the Council (and other evening government bodies). But I noticed one group of aldermen at those meetings would stay in their seats long after adjournment, usually even outlasting my lengthy chats with various principals about issues of the evening.

Finally one night I walked up to the four or so fellows and said what has now apparently become my tagline. Every week now I am pretty much compelled to remind them.

So, I told you THAT to tell you THIS.

It's late night. I have finished a very long day at work in which a lot of stuff happened and I did a lot of listening, note-taking, and writing.

And I'm too darned tired to get up from in front of the work computer and go home.

So I say to myself my "John Holm/City Council" line:

"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!"

Thank you, and good night.

And so, the 44th President

2009-01-20T12:21:00.002-06:00

An orderly transition of power. No bullets. No coup. No blood. No warfare. There was probably some hate being tossed around, from all sides of the circle, but we didn't have to deal with it as we watch Barack Obama sworn in as Number 44.

That says much for the quality of American character. Despite or sniping, griping, snitching, bitching, groaning, moaning, and downright unpleasant expressions of all manner of political, social, religious or any other form of thought, when January 20th rolls around we hand over the reins of power without argument. Without a fight. Because it is the right thing to do.

For this I give glory to God. The one who governs His creation gives us a gift of subcreation (thank you J.R.R. Tolkien for that wonderful term) to come up with a way of governing that in spite of its flaws and the flawed people who implement it, still manages to work. In many ways it may be a real Rube Goldberg contraption, but as seen this morning, it does work.

Like President Obama and the policies he says he will pursue or not, like George W. Bush and his policies or not, at 12 noon Eastern on January 20th, 2009, the latter stepped aside and made way for the new President.

Despite the prophecies that Bush would sieze power and declare a state of emergency and stay in office...it didn't happen. Despite the prophecies that some would riot rather than accept a black (or reputed Muslim, or "choose your own complaint") President...it didn't happen. I would remind those "prophets" of the biblical penalty for false prophecy. How fortunate for them that we do not practice it (for those who don't know, it was death by stoning).

Now the weight falls on the man from Illinois, and a heavy weight it is. Every Orthodox service, Vespers, Matins and Liturgy, we pray for the president and civic leaders, multiple times. I shall do so fervently, as I have done now for three presidents. Lord have mercy, and may He grant President Obama the wisdom and grace and power to rule all Americans in a just, right, and beneficial way.

I don't like all he wants to do. I don't like all he had to say (there were implications of blame that I do not believe were appropriate in his speech), but for the most part I will stand behind him because he is the duly-elected leader of our nation. It is not only my obligation as a citizen, but as a Christian.

In Orthodox teaching, our leaders are a gift from God, whether they are blessing or scourge. And because it is America, whatever a president might be, he too will pass in the end, four years or eight years, but he too will pass. As powerful as the position is, no president will destroy the nation by his policies. He may cause disruption and damage, but we can overcome, especially if we have faith in God and put our shoulders to the wheel and work to move forward past our failings.

And this applies equally at lower levels of government too. No matter the corruption, no matter the nepotism, no matter the wild-eyed optimism or depressing pessimism, no matter what divides us, in the end we get drawn together because we can choose to show our leaders the door. But even if we don't THIS time, there will be another chance.

Meanwhile, we can do what we can do to improve our lot and that of those around us, in spite of (and sometimes in association with) those leaders we may not agree with.

I hope that is our attitude going forward now. Whether President, Governor, Mayor, legislator--remember you too are mortal, as the slave used to whisper in the Roman general's ear as he received the adulation of the masses. And to the people--we also should remember they are mortal and will make mistakes, perhaps almost unforgivable ones, but in the end they too will be gone and we will have to move on.

Let's strive to do our best, to be our best, no matter who holds the reins, no matter who occupies the head of the table.

Isn't that some of what it is to be Christian?

And on this day isn't that even more of what it means to be American?

God bless President Obama, those who have led and those who will lead, and all the people of these United States of America.

Elections are almost all done...

2008-11-10T12:37:00.003-06:00

I say almost because this week my church (the Orthodox Church in America) will be electing a new Metropolitan. Once that's done and approved by our Synod of Bishops (who may have to do the selection themselves if the delegates to our national convention can't call someone with a clear majority on the first ballot) we'll have a new Top Dog in the OCA. And hopefully we will see more positive growth in how our central office works with our dioceses and laity.

But of course that's not the main "election" story.

Nor is the decision by the (now former) Episcopal Diocese of Quincy to shake the dust off its collective feet with regard to the increasingly liberal U.S. Episcopal Church.

Those attending last weekend's annual synod of Quincy made that decision by an overwhelming majority (96 to 24). They aren't leaving the Anglican Communion though--they are now a diocese of the Province of the Southern Cone, in South America.

After about 30 years of increasing repudiation of traditional Christian teaching by the church, the good folks of Quincy (and Pittsburgh, and San Joaquin, and soon Fort Worth) decided the Episcopal Church had left them, and chose to align with another Anglican province.

Seems sensible to me, when the disagreements are so large and ongoing and apparently without possibility of resolution, especially when you can maintain your place in the greater group (the worldwide Anglican Communion).

One hopes that the majority, aka the Episcopal Church, will show good sense and Christian charity and allow the dissidents to make their way in a path that is right for them--something the Episcopal Church professes to support for everyone else in its polity though to date has shown little willingness to extend to traditionalists.

And so from that election story to the third and likely most pertinent to the vast majority of Americans: November 4th.

Those who know me know I am something of a centrist with rightward leanings and a handful of leftish opinions to spice things up. Call me Goulash Guy, if you will.

I'm a bit put off by the seemingly endless comparisons of Obama to FDR and Lincoln. It's far too soon to even contemplate such things, other than at the most shallow level, because so far he's had no opportunity to do anything. Let's let him serve his term (maybe two if he does okay first time around) and then get a few years under our belts. Then we can make that kind of judgement call.

That said, give the guy a chance. He IS a personable, intelligent, and apparently reasonable fellow, and I think he has the ability to do a decent job as president. There's no need to start off by trying to tear him down. Once he's actually DONE something, then the loyal opposition can make its voice heard. Plenty of time for constructive criticism later, really.

At the same time, spin it how you like, but Mr. Obama does not have anything approaching a mandate. 52% to 47% does not constitute a mandate, even if it does denote a clear choice. The majority should be very careful not to tread upon the rights of the minority as they take their opportunity, their chance, to make a difference in this country.

Come to think of it, that advice applies to all three of the elections I've mentioned.

The future holds both good things and bad. We might well weather them better if we work together than if we spend all our time bitching at each other and moaning about how unfair it all is.

I'm sure I won't like everything Barack Obama does as president. Why should he be different from every other president under whose authority I have lived?

But in the end, we'll get farther and have more to be proud of if we make an effort to move ahead in some modest unity.

And I cast my vote for that, no matter what the election.

From another Orthodox blog

2008-09-16T12:48:00.004-05:00

Ikon of St. John in Silence, 17th c.

A wonderful posting from a wonderful Orthodox Christian blog, from which many bloggers could take a lesson--most definitely including me.

Risky Business Revisited

The state of the Church

2008-09-16T12:36:00.001-05:00

From St. Ambrose (The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Second Series Vol. X; Eerdmans pg. 334):

The likeness of Your Church, O Lord, is that woman who went behind and touched the hem of Your garment, saying within herself: "If I do but touch His garment I shall be whole" (Mt. 9:21).

So the Church confesses her wounds, but desires to be healed.

From the Philokalia

2008-09-16T12:34:00.001-05:00

From Evagrios the Solitary (The Philokalia Vol. 1 edited by Palmer, Sherrard and Ware; Faber and Faber pg. 38):

Provide yourself with such work for your hands as can be done, if possible, both during the day and at night, so that you are not a burden to anyone, and indeed can give to others, as St. Paul the Apostle advises (cf. I Thess. 2:9; Eph. 4:28). In this manner you will overcome the demon of listlessness and drive away all the desires suggested by the enemy; for the demon of listlessness takes advantage of idleness. "Every idle man is full of desires." (Prov. 13:4 LXX).

You never appreciate...

2008-08-20T08:15:00.002-05:00

I've lived in Quincy since 1996. The community is clean, friendly, contrary to popular opinion there IS quite a bit to do and get involved in, and for the most part while it has some problems, they are not insurmountable nor devastating nor indicative of a community heading out in the proverbial handbasket.

I like Quincy. I like the people. I don't like some of the political games and some things about local government, but those things--in the long term--tend to get corrected or at least modified for the better. And I keep my fingers crossed.

But all that's just to set up this:

Why am I then, just like the old cliche, so remiss when it comes to participating in activities in my own backyard?

To wit, for the first time in 12 years I went to the K of C barbeque. Doh! Where have I been? Don't ask me to figure out why I succumbed for so long to the notion that you don't visit the attractions at home. It's kind of dumb, to be honest, especially these days with gas prices what they are. Why drive to St. Louis or Chicago when we have great events and activities right here (or relatively close)?

Anyway the KofC was great, well-organized, clean, and just lots of fun. I didn't even go with a big bunch of friends. I let one person convince me to go with his family and I had a great time.

Another confession: last year was the first time I went to the Adams County Fair. I grant that I went primarily to sing the National Anthem before the big concert (Adkins? Was that the performer? I forget, except his band members paid me a great compliment saying "Wow man, you got a GREAT set of pipes!"). But I hung around a while and again, it was great fun.

The point is this: don't whine about "nothing to do". Even beyond special events there are activities, museums, concerts (of many stripes), and who knows what-all going on nearly all the time in Quincy and the surrounding area. So get out and enjoy!

A plug: LST-325, the last of the operating World War 2 era "Landing Ship, Tanks" is docked at the Hannibal waterfront through Monday. It was at Normandy, in Korea, in Vietnam, and even spent some years in Greece. It's been refurbished as a museum and a memorial. Go see it, if for nothing else than to see the "original manufacturer equipment" that is stamped "Quincy". Yes, made right here by the old Quincy Compressor.

I've rambled enough for this morning. Time to get some work done around the house.

From Aleksandr Solzhenityn

2008-08-07T11:10:00.002-05:00

A quote from Solzhenitsyn, may his memory be eternal!

This is apropos especially of my chosen profession, and is good for all of us to reflect upon and consider.

From the 1974 essay "Live Not by Lies", addressed to his Russian countrymen during communism's reign.

"So in our timidity, let each of us make a choice: Whether consciously, to remain a servant of falsehood–of course, it is not out of inclination, but to feed one’s family, that one raises his children in the spirit of lies–or to shrug off the lies and become an honest man worthy of respect both by one’s children and contemporaries.

And from that day onward he:

- Will not henceforth write, sign, or print in any way a single phrase which in his opinion distorts the truth.

- Will utter such a phrase neither in private conversation not in the presence of many people, neither on his own behalf not at the prompting of someone else, either in the role of agitator, teacher, educator, not in a theatrical role.

- Will not depict, foster or broadcast a single idea which he can only see is false or a distortion of the truth whether it be in painting, sculpture, photography, technical science, or music.

- Will not cite out of context, either orally or written, a single quotation so as to please someone, to feather his own nest, to achieve success in his work, if he does not share completely the idea which is quoted, or if it does not accurately reflect the matter at issue.

- Will not allow himself to be compelled to attend demonstrations or meetings if they are contrary to his desire or will, will neither take into hand not raise into the air a poster or slogan which he does not completely accept.

- Will not raise his hand to vote for a proposal with which he does not sincerely sympathize, will vote neither openly nor secretly for a person whom he considers unworthy or of doubtful abilities.

- Will not allow himself to be dragged to a meeting where there can be expected a forced or distorted discussion of a question. Will immediately talk out of a meeting, session, lecture, performance or film showing if he hears a speaker tell lies, or purvey ideological nonsense or shameless propaganda.

- Will not subscribe to or buy a newspaper or magazine in which information is distorted and primary facts are concealed. Of course we have not listed all of the possible and necessary deviations from falsehood. But a person who purifies himself will easily distinguish other instances with his purified outlook.

No, it will not be the same for everybody at first. Some, at first, will lose their jobs. For young people who want to live with truth, this will, in the beginning, complicate their young lives very much, because the required recitations are stuffed with lies, and it is necessary to make a choice.

But there are no loopholes for anybody who wants to be honest. On any given day any one of us will be confronted with at least one of the above-mentioned choices even in the most secure of the technical sciences. Either truth or falsehood: Toward spiritual independence or toward spiritual servitude."

Ooooooh Kaaaaaaay

2008-08-01T18:02:00.003-05:00

The Hannibal "Cavemen".

Uh-HUH.

Maybe shoulda coulda thought of calling them the "Mark Twain" Cavemen? I mean if you're gonna go with "Cavemen", anyway.

Oh well, not my call.

(That would be "right down the middle...STEEEE-rike!")

Remiss...

2008-07-29T12:24:00.002-05:00

As in, I have been. Very much.

First, I have not posted since my whiny rant on July 8th. Second, I have been very bad about getting to church--with three opportunities each week, that's pretty bad. Third, I've been neglecting friends and family in favor of crawling into my hole whenever I'm not working. How pointless is that?

This blog is supposed to be about living in Quincy, with its beauties and its follies, and passed somewhat through the prism of trying to strive after the qualities of God, as expressed in Orthodox Christianity.

Not doing too well, am I?

I don't have any sudden deep and meaningful insight to share here. I'm just doing some self-examination and not liking what I see very much.

Many years ago when I was a member of the Episcopal Church in Peoria, I also had a problem rousting myself out to get to church. My pastor, Fr. Gus, had a pretty good way of demonstrating how absurd it was to make excuses and not participate in the functioning of the Christian body. He would call and simply say "Get your ass to mass!"

Seems kind of trite, and yet it pointed up (for me, at least) the fact that even the hind end is part of the body and has a function, and that the body doesn't do as well if even the posterior isn't in attendance. I mean, how do you sit down if your ass isn't there? For that matter how does said tuchus benefit spiritually, socially, and even financially if it's forgoing the pleasures of community worship? In the case of the Orthodox Church, I'm also missing some great ethnic foods at fellowship hour (well, if we're going to be all physical about it, I like food too).

My laziness about church attendance has also become reflected in other "non-required" duties, as I mentioned above. Not writing for the blog, not writing for my own need to create stories, not writing for gaming, not keeping up with the cleaning at home, not keeping up with so many other things (though not work, where we've taken on a lot of extra duties and that doesn't bother me too much--we get it all done).

So what's the solution? One can only ask friends to do so much to deliver a kick to the seat of the pants. There comes a point where you have to motivate yourself. And I'm not feeling motivated.

Not sure what to do...except maybe try going to church more regularly.

(Let's not even talk about making a regular confession, okay? :)

BTW, one sure sign I've not been getting regular and balanced "feeding" in all the ways we need to be "fed", is that I get crotchety, whiny, and gripe about things like...oh, say, stupid people.

I guess I know the remedy.

"Get your ass to Mass."

Stupid People Rant

2008-07-08T10:23:00.004-05:00

Okay, in the interests of simple Christian charity, let me say that the vast majority of people are not stupid. We may do stupid things, but we're not stupid.

I will assume the person in this story is not stupid. Fanatic maybe, but not stupid. Lacking in common sense, certainly, but not stupid.

I should probably re-title the blog entry, but I won't.

So here's the story out of Chicago:

Chicago's smoking ban has forced the cast of ``Jersey Boys'' to snuff out their cigarettes.

Smoking was the norm in the 1950s and 60s when the play about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons takes place. But that doesn't matter when it comes to smoking in Chicago theaters. Authorities say an irate theatergoer lodged a complaint.

Just as irate is Alderman Bernard Stone. The former part-time actor told the Chicago Sun-Times smoking must be allowed if the play is going to be true to its time.

The Public Health Department has primary responsibility for enforcing Chicago's smoking ban. But spokesman Tim Hadac says the crackdown on Jersey Boys didn't originate there. He says someone likely flagged down a police officer during a production.

Got that? Someone was so incensed by the actors, PERFORMING THEIR ROLES IN THE PLAY, having the temerity to light up and smoke, that they filed a complaint which led to a ban on SOMETHING THAT IS PART OF THE PLAY.

Frankly if I were the playwright I would sue the city of Chicago for interfering with my freedom of expression.

We can present a painting of Harold Washington in drag; a "sculpture/painting" of the Virgin Mary smeared with elephant feces and surrounded by porn cut from magazines; piles of dirty, smelly underwear artfully strung about a gallery or pink latex wrapped around everything in sight on a California hillside. That's all art. But we dare not allow actors in performance in a theater to light up and smoke, even though they are doing what the script demands.

I can imagine how this person would have had a stroke if they'd seen me lighting up and puffing on a cig when I was in DIARY OF ANNE FRANK at QCT. Heck, I lit up TWICE!!!

I wonder if they wig out when they see a classic movie where people are smoking? I remember a science fiction story where the two protagonists were famous for having come up with an algorithim that could be applied to old movies and would edit out such horrible sins as smoking. Don't remember anything else about the story, just that.

And I laughed that such things would never ever happen. Looks like I'm stupid too.

I believed the Illinois State Police way back in 1983 or so when they said "we've instituted a seatbelt law but we'll never pull you over or ticket you just for not wearing one" too.

Yup. Me and the anti-smoking twit in Chicago...

Stupid people.

Could things get more depressing?

2008-06-27T09:31:00.002-05:00

Oh, there's a lot going on that is positive. The struggle to hold the levees is amazing and all those guys and gals deserve far more than a nod of thanks.

But the Busy Bistro is closing.

This delightful restaurant that had great food unlike anything else in Quincy, and prices that while a bit high weren't any worse than a couple of other "upscale" places in town.

And now it's closing.

After all the work the owners did in restoring the building and making efforts to refurbish the upper floors.

And now it's closing.

Great music almost every Friday night. A place for talented Quincy musicians who like soft rock and jazz and even some classical to perform.

And now it's closing.

My heart goes out to Nathaniel and Kerry and Rob and Terry and Michael and Nadine and everyone who poured their heart and soul into the business.

I understand there were internal factors (I REALLY hate to see you two leaving, M and N) but let's face it: downtown is in trouble, Quincyans on the whole don't give a flying, and we're all going to end up with exactly what we deserve.

If you don't know what that is, I invite you to take a stroll down east Broadway. Oh, you can't, there are no firk-ding-blasting sidewalks! Well drive then, and survey the rows upon rows of clones, mercantile and gustatorial. Isn't it all lovely? Places where you can get cheap meals, cheap goods, and a nice cheap life. And I mean cheap in the least pleasant form of the word.

OK, I'll be fair. There are places out there I like to eat. There are places out there I like to shop.

But why can't we have both? Why can't we have a vibrant downtown with all it's little gems, as well as an energetic outer district to supply larger needs?

Sigh.

On days like this I almost wish...well, let's just say Quincy just got a little more drab, boring, complacent, and insular, and we all lose.

Flotsam and Jetsam

2008-06-15T14:04:00.003-05:00

I wasn't here in 1993. What we saw in southern Illinois doesn't even compare.

If I may suggest, please take time to stop and help at one of the sandbagging locations during the coming week. And if you are the prayerful sort, spend some time offering up those affected by the flood, those working to help, those working long hours and those standing watch. In comparison to '93 it may not last nearly as long, but as the old joke goes, "it's not as long but it's just as wide".

---

Yesterday was my parent's 50th wedding anniversary. We had a small reception at the Emsland Halle on north 8th Street (lovely place with much German atmosphere...consider it for a meeting or reception of your own). It was a lovely affair and let's face it: 5 years is quite an accomplishment.

Happy anniversary Mom & Dad, and many more to come, God willing.

---

Mary Griffith was covering Barack Obama's visit to Quincy on Saturday. Both Jim Dewey and myself had previous engagements we really couldn't get out of. But about 2:30 I got a call (on Bob Gough's cell, of all things).

Mary had passed the time waiting for Obama by filling sandbags. When alerted that he had arrived she got up to go to the south lot where he was working...and dropped her recorder, shattering it.

Then she couldn't find her phone (we're hoping it's not now part of the wall surrounding the water plant). So she borrowed Bob's and called Jim who said he'd bring his but it would be a while. That led to her call to me. I zipped home, snagged my digital recorder and head over to the OLC.

Of course it was a mess and the police wouldn't let me out to get the recorder to Mary. Jim arrived and was able to find the back way out and got my recorder to Chad Douglas from KHQA, who got it to Mary who was lingering at the back of the press pool since she had no equipment.

Armed with the recorder she moved to the front where the national press were keeping their distance from Senator Obama, who was working with a young Boy Scout filling sandbags.

I'll leave the rest of the story for Mary to tell, but suffice to say she started the questions of Obama by stepping into the group around the Senator (all of whom she knows). I understand Chad Douglas from KHQA and Jake Miller from WGEM also got in some questions while they were moving inside with the Senator. How cool is that?

So we ran our story just before 5 p.m. on WTAD on Saturday. Made me proud to be part of the team and to have a boss who went the extra mile to get the job done.

There will likely be more of those kind of efforts in the days to come, because it's our job to make sure we get as much information to you as possible, in a timely fashion. We'll do our best, and I daresay that all of us, competitors that we are, will work together at some level to make sure you all know what you need to know as the fight against the river continues.

---

One last thought: standing in the lobby at the Lincoln Douglas apartments where the STARadio studios are located and looking up at the ceiling some 30 feet above.

That's pretty darned deep water, and not as deep as it will be when the river crests.

Holy cow!

Keep safe and dry if you're out fighting the flood. Don't hurt yourself filling sandbags. And may God bless you all.

More music...

2008-05-29T23:09:00.003-05:00

Took my nephew to Prince Caspian a couple of weekends ago.

Quite aside from my mild disappointment at the rather serious modifications to the story--which I understand, there's not a lot of "there" there in Prince Caspian the book--there were some great songs during the credits.

This is the best of them, IMO.

The Call, by Regina Spektor.

Interesting note:

The words to the poem "The Call" by George Herbert can be slipped into this tune without too much trouble though you do lose some of the rhythmic motion that Regina's words supply.

I like 'em both. Besides, I have Vaughan Williams version of Herbert's words to fall back on. :)

Questions and Answers

2008-05-28T17:02:00.002-05:00

I've been asked a couple of questions about the blog, and they deserve answers.

First, a comment from a reader that they enjoy my stuff which apparently is "often oddball, diverse, and interesting to read, especially knowing the writer from his work for a local radio news operation." I think that works out to a compliment. Thanks.

But the comment goes on to lament that I don't post often enough and ask why not.

Fair enough.

It takes some work to post coherent, sensible stuff. As "oddball" as my subject matter may be sometimes, it still requires me to put some thought and even research into anything I offer. I don't always have time or personal drive to do so--I'm basically a pretty mellow guy and don't feel the urge to write all the time.

OTOH too often I'm just lazy and just don't "do it". I'll try to do better.

Second question: "Why don't you take on all the cr@p that happens in this city? Would love to see your critical skills aimed at some of the subjects other blogs cover."

Well, that's the thing, isn't it? (To quote Indiana Jones :)

First off, other blogs cover it and much better than I generally could.

Second, I do have to maintain a certain level of nonpartisanship. I may disagree with the finance committee of the city council on the QCVB thing but there's no surer way to get myself in trouble with them and at work than by going off on them on my blog.

I do comment briefly from time to time on different subjects, and I do post the occasional rant on stuff that really sets me off--but I have to show a certain level of good sense in choosing those subjects.

Third, some of the things my fellow bloggers rail about just get repetitious and just aren't the big deals they work hard to convince the rest of the world constitute a grave danger to the city, county, state, etc. In other words, a good percentage of the bitching is being done about things that just aren't as bad as the complainer says they are.

Overall, Quincy is a good place to live, with good stuff going on. Are their issues? You betcha. Are they going to send the city sliding off into the Mississippi, with hellfire raining down on us, and everyone fleeing to Marblehead and Ewing to live? No. And they generally don't deserve all the bandwidth they get from my fellow bloggers either.

If I comment on some of those subjects, you can be assured I think they need work.

And I'm also striving to remain cognizant of this from the imestimable Edward R. Murrow.

""Just because your voice reaches halfway around the world doesn't mean you are wiser than when it reached only to the end of the bar."

A good piece of advice for all of us blogging, or striving to be reporters and journalists.

Sore feet and soaring music

2008-05-27T00:06:00.002-05:00

My feet hurt. Pretty bad, though I currently have them in a basin of hot water and epsom salts. My hips aren't doing too well either.

But my spirit....ah, the spirit leaps into the celestial when singing, when riding that fine line between participating in the opera yet keeping one part of yourself aside to watch.

Yeah, I know I'm waxing all poetic. My feet hurt. Sue me. I have to wax poetic or I'd cry.

In all seriousness, although I grumble when we stand and stand...and stand and stand...and stand and stand waiting for some technical glitch to be worked out (or worse, waiting to "DO IT AGAIN" because we screwed up), there IS a bit of a rush when the music starts up again and we strive to put the pieces together one more time--in spite of the aching feet, persperation, and weary voices.

Tonight was technical rehearsal for L'ELISIR D'AMORE by Gaetano Donizetti. The Muddy River Opera Company performs this Friday and Sunday. Lots and lots of standing as technical issues are worked out. I hate 'em. But they're a necessary evil--you have to get all the light cues and blocking and moving of set pieces and props in the right places or it all goes right into the toilet.

But it still makes my feet hurt. I can handle the show because we're moving all the time and we're done in 2 hours. But 5 hours of standing around is a recipe for Kevin to walk funny for a while (well, funniER, anyway).

Hope you'll consider coming to see the show. No busty valkyries with horned helmets, just lighthearted fun with a snake oil salesman, a self-confident jock soldier, a pretty rich girl, her poor boyfriend, and a bunch of mangy (but happy!) townspeople who get to watch the fun as boy loses girl, jock gets girl, snake-oil salesman convinces boy of "magic elixir" (just wine, but the boy's palate apparently is not well developed), girl plays boy and jock against each other, boy gets drunk and joins jock's outfit, snake oil salesman discovers boy is now rich because of dead uncle, boy gets girl, snake oil salesman takes credit, addio!

18 bucks. Tickets at the QCT box office (thanks for the help Dominic et. al.) Be there and watch me and my dear, well-behaved children. :)

My feet feel a lot better now, and I'm still humming the music from the show.

Uglifying things

2008-05-20T12:16:00.002-05:00

Try and swing down around Washington Park before the weekend. Take a look at the "protective fencing" that has been erected around various plantings.

Is that stuff UGLY or what?

I understand the need to protect the bushes and flowers and stuff from the trampling hordes that will be here this weekend for Gus Macker, but for heaven's sake can't we use something a little more attractive? The bright orange webbing around the Lincoln-Douglas monument would be (marginally) better than ratty old snow fencing.

So for a week we will have one of the prime entrances into Quincy bastardized and uglified by this crappy stuff.

Worst of all, we'll be subjected to it again and again this summer--as in summers past--with the various big events in the park.

Come on, Park District. Surely we can do better than THAT.

Please, please, please, invest in some NICE-LOOKING temporary fencing to protect these plantings!

Did I mention "please"?

"Intexication" Rant

2008-05-13T18:09:00.004-05:00

Been a long time since I ranted. So here we go...

Story on KHQA tonight at 6 about distracted driving.

No question, any idiot texting while driving should have the book thrown at them.

But I don't agree with the notion of extending the "distracted" nomenclature to any use of a cell phone or bluetooth in the car.

I am perfectly capable of talking on the phone and continuing to drive safely as are the vast majority of drivers out there. Obviously hands off operation is the safets so your hands can remain on the steering wheel where they belong, but the notion that talking in the car is an accident-causer...well, I'm hearing the same propaganda from law enforcement that I heard before we got the seatbelt law foisted on us.

If talking while driving is a distraction that causes accidents, are we going to see laws that prohibit us from not only talking on the phone, but also talking to passengers? Will we (and our riders) get ticketed for conversing at the same time we travel down the road?

And why stop there? Ditch radios and tape decks and CD players! You get doubly distracted there--setting 'em up and then listening (and god forbid you sing along!).

Friends in law enforcement and government: we do not need more intrusion of your tender mercies into our private lives. What we need is an effort to encourage common sense, not legalism that just ends up making more and more good citizens into criminals by sanctioning perfectly normal behavior.

I'm not opposed to nailing someone for doing something stupid while using their cell or even chatting with a passenger and driving.

But for pete's sake, we DO NOT need laws to prohibit us from talking in the car as if we were all petulant, misbehaving children. You're not my mom, guys and gals. Give the "we gotta protect you from yourself" insanity a rest.

Work and sing (and work and sing)

2008-05-12T18:01:00.003-05:00

Full rehearsals for the Muddy River Opera Company's annual "big" production begin tonight. I'm in the chorus (what is this, the 9th or 10th one I've done?)

The opera is Donizetti's "Elixir of Love". Or since we're doing it in Italian, "L'elisir d'amore".

This ain't rocket science. :) It's very light, very fun, and fairly humorous, even to non-early-19th-century-non-Italians!

Performances coming up Friday May 30th and Sunday June 1st.

Come see it--and don't let the Italian scare you. They'll project the English in supertitles over the stage.

Also don't miss (in a complete change of pace) Quincy News on the Air with Bob Gough, every Monday evening at 6:30 on WTAD AM 930. No opera, but lots of news and commentary.

And for those who asked: I completed three more missions playing B-29. Fun stuff!

Warning: Gamer Geek Post!

2008-05-07T12:35:00.004-05:00

I've been spending much of my (scarce) free-time since Easter (which was April 27th, remember) slaving over a hot game table, flying missions for the 20th Air Force in the Far East during WW2.

Mind you, I'm an old school gamer. That means a game board and charts and little cardboard chits, not a Wii of X-Box or even a computer.

The game is B-29 SUPERFORTRESS from Khyber Pass Games. It's a solitaire effort where you take on the role of the crew of a B-29 trying to reach your 35-mission requirement so you can head stateside.

It's an interesting system and an interesting game--a mix of geeky wargaming stuff and a spice of role-playing.

The job is to fly your plane, usually in formation with other bombers, from the U.S. airbase on Tinian to unload on various industrial and military sites in Japan in the last year of the Second World War. You have to contend with a plane that was incredibly complex and buggy, limited amounts of fuel, bad weather, navigation troubles, all that sort of thing. Oh yeah, you also have to fight off attacking enemy planes and try to avoid anti-aircraft fire AND drop your bombs on target in order to get proper credit for your mission.

At first glance, especially to someone who is not familiar with such games, this is a terribly complex piece of work. It comes with a 36-page book of tables and charts, for pete's sake!

However, most of those don't come into play until you're over your target, and once you've worked through the system on a couple of missions it becomes a fairly quick and simple game to play. I've run 14 flights since I got the game, on average spending 30 to 40 minutes on each.

Mind you, I've flown 14 times but I've only completed 6 missions to meet my mission goal of 35. The game system is unforgiving--it's pretty easy to have to abort your mission without accomplishing your goal. Sometimes it is even worse and you crash your plane. Enough said about that (no I'm not saying how many times I've done that :).

Anyway, that's where my [sarcastic mode on] "copious free time" [sarcastic mode off] has been going for a while now.

One of the cool things I've been watching related to this game are the After Action Reports from various other players. A number of people are posting these as letters home from a crew member or as stories. Another cool thing is the number of people who have reported going to the library or ordering books online to learn more about the era, the equipment, and the people involved.

My plane by the way is "Radio Flyer" and bears a nose painting of a cute girl riding a red wagon with her hair streaming out behind. :)

We're called for a mission this evening. Don't call me, I'll be in the air.

This is Capt. Nick Corbett signing off for some R&R before final briefing.

Link to my AAR: http://talk.consimworld.com/WebX?14@430.sA1NdT5K1zQ.100@.1dd267d5/349

Monday, Monday

2008-05-05T09:26:00.003-05:00

Back into the work zone for most of us, it being a Monday.

There are a couple of things on the plate today: two city council meetings (one at 2 p.m. and one at the regular 7:30 time). The two big issues will both be tonight, though: raises for elected officials and the creation of Friday night bus service.

Keep an eye on QuincyNews.org and listen to WTAD for all the details of how those meetings turn out.

Speaking of QuincyNews and WTAD, Bob Gough's broadcast version of his website premieres tonight at 6:30 on WTAD AM 930. Give it a listen.

No deep, wise, philosophical thought this morning. Why would I start now? :)

Also this week the Muddy River Opera Company begins gearing up for full rehearsals of "L'elisir d'amore" (that's "The Elixir of Love" for you non-Italian speakers). Two full bore chorus rehearsals, then next Monday nightly gigs until performances at the end of the month. Keeps me out of trouble, that's for sure. Unfortunately I failed in my intention of going into nightly rehearsals with the music all memorized. Maybe next year.

Saw Rodney Hart on Friday. He came into Busy Bistro while the family was having the annual bitrhday bash for my nephew (now 11) and my sister (his mom, older than me). Rodney and friends were there to enjoy the band, I assume. I love that the Bistro has live music every Friday. This group (whose name I didn't catch) was pretty good. They did NOT suffer from the lack of a rhythm section--apparently their drummer was out sick.

Finally if you're swinging down Hampshire between 6th and 7th, take a gander at the new sign at St. Raphael Orthodox Church. Nice, understated, but very visible. Come visit sometime.

Time to hit the showers!

The Paschal Kanon

2008-04-27T04:22:00.002-05:00

This is music we sang just tonight as we celebrated the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Of course this is not us--this is a parish in Canton, Ohio. BUT, the priest, Fr. John Peck, is a dear friend of mine who once served the parish in southern Illinois where I became Orthodox. What a delightfully "small world"!

CHRIST IS RISEN!

Christ is Risen!

2008-04-27T04:17:00.002-05:00

This is the Paschal greeting:

CHRIST IS RISEN!
INDEED HE IS RISEN!

Of course, when only use English in the U.S., Canada, and Great Britain. Here are a few others:

Albanian: Khrishti unjal! Vertet unjal!
Aleut: Khristus anahgrecum! Alhecum anahgrecum!
Alutuq: Khris-tusaq ung-uixtuq! Pijii-nuq ung-uixtuq!
Amharic: Kristos tenestwal! Bergit tenestwal!
Anglo-Saxon: Crist aras! Crist sodhlice aras!
Arabic: El Messieh kahm! Hakken kahm!
Armenian: Kristos haryav ee merelotz! Orhnial eh harootyunuh kristosee!
Aroman: Hristolu unghia! Daleehira unghia!
Athabascan: Xristosi banuytashtch'ey! Gheli banuytashtch'ey!
Bulgarian: Hristos voskrese! Vo istina voskrese!
Byelorussian: Khrystos uvaskros! Sapraudy uvaskros!
Chinese: Helisituosi fuhuole! Queshi fuhuole!
Coptic: Christos anesti! Alithos anesti!
Czech: Kristus vstal a mrtvych! Opravdi vstoupil!
Danish: Kristus er opstanden! I sandhed Han er Opstanden!
(or Sandelig Han er Opstanden!)
Dutch: Christus is opgestaan! Ja, hij is waarlijk opgestaan!
Eritrean-Tigre: Christos tensiou! Bahake tensiou!
Esperanto: Kristo levigis! Vere levigis!
Estonian: Kristus on oolestoosunt! Toayestee on oolestoosunt!
Ethiopian: Christos t'ensah em' muhtan! Exai' ab-her eokala!
Finnish: Kristus nousi kuolleista! Totisesti nousi!
French: Le Christ est ressuscite! En verite il est ressuscite!
Gaelic: Kriost eirgim! Eirgim!
Georgian: Kriste ahzdkhah! Chezdmaridet!
German: Christus ist erstanden! Er ist wahrhaftig erstanden!
Greek: Christos anesti! Alithos anesti!
Hawaiian: Ua ala hou `o Kristo! Ua ala `I `o no `oia!
Hebrew: Ha Masheeha houh kam! A ken kam! (or Be emet quam!)
Icelandic: Kristur er upprisinn! Hann er vissulega upprisinn!
Indonesian: Kristus telah bangkit! Benar dia telah bangkit!
Italian: Cristo e' risorto! Veramente e' risorto!
Japanese: Harisutosu Fukkatsu! Jitsu ni Fukkatsu!
Javanese: Kristus sampun wungu! Saesto panjene ganipun sampun wungu!
Korean: Kristo gesso! Buhar ha sho nay!
Latin: Christus resurrexit! Vere resurrexit!
Latvian: Kristus ir augsham sales! Teyasham ir augsham sales vinsch!
Lugandan: Kristo ajukkide! Amajim ajukkide!
Malayalam (Indian): Christu uyirthezhunnettu! Theerchayayum uyirthezhunnettu!
Nigerian: Jesu Kristi ebiliwo! Ezia o' biliwo!
Norwegian: Kristus er oppstanden! Han er sannelig oppstanden!
Polish: Khristus zmartvikstau! Zaiste zmartvikstau!
Portugese: Cristo ressuscitou! Em verdade ressuscitou!
Romanian: Cristos a inviat! Adevarat a inviat!
Russian: Khristos voskrese! Voistinu voskrese!
Sanskrit: Kristo'pastitaha! Satvam upastitaha!
Serbian: Cristos vaskres! Vaistinu vaskres!
Slovak: Kristus vstal zmr'tvych! Skutoc ne vstal!
Spanish: Cristo ha resucitado! En verdad ha resucitado!
Swahili: Kristo amefufukka! Kweli Amefufukka!
Swedish: Christus ar uppstanden! Han ar verkligen uppstanden!
Syriac: M'shee ho dkom! Ha koo qam!
Tlingit: Xristos Kuxwoo-digoot! Xegaa-kux Kuxwoo-digoot!
Turkish: Hristos diril-di! Hakikaten diril-di!
Ugandan: Kristo ajukkide! Kweli ajukkide!
Ukranian: Khristos voskres! Voistinu voskres!
Welsh: Atgyfododd Crist! Atgyfododd yn wir!
Yupik: Xris-tusaq Ung-uixtuq! Iluumun Ung-uixtuq!
Zulu: Ukristu uvukile! Uvukile kuphela!

May God bless you, all my friends and acquaintances, known and unknown (I can say that, I'm in radio :), during this holiest of Christian festal times!

What does it all mean?

2008-04-25T08:50:00.002-05:00

I am not a very good person.

I am variously angry, spiteful, lustful, nasty, crude, unkind, even evil. I am all too aware of my shortcomings both personal and professional. Were I to be judged solely by the results of my actions and the state of my heart...well, let's not go there.

This is a day to remember all that. This is a day to lament all that shows I am not and indeed cannot, solely of my own accord, be the kind of person I truly want to be: decent, kind, trusting, trustworthy, dedicated, prayerful, and above all, loving.

Today all that is dark and disturbing in my soul seems to be all-powerful. To quote a psalm, "My heart is in anguish within me, the terrors of death have fallen upon me. Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me."

Solzhentizyn said the line between good and evil runs through every man's heart, and today I can see that so clearly--and the balance seems to me to be running to the evil side.

And yet...

Hear this from the rest of Psalm 55:

But I call upon God,
and the Lord will save me.
Evening and morning and at noon
I utter my complaint and moan,
and he will hear my voice.
Cast your burden on the Lord,
and he will sustain you;
he will never permit
the righteous to be moved.

On this day, I remember the darkness of that first Great and Holy Friday. Whether or not it actually was a Friday is immaterial. What happened is the important thing.

On this day, I remember an innocent victim going to the cross.

On this day, I remember my failings, the darkness of my heart, the wages of sin, the pains of hell...and as St. Silouan counsels, I do not despair.

You may not believe. That is your option, your choice. You may think me a fool for believing as I do in the Son of God, Jesus Christ, yet I have seen and experienced enough self-induced pain and enough beauty, forgiveness and healing from somewhere that your mockery does not affect me.

This is the day the weight of my own wretchedness began to be lifted from my shoulders. And I can look forward to the early morning very soon when I can sing with George Herbert:

Rise heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delays,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him may'st rise;
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more, Just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The cross taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
And multiplied;
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

Glory to Jesus Christ!

Musings on Great & Holy Friday III

2008-04-25T08:47:00.001-05:00

The noble Joseph,
when he had taken down Thy most pure body from the Tree,
wrapped it in fine linen and anointed it with spices,
and placed it in a new tomb.
--Troparion of Holy Saturday

Musing on Great & Holy Friday II

2008-04-25T08:42:00.001-05:00

Today the Master of Creation stands before Pilate
and the Creator of All is condemned to the cross.
As a lamb He is willingly led, and fastened with nails.
His side is pierced, and He, Who rained manna on the earth,
is given drink from a sponge.
The Savior of the World is struck on the cheek,
and the Creator of All is mocked by His own servants.
For those who crucify Him,
He entreats His Father, saying:
"Father, forgive them this sin
because the lawless ones know not what injustice they do."
O, what a supreme love for mankind.
--from Vespers for Great & Holy Friday

Musing on Great & Holy Friday I

2008-04-25T08:32:00.001-05:00

I Got me flowers to straw Thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree;
But Thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st Thy sweets along with Thee.

The sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East perfume,
If they should offer to contest
With Thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:
There is but one, and that one ever.

--George Herbert

Did the earth move for you too?

2008-04-18T14:58:00.003-05:00

Nothing like being awakened at 4:30 in the a.m. with a usually-mellow cat acting mental and the impression that someone is pounding on your apartment door.

I can't say I actually felt the earthquake, but it did sound for all the world like someone (Tookie maybe :) was trying like heck to roust me out of bed.

When I walked into work, everyone was standing around chattering. It seems that while I was driving in from putting gas in the car, we'd had an aftershock. Why do I miss all the fun?

Congrats to Roberto Stellino, owner of Tiramisu in Quincy. He's become a citizen of the United States today. Also to the four other Quincyans who are taking that big step with him today.

Now THAT'S an earth-shaking experience we should all think about--especially if we're natural born--and give thanks that, even with all its warts, this is still one of the best places in the world to live.

This is very odd. Really.

2008-04-09T03:39:00.003-05:00

Can someone tell me, when I was sick from last Wednesday through Monday (and really still am but at least now I'm functional), when I worked a 12 hour day Tuesday, and look to do it again Wednesday...

WHY THE HECK AM I SITTING UP STILL AWAKE AT 3:40 IN THE FREAKING A.M. NOT SLEEPING?!?!

And also not commenting on a bunch of things worthy of comment: city budget hearings (check Tookie and East End for their takes), music (Funions--or at least RH--are doing lots of performing, check over there), Pam Fretwell getting roasted (I made her cry on her last day at STARadio--in a good way of course), county comprehensive planning meetings (this is gonna be....interesting), and so much more.

By the way, I have found the Holy Grail of upper nasal congestion relief: Zicam spray just cleans me out so well I don't get a headache and I can BREATHE!!! Hallelujah!

Note I said I wasn't sleeping, I did not say I was particularly coherent.

City Council Monday night was surreal under the influence of my meds. Tom Fentem cracked me up when he got up and volunteered to postpone the Preservation Commission's presentation so the aldermen and audience could get home to watch the NCAA championship. John Holm has probably seen swifter motions, seconds, and votes, but I haven't.

New BATTLESTAR GALACTICA season underway. I can't believe they brought Starbuck back. Please. No more Starpollo worse-than-soap-opera "romance". I also don't think I like any of those characters anymore. They're all worse than flawed--they're clueless AND lacking in moral fiber.

Watched the movie SWEENEY TODD for the first time. Not bad, Johnny Depp has a good voice, but neither he nor Helena Bonham Carter know how to act while they sing. Plus they left out too much, and Burton could at least have given us the ballad during the end credits.

Waiting for the next season of DOCTOR WHO.

Waiting for Great Lent to wind to its conclusion in Holy Week (not far now) and then Pascha (April 27th).

It occurs to me that I probably need to fast more from the pointless entertainments I just critiqued. Of course it's late and I'm a bit loopy.

One last non sequitur: just finished the first volume of POWER AT SEA by Lisle Rose about naval industrialism and sea power in the 20th century. 1st volume was about 1900 to 1918. Had to break out the WW1 naval minis and play a couple of battles. Solo of course, so I won but I lost, all at the same time.

I thought exercising my brain and writiing would put me to sleep, but alas.

Guess I'll go for an early morning drive.

School announcements

2008-04-01T17:30:00.002-05:00

We are told that there will be two sets of school announcements this week from Quincy District 172.

On Wednesday expect to hear the fate of Irving School (i.e. how the district plans to use it now that it won't be a school), as well as the new school boundaries.

We have not received any kind of notice of a press conference on this, so I suspect thay will just send out a press release to the media.

Then on Friday they will hold a special School Board meeting at 6:30 a.m. That will begin with a closed session--which is where they talk about terminations (and other privacy-issue related items). We've been told to expect to hear who and how many will be laid off during that meeting, once it goes open session again.

I don't want to comment more on the situation since I will likely have to attend and report on the meeting.

Just keep everyone in your thoughts and prayers--these are tough things to have to go through for students, families, teachers and other staff.

For the suffering faithful in Alaska

2008-03-29T02:13:00.002-05:00

They are not my words, but they are my prayer. May God bless the land where Orthodoxy first came to North America.

O God of earth and altar, bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter, our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us, the swords of scorn divide;
Take not Thy thunder from us, but take away our pride.

From all that terror teaches, from lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches that comfort cruel men;
From sale and profanation of honor and the sword;
From sleep and from damnation, deliver us, good Lord!

Tie in a living tether, the prince and priest and thrall;
Bind all our lives together, smite us and save us all;
In ire and exultation aflame with faith and free,
Lift up a living nation, a single prayer to Thee.

--G.K. Chesterton

Lord, have mercy!

Fasting (it's still Lent for the Orthodox)

2008-03-28T23:05:00.003-05:00

I snagged this from one of the new Orthodox links at the right: the blog of Fr. Joseph Huneycutt, Orthodixie.

It's from the Patriarch of Constantinople, Bartholomew.

Together with prayer, fasting is a critical form of ascetic discipline in the spiritual life. Physical practices of abstinence assist in breaking forceful habits that accrue within and harden the heart over years and even over generations. However, like the phenomenon of monasticism ... the aim of fasting is not to denigrate or destroy the body, which is always respected as "a temple of God" (1 Cor. 3:16). Rather, it is to refine the whole person, to render the faculties more subtle and sensitive to the outside world as well as to "the inner kingdom."

Fasting is another way of rejecting the split between heaven and earth.

Fasting implies a sense of freedom. Fasting is a way of not wanting, or wanting less, and of recognizing the wants of others. By abstaining from certain foods, we are not punishing ourselves but instead able to preserve proper value for all foods. Moreover, fasting implies alertness. By paying close attention to what we do, to the intake of food and the quantity of our possessions, we better appreciate the reality of suffering and the value of sharing.

Fasting begins as a form of detachment; however, when we learn what to let go of, we recognize what we should hold on to.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind

2008-03-27T20:46:00.003-05:00

I sang this one in the district choral festival in Kenosha, Wisconsin...in 1978!

Never saw it again either as a score or in a recording. But here it is on YouTube.

The "embed" command was disabled, but I've put the link to the page where you can listen.

Gorgeous piece, great Shakespere text, a real weeper.

Of all the recordings of this on YT (yeah, there are a bunch, and I had to suffer without the song for 30 years!!! :) this has the cleanest singing and the best tempo.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind

March Rain

2008-03-27T18:57:00.001-05:00

Rodney Hart doesn't like March rain. Thinks it's "bleah".

Rain in February or November is incomparably worse than March rain.

In February it brings thoughts of "Oh crap, it's still winter and this month was already devised to challenge even a saint's faith!"

In November it brings thoughts of "Winter is almost here and it's gonna be cold and ugly and this month was already devised to challenge even a saint's faith!"

But in March...

"Spring is so close I can feel it and even if it gets cold or yucky, I see the trees getting ready to burst forth and the sun is moving north and after all, it's the month that gives hope even to the vilest sinner!"

So Rodney's wrong. :)

The Bishop by Anton Chekov

2008-03-27T18:26:00.001-05:00

Here's a link to an interesting story by Chekov.

The Bishop

Thanks to St. Nicholas Russian Orthodox Church in Dallas for its voluminous website!

How the Pilgrim has wasted his morning

2008-03-27T12:35:00.011-05:00

It's not been a total waste, of course. I took my walk, I mopped the kitchen and bathroom, and I marked the cuts in the opera score for Muddy River Opera Company rehearsal tonight.

But after that...

It's Microsoft Train Simulator, using a route that follows the old Chicago Great Western Railroad from Chicago out to Oelwein, Iowa.

I rather went over the speed limit.

Oh yeah, I spent some time this afternoon updating the blog, changing the template, and making a simple header graphic...time wasted or not? You decide. :)

Cold, rainy, and yet...

2008-03-27T12:16:00.002-05:00

I've been trying to get out and walk more lately.

It's problematic because I have chronic gout and it almost always goes to my feet. I do take medication and drink lots of water, but from time to time I'll have a lingering attack that, while not as painful as a full-blown assault, still makes walking distances quite the chore.

And yet...

Went out this morning determined to go at least around the block, perhaps as far as Washington Park (which is just three blocks away after all), and back. Good for the circulation, good for me period. One of my Lenten disciplines this year. (Remember, Pascha/Easter for the Orthodox isn't until April 27th.)

It was cool and it rained lightly. That's usually enough to turn me off but today it was different.

It had rained enough overnight to make the air smell really fresh--cold, but fresh. It was bracing, as they say.

At the park, rain dripped off the trees and while there was no sunlight per se, it still kind of sparkled and made everything look new and pretty. Even the new restroom construction didn't look so bad. :)

It was fairly quiet too, at 8 a.m. Most of the traffic was off on 4th Street and I stayed on the 5th Street side.

I headed back and stopped for a moment in front of St. Raphael Church (right next to the Busy Bistro) and looked at the ikons in the window. I have a key and thought about going in for a few minutes but decided in or out I was in the temple of the Lord and that was good enough for today.

Walked on...and my feet didn't hurt anymore and haven't since. Granted it's only a handful of hours, but not having aching dawgs is very much a blessing.

Combined with the fresh air, the lovely rain, the coolness, the beauty of ikons, and a day off, this has been and will continue to be a wonderful day.

Hope yours is too.

KNP

Happy Pi-Day!

2008-03-14T12:39:00.002-05:00

Yet more lack-of-seriosity on the Pilgrim.

I s'pose I should buckle down and make some comment on Quincy at some point.

Shout-out to Tookie whom I saw at a big event on Thursday.

Back to work.

Tell me it ain't so!

2008-03-11T18:09:00.000-05:00

Mary Ann caught with weed?!

Alas, I am devastated.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080311/ap_on_en_tv/people_dawn_wells

Okay, okay I admit it!

2008-03-02T19:10:00.002-06:00

The artist in my soul (music, iconography, poetry) was the one who turned me on to Orthodoxy.

But listen to this and tell me you wouldn't like to hear this around the throne of God.

http://

And yes, there are LOTS of people I'd like to hear making music around the throne of God, but this just transports me there, NOW.

I don't think I'm getting into the proper Lenten spirit though. Hoever this does move me to lift up my hands in praise and to weep tears of joy.

s'nami Bog!

Gospodi pomiloye!

2008-03-02T18:50:00.002-06:00

Absolutely stunning performance of a Russian Orthodox piece. Don't ask me what the text is because it's written in Cyrillic and I can't read it. A comment says it's by Chesnokov (late 19th, early 20th c.) and translates to "Advice Most Eternal" but I haven't been able to figure out which piece it is in "standard" church practice.

But dear God it is so gorgeous it HURTS.

http://

I don't understand...

2008-03-02T18:20:00.002-06:00

Father Thaddeus and Matushka Sally just got back from a mission trip to the Hogar Rafael Ayou orphanage in Guatemala. It's run by a group of Orthodox nuns. It sits in a rough part of Guatemala City.

When they took it over about 10 years ago it was stuffed with sick, diseased kids being "cared for" by the government. The beds (now used as rabbit hutches) were infested with cockroaches. Food was barely fit for animals.

Now it's cleam, well run, the kids are being educated, they're being loved and cared for, everything is beautiful...

Except that UNICEF is urging the government to take over all orphanages and ban private ones. Their methodology is basically blackmail: "you do what we want or we won't give you anymore monetary support." So the kids could end up back in the kind of hellhole the nuns lifted them out of a decade ago, and the nuns could be out on their ear.

Sorry UNICEF, but who the heck died and made YOU "king of the world"?

I thought you were about the kids, but clearly you're about something else.

What a pity.

(There's a link to the orphanage on the St. Raphael Church website in the list at the right).

Ahhh...Rachmaninov!

2008-03-02T08:00:00.003-06:00

Been away a while--lots of stuff going on.

Sometime today (Sunday) I hope to update my list of links so if I haven't had you on the list, that should be fixed soon.

Some bright person left his cell phone in the newsroom at WTAD yesterday and so missed calls from family that they had a ticket to last night's Quincy Symphony Chorus concert. Grrrrumble. I'm told it was very good. My sister's little bit was lovely, an unbiased reviewer told me this morning (thanks Mary!)

And today is the Sunday of the Last Judgement in the Orthodox Church, Lent for us begins a week from tomorrow (Monday, March 10). So I was poking around listening to music that would get me in the proper mood and found Rachmaninov's All-Night Vigil, which then led me to some of his piano music.

Like this, the well-known G-minor prelude, played by Rachmaninov himself.

http://

Mmmmmm, very nice.

Then this one too, with Emil Gilels playing the C minor prelude.

http://

Unfortunately that got me all het up again, so I'll have to start over. :)

Oh no, he's talking religion again!!!!

2008-02-11T12:10:00.000-06:00

But there's some politics mixed in here. Besides it's not MY writing, it's Terry Mattingly's.

It's a good article, whether or not I fully agree with Mr. Clinton (heck I do not). What I find amusing is this fumbling around with ideas that have been thoroughly discussed by the Christians of the first 10 centuries...but which so many (mostly Protestants) are unwilling to acknowledge or even go searching for.

Anyway here's the link to Mattingly's article:

http://tmatt.gospelcom.net/column/2008/02/06/

Enjoy.

Another "say what?!" moment.

2008-02-05T18:04:00.000-06:00

What kind of parent sends their kid to school when they have a temperature of 104?

What kind of self-centered worker (or idiot boss) comes to work when they're hacking and coughing and clearly ill?

Good grief people, if you're sick, STAY HOME.

The motions of his spirit

2008-01-30T23:49:00.000-06:00

The man that hath no music in himself
Nor is not moved by concord of sweet song
Is fit for treasons, strategems and spoils.
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted.
     --Wm. Shakespere, The Merchant of Venice
     -- used by Ralph Vaughan Williams in "Serenade to Music"

No matter what kind of music you prefer, I am totally unable to see how anyone could hear the final pages of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 and fail to be dragged up, however unwilling, out of the depths of despair and into the redemptive light of a glorious dawn.

It happens, I'm told.

Not to me, though.

Let it load, then go to about 5:20 and listen to the end. Turn it up, Tookie-gettin'-busted loud! :)

Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium!
Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum.
Deine Zauber binden wieder, was die Mode streng geteilt,
alle Menschen werden Brüder, wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.
Seid umschlungen, Millionen! Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt!
Brüder, überm Sternenzelt muß ein lieber Vater wohnen!
     --F Schiller

As a freshman in college I first had the opportunity to perform this as part of the Hartford Symphony Orchestra's Beethoven Festival 1979. The Hartt College of Music Master Choir (or which I was a member) and one of the choirs from UConn sang. When we finished and the orchestra went roaring to the double bar, it was like being at a football game where an incredible play has just taken place. A moment of stunned silence, followed by an immense wall of sound, cheers, applause, shouts, coming back at we musicians who had just provided a wall of sound going the other way.

Dear God, it was glorious.

Now for some soul-searing Russian Orthodox chant, spiritual rebirth, and off to bed.

Whatever did our ancestors do?

2008-01-30T18:14:00.000-06:00

Just heard a comment on a local TV newscast that had me shaking my head.

More or less, it was that without cell phones we're so terribly unsafe.

Say what?!

The world became less safe when cell phones were created? Is that it?

Don't get me wrong--I have one, I'm glad to have one, it's very helpful. But would I be less safe without one? Would my children?

I'm going to sound like a crotchety old fart, but when *I* was young we played all over town without any way for our parents to reach us until we got home. Granted, we knew to be home by that particular time (by golly!). Were we so horribly unsafe? Yes, the world is different but it really isn't THAT much more unsafe than it was 40 years ago--we just have a lot more loudmouthed media (self included) to tell us about every little incident, many of which wouldn't have even crossed our radar in earlier times.

You can rewrite this rant to cover most any modern high-tech device that people seem to think is essential to life and safety, even though humanity survived for thousands of years without whatever that item may be.

Ah well. Guess I'll go crawl into my "crotchety middle-aged fart" hole.

Making the big time

2008-01-28T12:22:00.000-06:00

Not me. I'm definitely small-town small potatoes.

But a friend has gotten some great recognition.

My friend Nathaniel's wife Kerry is an artist of no mean stature. It turns out one of her paintings (titled "On the Shore") was used as a backdrop for an appearance in South Carolina by Michelle Obama.

I just find that infinitely cool.

See images from the event below, as well as information on Kerry's upcoming solo show:

http://www.robertlangestudios.com/

Congrats, Kerry. Now when are we going to buckle down and start learning how to paint ikons?

Times change

2008-01-26T08:46:00.001-06:00

My brother is in town but I just got an email from him. Go figure.

During the summers of 1977, 1978, and 1980-1983 I worked for a summer camp in central Wisconsin. Started as kitchen staff, then counselor, and then Program Director. My sister also worked there, and my brother as well.

Now the owners, the Episcopal Diocese of Milwaukee, have closed Camp Webb after almost 50 years of giving kids from diverse backgrounds, including inner city and suburb kids from Chicago and Milwaukee areas, a chance to play and worship in a gorgeous woodland setting. The rumor is they will sell it for development, thereby garnering some obscene amount of money.

"Way back when" there were camps like this dotted all over Wisconsin. Camp Webb made numerous improvements over the years that allowed it to operate more or less year round, with camping for groups at various times, and of course the 6 to 8 weeks summer sessions we all know and remember when it was all kids, all the time.

Fortunately, a small group of former staff have come together to try and save the place.

That's where the email from my brother comes in. Turns out he is one of that small group of former staff.

I hope something can come of the effort, but I doubt we can raise the money needed to rescue the place. So it will get cut up into lots and many years of wonderful memories will be relegated to nothingness.

Hopeful, but sad.

Life rolls on...

Saturday morning

2008-01-26T08:38:00.001-06:00

That damned alarm clock rings waaaay too early on Saturdays and Sundays.

Got a fairly full weekend planned. My brother and his family are down from Appleton, Wisconsin and we'll be hitting all the usual places and events. You know, the obligatory Maidrite stop, stuff like that.

My Quincy nephew also is racing in the Pinewood Derby at St. James School this afternoon so we'll all go cheer him on.

Did I blink and miss "Sweeny Todd" at either of the Quincy movie complexes? What's up with that? Don't EVEN try to tell me it's too bloody and violent for Quincy sensibilities.

There are days when I think I should be a grumpy old fart like the brief, shining blog that graced us for a few months last year. Then I think, naw, I'm too nice and I couldn't keep up the act. And Fr. T. would be all on my case for behaving badly (as he should).

Now I must go and face the music. The apartment must be vacuumed, and the kitchen cleaned. Horrors!

Enjoy the weekend.

Looking up in The District

2008-01-24T21:45:00.000-06:00

No, no, I don't mean gazing up at the crumbling brickwork atop the Newcomb, or at the WCU Building, or anything like that.

I mean that I've been to two of the strategic planning sessions for the Historic Quincy Business District (missed one because I had to be at the school board meeting).

Todd Shackelford is doing a great job of getting 50 disparate people with different ideas about what will make downtown/uptown/historic/business/The District to focus in on things that can be done to actually accomplish positive things.

They've got it to four focus groups now: Marketing, Environment, Economic Development, and Parking. On top of that they have three or four major goals listed for each group, and (at least for now) they are boring in on what kind of actions need to be taken to get No. 1 done in each area.

Color me impressed.

The owner of Pop's Pizza, who was one of the frontline at the November meeting expressing his concern and dissatisfaction, says he too is impressed and pleased--and most of all, hopeful.

Good for all of you who have made all three, or two, or even one of those meetings. Keep it up. I know I will do everything I can to be at the rest of them.

For the rest of you: Wednesday nights at 6 p.m. at the Senior Center for the next 3 weeks. If you own a business, work, or live downtown--heck, if you just VISIT downtown--come be a part of this. It's important, and it will make the city of Quincy a better place.

Now, if we can just get to work on the OTHER issues facing Q-town. :)

Dead actor...gone Governor.

2008-01-22T16:43:00.000-06:00

When things happen in the biz, they happen fast and furious.

You've probably already heard about actor Heath Ledger being found dead in his New York City home. At last report, there doesn't appear to be any foul play or criminal activity, though pills were found near his bed. To die at 28, and as a young man with a great deal of talent and for no apparent reason...if that does not give you pause, it probably should.

Then on the political scene another lightning bolt: Missouri Governor Matt Blunt announces he will not seek re-election. Holy cow! (as a certain deceased sportscaster would say.) NO ONE I know saw that coming. Blunt says he has accomplished almost everything he set out to do when he was elected in 2004, so he's hanging up the governor's hat. No word on what he will do next, though at least one confrere in the biz opines that he may seek the Senate seat of Kit Bond. Wonder how Kenny Hulshof will feel about that, since he appeared to be the anointed one.

Keep yer eye on the ball, folks. The changes are fast and furious (and in some cases, sad beyond belief).

Can't sleep...

2008-01-20T00:34:00.000-06:00

I simply MUST stop watching movies late on Friday and Saturday nights when I have to be up early the next morning.

Sunday morning may be a fiasco.

(PS. The playlist was GONE WITH THE WIND, FERRIS BUELLER, and ELIZABETHTOWN :)

Whatever happened to freedom of expression?

2008-01-18T15:01:00.000-06:00

We get a lot of media announcements at work (big surprise, I know).

Not sure why all the prez candidates feel the need to inform a five-station cluster in Quincy about their plans for the next few days of campaign stops, but there you are.

Anyway, every single one carries this little tidbit: "No signs allowed."

And thus my question.

Another: Why do they feel so threatened by signs that might (not necessarily) express opposition to their own ideas?

They're just signs, ladies and gents. Relax.

You MUST be s****ing me

2008-01-16T15:33:00.000-06:00

This in from the AP:

GRAYSLAKE, ILL.-- Christopher Berger is an honor student at Grayslake Central High School. He's also a choir singer, as well as a former football player who spends half the day training to be a firefighter. That exemplary record now includes something new: A police ticket for reckless conduct given last week after school officials discovered a multi-tool flashlight in a jacket he left in the cafeteria. The tools include a 2-inch blade, screwdriver, pliers and other gadgets prohibited under school policy. Berger has prepared a petition asking that the charges be dismissed. He has knocked on the doors of neighbors to tell his story. So far he has obtained 16 signatures from the neighborhood and nearly 50 from school, four from teachers.

Hello?! Clueless adminstrator types?! Pointy-haired Dilbert-boss clones?!

IT'S A UTILITY FLASHLIGHT!

Honestly, sometimes I think these people see "zero tolerance" and immediately flush their cerebral material down the toilet because they think it means "no need for brains".

I hope the kid wins. He did nothing wrong, but the "powers that be" clearly need a reality check: the "rules" exist to help the people, the people don't exist to pay slavish devotion to "the rules".

Man, have I been crotchety lately, or what?

Tyranny

2008-01-15T14:02:00.000-06:00

Don't know about anyone else, but this sounds exactly like "tyranny of the majority" to me.

From AP Report:

"They reminded the group that the new policy was formed, in part, after a campus survey found 30 percent favored forcing smokers to the parking lots while an equal percentage wanted smoking completely banned."

Mind you, I do not smoke and avoid it as much as possible but...

To quote from Bob Heinlein (in "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress"):

"Rules--laws--always for the OTHER fellow...there is no worse tyranny than to force a man to do what he does not want to do merely because YOU think it would be good for him."

Does that make me a libertarian? Well, an Orthodox Libertarian, perhaps. With a good leavening of the conservative.

No wonder I'm so loopy...

The Law of Unintended Consequences

2008-01-15T08:57:00.000-06:00

It is regrettable when good ideas may contribute to bad results, but is it even a tiny bit possible that in the rush to "make driving safe for our teens",we have unintentionally contributed to the problem of unsafe teen drivers?

Two examples of the "law" in title, both drawn from the recent "crackdown" laws pased by the legislature with regard to teen driving.

1. A service provided by New Trier high school students to other students all over the Chicago area has had to shut down. The New Trier kids would give rides home to other studentswho for whatever reasons, could not or did not wish to drive after a night out. But with the curfew on teen drivers implemented on January 1st, those volunteer drivers can no longer be out in their cars after 11 weekdays or midnight on weekends. And since most of the calls the service received were for pickups after 11 or midnight... How many ofthose kids will now drive themselves home and be involved in accidents because they shouldn't be driving?

That's an unintended consequence. Destroy a good service and hope for the best, I guess.

Which leads us to:

2. "Gettin' close to the line, gotta get home, gotta beat the curfew. Hurry, hurry, hurry."

Have we contributed to a death by creating an arbitrary curfew for driving? I know a lot of teens will wait til the last possible moment to hit the road and hope to get home before the parental axe falls. Remember these are kids that think "it won't happen to me!"

I don't know that's what was running through Alex Farkas' head. I hope not. But I do know there will be kids who DO think that, and will take unacceptable risks to squeeze the last bits of pleasure out of their "nights out with friends".

Unintended consequences.

Thinking to do good, have we done wrong for at least one person?

Damn, it hurts.

May Alex's memory be eternal.

Stupid Criminal Tricks

2008-01-14T16:48:00.001-06:00

Is it my imagination, or are criminals getting stupider by the day?

First we have a wave of twits getting nailed and then getting nailed AGAIN when they try to hide drugs and other items on (or in) their bodies when they come to be processed at the county jail. Doh!

Then we have various bright lights a bit further afield who threaten to blow up a police station while standing by the officers arresting his buddy.

And now this one: in full view of a police officer in a western Illinois town, this guy busted out a doctor's office window with his hand. Then he fought the officers that understandably came over to stop him. Then he threatened them. AND he had drug items in his pockets.

As Bill Cosby would say...

"That's brain damaged!"

Collecting article

2008-01-14T15:56:00.000-06:00

Nice article in the Whig today about collecting. It talks specifically about comics and scrapbooking, as well as gaming (that is, miniatures, boardgames, roleplaying, etc.).

My good friend Jim Brown owns Midwest Comics & Collectibles featured in the article.

My only complaint is directed at Jim--dude, you REALLY need to clean up behind the front counter! :)

So what kind of things do you collect, if you collect anything?

Taking a page from UMR

2008-01-13T17:32:00.000-06:00

Talked to him at the 10 a.m. City Council meeting on New Year's Eve.

He said part of his philosophy in blogging was to post something everyday, no matter how brief it might be.

Wise words, and given my promise to Feyd Funion (sorry, been watching the DUNE miniseries ), something I believe I'll take to heart.

Nothing deeply moving or profound today.

First, for those who asked for a way to read more of my stories, head here: http://Writing.Com/authors/nikolaibard

And finally, this: Just a reminder that no matter how much the darkness gathers round (look at the newspaper or any net news site), there's always a light. There's always hope.

Snami Bog!

Just a lazy fool...

2008-01-12T10:56:00.000-06:00

So here I am again, having been lazy for far too long. And once again, apologies to those who try to follow along. I know it's frustrating when any particular blogger takes so long between posts. I will really truly and honestly try to do better.

New furnace is in and works very well. It remains to be seen how big the bills will be.

The cleaning (yikes, so much dust!) was helped by the heating guys (Tom Hurley and crew--they do good work) doing the sweeping and mopping. Heck, one of the guys cleaned up my ex-roomate's room that I'd been putting off for months and even folded and neatly piled Josh's clothes! Now to get hold of Josh and tell him to get his behind over here to get the ret of his stuff.

The cleaning must be done because the discarding must begin. It's only a couple of months now until Paula's stuff moves in (though Paula herself will not officially take up residence here until the wedding in July). Dang I have a LOT of crap. And dang, this is a LOT of work.

If you are interested in boardgames, role playing games, or miniature soldiers, I'll be having a game sale on Sunday, January 27th beginning at 2 p.m. You might swing by the place and check the stuff out if you have any interest. Pretty much nothing more than $15. Gotta move some of those games out so there's room for the lady.

Lady....games....no brainer. :)

I got a nice invite to the web warriors party at the OLC tonight. Gonna go listen to the Funions rock and roll, meet some of my fellow bloggers, and just enjoy a few minutes doing something I don't do much.

Then it's into my new work shift. Yes, things are changing. Beginning tomorrow I'll be doing weekend morning news both Saturday and Sunday, and will take over the evening meetings beat from John Holm. John's still around, just lightening his load a bit. The change will mean I can't do a lot of evening activities without serious preplanning, but if I wanted a 9 to 5 job I'd have become a banker. :)

Enough for now. Next post February 20.

(Just kidding!)

Odds and Ends

2007-12-05T11:11:00.001-06:00

It's been a while and I apologize for not posting more frequently. Sometimes life has a way of tying your hands, and there you are.

I'm singing with the Mark Twain Chorale this year (Sorry Quincy Symphony Chorus...not enough of me to go around :). With the Christmas concerts coming up (12/11 in Palmyra, 12/16 in Hannibal) I needed to arrange to rent a tux, so I popped in to see Jeff Schueking. He takes one look at me and says "I'll have to measure." He does the job and I'm delighted to discover that I've reduced my waist to 60 inches, pushing 59! I know that's still huge, but it's a full 7 inches less than my biggest. Now just to keep the pressure on and keep taking down the weight and the waist size.

We had some "fun" at the apartment last week--and still are. If you want to call it fun. The boiler in the building where I live basically melted down a week ago Monday. No fire, thank goodness, and no explosion, but though the safety valve properly vented the steam, the safety valve failed to shut off the boiler so it just kept getting hotter until the water was gone, and then melted. PVC piping withing a few feet if the thing was melted too. So, there's no heat in the building. I'm essentially living in my bedroom and bathroom with electric heaters until they get a forced air furnace installed in my apartment. On the plus side, the radiators are going bye-bye which will free up more floor space--an important consideration since I'm getting married and she's bringing her stuff to help fill up the apartment more. :)

I've been following the downtown discussion in the Whig, and among people I know in the business district. I don't think things are as bad as a handful of people are trying to paint the picture, but I also agree there are things that can be done to improve the area and make it more attractive. I suppose my biggest complaint is the apparent attempt to make Karol Ehmen into the fall guy, when she is a driving force keeping the downtown moving, albeit more slowly than some would like. Give her some help, and maybe those who believe there are "ihssee-yooooos" will see improvement. She's only one person, after all.

More music: with my wedding coming in July, I'm finally putting pen to paper once again to finish a set of marriage songs I started writing many years ago. Working with my brother, who creates incredible accompaniments for my stuff, I hope to sing the entire seven-song set for my parents on their 50th anniversary in June. The texts are from the Song of Solomon, Khalil Gibran, and the wedding prayers of the Orthodox Church.

Thanks: for the kind comments from folks who read the two stories I posted earlier. I'm glad you liked them.

Finally: movies. Watched (for the 3rd time) "Andrei Rublev", a film from the late 60s by Russian filmmaker A. Tarkovsky. This is not your Soviet propaganda (I'm surprised they let him make it), nor is it Hollywood. But it is a deep, moving, spiritual work that speaks strongly about life, committment, talent, integrity, and overcoming despair. Check it out, but take a couple of days to watch--it's long and moves slowly.

About what follows...

2007-11-16T22:37:00.000-06:00

Consider this an introductory posting.

It's introducing a fairly long story--probably longer than the one I posted at Halloween.

It needs introduction because I'm not posting it so much for the story itself (which I've been told is quite good), but because of what it says about me, and my relationship with my dad. I'm not going to say anymore about that at this point. I promise I'll talk about it after you read the story.

And please, do read the story, even if stories on blogs aren't your thing.

I will tell you a couple of things. My dad is a retired Episcopal priest. As you know I am Eastern Orthodox My dad has always supported my decision, unlike the father in this story. My dad celebrated 49 years in the priesthood on All Saints Day (November 1st)--and I missed it. I posted a silly "scary" story and didn't recognize my father's long committment to people, to the church, and to His Lord and Savior.

I'm sorry Dad.

I know you've read this but I hope between it and the essay to follow, you understand just how precious you are to me, how much I value the way you raised me, how much I regret every disappointment I caused you...

And how very much I hold your calling in the higest esteem, and how much (thanks be to God for giving me the opportunity) I love you.

Enjoy the story.

The Caboose

2007-11-16T22:20:00.000-06:00

"I'm sorry, Father, but I can’t sell you an old caboose.” Edwin Hillyer was a sixtyish, heavy-set man with salt-and-pepper hair and the weathered face of someone who had spent years working outdoors. He spoke with the authority of an official decision-maker. “It is the policy of this railroad not to sell old rolling stock. Frankly, we get a better price from the scrappers."

The man to whom Hillyer spoke was remarkable not only for his height and full red beard, but also for his full-length black robe. He wore dark, horn-rimmed glasses that seemed to magnify his gray eyes. Father Christopher Lewis frowned, one hand stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Hillyer,” the Russian Orthodox priest said. “I am not a rich man, but I would very much like to purchase a caboose.”

The railroad’s division superintendent looked back at the priest with a mix of consternation and humor. "What the dickens would a minister do with a caboose?"

Fr. Christopher sighed. "It’s rather hard to explain. Number 99135 is important to me."

Hillyer’s eyebrows rose and he came halfway out of his chair. “THAT one? Do you know what happened in that caboose?"

"I’m familiar with the story," Fr. Christopher replied with a taut smile. "Please, I’m willing to pay for it and to have it removed from your property. I’d hoped you might be able to make an exception. I know that the company has let old cars go in the past."

“I can’t deny it. We’ve donated--,” he emphasized the word, “--items of rolling stock to charity concerns in the past. But you’re not planning to use it as a Sunday School, are you Father?"

"No sir. I simply want to own the car. Call it a favor to myself."

"I wish I could help, Father, but rules are rules. Perhaps you should try the Santa Fe, or the Burlington." Hillyer’s tone was friendly, but left no room for debate. “I’m sure you don’t really want that caboose. It wouldn’t do for a minister to be seen as morbid, would it?” He rose, offering his hand to the priest.

Fr. Christopher hesitated, then shook hands. “I wish I could tell you all my reasons, Mr. Hillyer, but I can’t. I do thank you for your time.”

Ten days later, Fr. Christopher sat in his car, staring across the yards at a line of old cabooses and steam locomotives. A few blocks away, the clock on the county courthouse chimed two. The narrow slice of the quarter-moon gave just enough cold, blue light to make the tops of the steel rails glint over the pitch-black shadows they cast on the cinders and ties.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. He tucked a black bag under his arm and got out. Glancing left and right, he crossed the street and stood looking over a low fence. “God forgive me. The bishop won’t, if he finds out.”

In the distance he could see and hear the night-shift diesel shuffling cars. The usual city sounds had become muted with the lateness of the hour. As far as he could see there was no one near, and not likely to be anytime soon.

“Dad would be proud that at least I didn’t wear my ryassa,” the priest thought. An Orthodox clergyman almost always wore his robe, a custom that made him distinctive in town. His parents had believed that the clerical shirts worn by Catholic priests were mark enough of a devoted pastor, but in 1962 very few Orthodox would depart from the traditions of earlier times. “There’s something to be said for work pants and shirt, especially if you’re planning trespass and forced entry.”

It was a moment’s work to get over the fence, then he was picking his way across the web of tracks. As his father had taught him years before, Fr. Christopher did not step on the rails themselves. It would be too easy to slip on the silvery steel, worn to smoothness by countless wheels.

“Safety first,” he muttered, and chuckled ruefully. If he really wanted to be safe, he would be home in bed thinking about Sunday’s Divine Liturgy instead of sneaking around a railroad yard in the dark.

A wall of wood towered before him. Dark shadows hid the underframe and wheels as he moved alongside, looking for the number that would identify the car. There was not enough moonlight to see the faded numerals. He would have to cross over and check the other side to use his flashlight without being seen.

It was pitch black between the cars and Fr. Christopher had to wait until his eyes adjusted. The metal of the coupling was cold when he laid a hand on it, and he remembered stories about his grandfather, killed on the railroad when he was caught between two massive metal knuckles like these.

“That’s a pleasant thought,” he grimaced, “but at least these are already coupled.” The priest cautiously hoisted himself over the drawbar and jumped down on the far side.

As he did so, he caught a flicker of movement in the narrow confines between the cars on the next track and the row he had just crossed. The distraction caused him to catch his foot on the rail instead of stepping firmly beyond it.

Fr. Christopher fell to his hands and knees in the cold cinders and mud, banging his knee painfully against steel. He stifled a curse. “I can’t believe I did that,” he groaned. “You’d think I’d know better after living with a railroadman.”

Ted Lewis would have been right at home here, a familiarity bred of 30 years service. The railroad had been his father’s element, as the church was his own. “You wouldn’t find Dad poking around the sanctuary in the middle of the night, and he sure wouldn’t have fallen over anything if he did,” Fr. Christopher thought, getting to his feet and wincing. “If I was sensible, I’d go home.”

His need to know about caboose number 99135 outweighed his desire to do the sensible thing. He drew the flashlight from his bag and aimed it at the side of the caboose.

99006. This wasn’t it.

Now the question was which way to go? The cars were surely not in numerical order, and if he went the wrong direction he would have to work his way back down the narrow space between the tracks. The idea of spending more time than necessary in the dark confines was disagreeable, especially with the throbbing in his knee. Fr. Christopher sighed and headed to the right, limping slightly.

99244. 99399. 99002... It was a five-minute trip to the end of the string of retired cabooses. He had to proceed slowly, clicking the flashlight on and off, hoping no one would notice.

As he stood at the final car and contemplated walking back to check numbers at the far end, the priest sighed. “Kyrie Jesu Christe, eleison imas. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” He pointed the flashlight at the car’s number.

99135.

“Of course. Had I started at the end, I’d be on my way home.” Fr. Christopher pocketed the flashlight before slipping his hands around the grab irons. A quick heave had him standing on the warped steel grating of the car’s platform. A featureless wooden door separated him from what he hoped would be answers to his questions.

The caboose had been standing unattended and deteriorating for at least a year and he readied his crowbar as he reached out to push on the hard wood of the door. It was not padlocked and opened freely, to his surprise.

The black opening yawned like the maw of a great beast. With the windows boarded there wasn’t a hint of light within. Even moonlight did not penetrate the gloom.

Fr. Christopher gazed into the darkness, pulling at his beard. “So we reach the moment of truth,” he whispered. “Gospodi pomiloye. Lord have mercy.” He stepped inside and pushed the door almost shut—but not all the way. One doesn’t close oneself into an unknown place.

The darkness was warm, and much deeper than it had been between the cars. It was comforting, almost like standing in the altar when he celebrated Liturgy. He stood for a few moments before pulling out his flashlight and switching it on.

The beam of light revealed walls stripped of nearly all accoutrements of railroad life. Strips of paper where calendars and notices had been pasted hung down, stirring slightly when he walked by. The empty racks which once held fusees and torpedoes and signal flags hung away from the walls on a few nails. The hooks where lanterns hung were empty.

The only furnishings remaining were built-in benches at either end of the car, the leather cushions cracked and scarred from years of use. A look inside revealed a handful of spikes and a chain--all that remained of long years working on the railroad, now discarded and useless.

On second thought, it wasn’t much like standing in the altar after all.

Fr. Christopher stood below the cupola, looking up to the seats where conductors and brakemen would watch their train as it moved along the tracks. It happened up there. The priest felt a cold shiver run up his spine. “Dad, you killed yourself here. Is there anything that will tell me why?”

“I could.”

Fr. Christopher spun around and looked back at the door, expecting to see one of the yardmen standing there, or perhaps a railroad detective. There was no one; it remained closed. He turned his light into every corner of the caboose, but he was alone.

“Wonderful,” he said, shaking his head. “Now I’m hearing things.” After a few moments, the priest pointed his flashlight upward again and climbed the half-ladder that led into the elevated seats of the cupola.

There were no cushions on the seats here. They had been cut away and removed, probably because they had been stained with his father’s blood. The underlying wood had dark stains, but the scent of oil and creosote still lingered and he could not decide if the marks were anything other than railroad-related.

Sitting carefully on the splintered bench, Fr. Christopher ran his hands over the frames of the boarded-up windows. A few initials had been carved here over the years, but not T.L.

After a moment, he clicked off the flashlight and sat in the darkness, tugging at his beard.

His father had worked on this caboose for 30 years. Some railroads had adopted the practice of pooling cars, sending out train crews on whichever one was available. Until a year earlier, this road used the old practice of assigning a specific caboose to a particular conductor. His father had been using 99135 since just before Pearl Harbor.

Memories of his father played in his mind. Running the Lionel trains in the basement, learning railroading at his father’s hands. Christmas with a huge turkey dinner provided by his dad, who was a good caboose cook. Walking to the yard beside his father, seeing him waving from the caboose as it rolled past a street crossing.

There were less pleasant images as well. Dad coming home drunk, Mom in despair, eventually dying from the worry. The not-so-subtle disapproval when he converted to the Orthodox faith, increased when he became a priest. Worst of all, the harsh realization that his father had become an old man, before the end.

What had led him to climb into the cupola of this caboose and place the barrel of a gun in his mouth? “Maybe he didn’t know himself,” the priest murmured. “May his memory be eternal.”

“It was my fault.”

Fr. Christopher almost fell out of the cupola seat. He banged his already wrenched knee against the unyielding wood as he rose, and slammed his head against the low ceiling. “Who’s there!” he cried, trying vainly to see whomever had spoken in the darkness.

“Just me,” the voice answered. “Nobody important.” It was tired, the voice of someone who had worked very long and very hard. It held something of the creak of aged wood, well worn and mellow, but with a spine of hardness. It reminded him of his father.

The priest turned on the flashlight and lowered himself to the floor. Pointing it first right, then left, he could see no one. Crossing to the half-closed door, he placed a hand on the knob.

“Well come in here then, if you’ve caught me,” he said testily. The door remained motionless.

“It’s not a matter of ‘coming in’,” the voice replied. “I’m in, because I’m here.”

Fr. Christopher crossed himself, in the left-to-right Orthodox manner, and put on his most authoritative manner.

“What are you then, a ghost?” He tried to sound as if he was scoffing at the idea, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“Oh no, I’m not a ghost.” The voice was silent a moment, and when it spoke again, it sounded amused. “At least I don’t think I am. I’m just…me.”

“Well that answers exactly nothing,” the priest said. He peered around in the gloom. Still not seeing anyone, he pulled the door open slightly and glanced out.

Moonlight still gilded the rails, and far down the track he could see the diesel switcher moving through the yard as it pushed a cut of cars onto a siding. A car horn sounded momentarily on the street. Other than that there was no other movement or sound. Fr. Christopher pushed the door shut again and leaned against it.

“I miss him,” the voice said. “I wish he hadn’t…done what he did.”

The non sequitur of a disembodied voice that missed his father caused the priest to laugh out loud.

“You miss him? I miss him. He was my father. But who the hell are you? Where are you, for that matter?”

“I told you, I’m me, and I’m here. This is where I am, and who I am.” The voice was patient, but weary.

“You’re not a ghost though.” It seemed to him there were only a couple of alternatives. “You’re not someone playing a prank. You’re not a demon spirit trying to tempt me, are you?” Being Orthodox, he conceded the existence of such spirits. Being a “modern American” created a certain amount of skepticism, however.

“No.”

Whenever you have eliminated the improbable, the priest thought. “What are you then? The caboose?”

“Yes.”

Fr. Christopher sat down on one of the benches with a thud. “You’ll pardon me,” he said very slowly, “if I find that hard to believe.” He could almost hear the shrug when the voice replied.

“As you will, but it’s the truth. Your father said the same thing, the first time we spoke.”

The priest looked around in the dark. “You spoke to my father?”

“Yes. He was a good man, he took care of me, always made sure I was in good repair. I miss him.”

Raising a hand, Fr. Christopher made a sign of blessing and whispered a short prayer of exorcism. He had seen his bishop do that when investigating a “weeping icon” of the Virgin Mary a few years back. It wouldn’t hurt to try, in case this was a case of demonic temptation.

“Are you satisfied?” the voice asked a few moments afterward. “If what your father told me was true, I would not be able to stand up to the name of Christ and the prayer you just said. So that means I’m not a demon, or a ghost either, right?”

The priest didn’t know what to say. The whole situation was too strange for words. A talking caboose--no one would believe him. If he even breathed a word of it, the bishop would likely have him suspended and sent for a psychological examination.

He didn’t drink, other than some wine. He didn’t take any drugs. He was not given to wild flights of fancy. If those things were true, maybe he was crazy.

“You’re not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the caboose said.

“There’s a healthy sign,” Fr. Christopher laughed darkly. “You’re not ‘the voice’ anymore, now you’re ‘the caboose’.”

“You came here trying to find out more about how your father died, is that not so?” The caboose sounded sympathetic, friendly, helpful. In fact, he sounded like a priest.

“Yes, but I certainly didn’t expect to have my questions addressed by an inanimate object. Or to have it tell me that it talked to my dad, let alone missed him.”

“Maybe it’s a miracle? Your father said you had a way with miracles. He was proud of you, you know.”

Fr. Christopher’s eyes grew wide. “He said that?” He was not sure which amazed him more: that his father thought his son a miracle-worker or that his father was proud of him. The latter is something of a miracle itself, the priest thought.

“Yes indeed,” the caboose replied warmly. “He complained about you joining the church, but over the years he spoke of you with much pride. He said you helped so many people. He was glad you had chosen another path than working for the railroad. The night he--did it, he said two generations dead on the railroad was enough.”

The silence that followed was long and painful for Fr. Christopher. To hear that his dad had come to view his priesthood with satisfaction rather than dismissal changed everything he had believed about the man. It was encouraging to know he had gained an acceptance for his son’s vocation.

“I suppose the Lewis family has a history of irritating parents with their career choices,” he murmured. He knew his grandfather had not been pleased when his father had joined the railroad.

“Oh, your grandfather was proud of your father, as your father was proud of you.”

“You knew my grandfather?” The priest leaned back against the wall of the caboose. His eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness of the interior and he could make out vague shapes in the gloom.

“Yes, I was his assigned caboose too, you know.”

“I didn’t. Did you--?” Fr. Christopher’s voice trailed off. It felt absurdly personal to ask. He tugged at his beard.

“Did I speak to him also? No, I never said a word to him, but there was something about your father that made me want to talk with him. I’m glad I did. After all those years of silence, it felt good to have someone to speak with.”

The priest contemplated the loneliness of being surrounded with active, talkative people, and being unable or unwilling to break silence. That something about his dad had inspired the caboose to speak shook his view of the man for the second time in as many minutes. Fishing for something useful to say, he offered, “I wasn’t aware the railroad used such old equipment.”

“I am that--old, I mean. I was built in 1900, rebuilt in 1922 and 1948, to make me more modern. Your grandfather was there for the first, your father for the second. There won’t be a third.”

“There would be if I could convince the railroad to sell you to me,” Fr. Christopher replied. It was quiet for a very long time after that. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” the caboose said, its voice hushed and weary. “I cannot go anywhere, after all.”

“Did I say something wrong?” The priest was confused by the its lengthy silence, as if conversing with a talking caboose was not bewildering enough.

“No,” came the eventual, pained response. “But I wish to go to the scrapyard. I have caused enough pain to your family. You deserve not to be tormented by me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I told you before,” the caboose answered, the voice like rending wood, a painful sound. “Your father’s death was my fault.”

Fr. Christopher had been told many strange and dreadful tales in his years as a priest. Yet this bald admission felt more strange and dreadful than anything else he had heard. He worked to find words that would encompass both his acceptance of the statement and disavowal of the guilt with which the words ached.

“That’s--well, I’ve not…there have been people who confessed sins to me before, but nothing I have been less prepared to accept,” he managed to say. “I don’t believe anyone is responsible for a suicide other than the one who takes his own life.”

“Well then, call it a sin of temptation.”

“Temptation is not a sin,” the priest said. “Giving in to temptation is the sin.” The peculiarity of saying such a thing to a talking caboose suddenly struck home. “Listen to me, discussing the nature of sin with you!”

“I tempted your father with friendship. After your mother died, he needed steady friends, and who was steadier than me? He sure didn’t need to drink, and you helped him stop that.”

“I did?” The priest thought his father had boot-strapped himself onto the wagon out of guilt for the death of his wife.

“Yes, you did. By being firm and unyielding on the issue. It was hard, but he did it because you were one of the rocks he could cling to. I was the other. I helped him to stay out of trouble by being there to talk with. He expected I’d always be there. And I wanted friends so badly myself. There aren’t a lot of opportunities when you’re a caboose.”

Fr. Christopher thought about laughing. There was something pitiable yet understandable in the words, even if he struggled to accept the reality of their source. He struggled with himself as well, learning how much he had meant to his father.

“I doubt that by offering my father friendship you forced him to pull the trigger,” he said.

The caboose sighed, and it felt as if the structure of the car trembled slightly. “May I tell you what happened that night?”

The priest was not sure he wanted to pursue this conversation to its conclusion, but he felt compelled both by the pain in the voice and the possibility of knowing exactly what had happened the night his father climbed into the cupola and shot himself. “Go ahead,” he answered, his voice strained.

“He had just gotten official notice of his retirement, you know,” the caboose began.

Fr. Christopher did know that--he had seen the letter. It had glowingly thanked the old railroader for his years of service, and set the date. For a man who defined himself so completely by the work he did, pretty sentiments and a gold watch would not be enough to make up for the loss.

“I got most of this out of him before he--before the end, though I didn’t know it when he came in here half-drunk with a box of Pabst under one arm and a bottle of vodka in the other hand. He had been on the wagon for so long after your mother died, but I guess he felt there was nothing left to lose.”

That hurt, the priest realized. “He hadn’t lost me. Why didn’t he come talk to me?”

“He was drunk, he was ashamed. Wouldn’t you be?”

Mulling that, Fr. Christopher thought of another question. “I knew he was upset about retiring, but why get drunk at all? As you say, he was on the wagon and doing well.”

“Because he found out that when he retired, I was going to be scrapped. That probably wouldn’t have been enough to send him back to the bottle, except that he tried to buy me. They turned him down cold.”

“I know how that feels,” the priest grunted. “Though I didn’t know about your--unique qualities--when I asked.”

“I told him to go home and sleep it off when he stumbled in here, said he should forget about me and let me go. He finished off the beer and the vodka and sat here for a long time. Then he left. I thought he went home.”

“But he didn’t.”

Another sigh seemed to shake the caboose. “No, he came back a bit later with the gun. He said he knew he was a disappointment to you, and that he had disappointed his wife, and had disappointed his best friend. I assume he meant me.”

There was a long silence.

“And then,” the priest asked, dreading to hear the words.

The words were sepulchral, cold, like the squealing of steel wheels on steel rails. “Then he climbed up in the cupola and shot himself. I talked the whole time, tried to get him to stop. But he ignored me. He just did it. I felt his blood pouring over my cushions and down my walls because I tempted him to be my friend and then couldn’t help him when he needed me the most.”

Fr. Christopher’s hand pulled at his beard as he struggled to find something to say. Sitting in a dark railroad car, hearing what amounted to a confession and offering counseling to a guilt-ridden caboose was a bit outside his usual work. He prayed, and a stillness settled on his heart, allowing him to order his thoughts and speak.

“I do not believe my father’s death was your fault. Having a deep and abiding friendship such as yours, especially after mom died, must have been a real joy. The thought of losing that, and his life’s work, and his embarrassment at getting drunk again was probably more than he could handle. His decision was due to a lot of things, but ‘your fault’ isn’t one of them.”

“You truly believe that?” the caboose asked, sounding hopeful.

“Yes, I do, insofar as I can believe anything about a talking caboose,” the priest replied with a sardonic laugh.

“You forgive me?”

“God forgives,” Fr. Christopher answered. That was the response of a confessor to a penitent Orthodox Christian concerned about his soul. He was not even sure the word “soul” could be applied to a caboose, or if God gave forgiveness to one which had spent years feeling guilty. But for himself, he could. “Even if I thought you had done something wrong, I would forgive.”

“Thank you, Father.” The caboose sounded relieved.

Fr. Christopher became aware that faint light was beginning to shine around the edges of the boarded-up windows. Dawn was approaching and with it more workers and passers-by.

“I’ll have to go soon,” the priest said. “You don’t want me to try to buy you, to save you?”

“No, please. I have served a long time, and I’m done. That’s not suicide, is it?” The caboose sounded quite concerned.

Fr. Christopher shook his head. “I don’t know. You’re not a human being, so I don’t know what rules God would apply to you. You’ve completed a life of service, though, and the decision to be taken out of service isn’t really yours. For the rest, let’s leave it in His hands.”

“Yes. May I ask a favor?”

“Of course, if I am able.”

“Do you have a picture of your father? And an icon of the Christ? I’d like to have them here with me.”

It was such a strange request, the priest could only agree. He took out his wallet and extracted a photo of his dad. The old man was smiling, dressed in overalls and holding his lunch pail and a lantern.

From another fold, Fr. Christopher pulled a mass-produced icon card, of which he always carried a few. He wedged them into the frame of the cupola window.

“I’m curious,” he said as he climbed down. “I understand the picture, but why the icon?”

“He used to talk to me about you and your ministry. He put an icon you gave him in the car, and kept it even though the other guys ribbed him about it. It was a real nice picture of Jesus with a lamb over his shoulders. I always liked it. It reminds me of him.” The final words were like the soft whisper of a breeze. “And maybe I hope, too. Maybe I hope.”

Fr. Christopher pulled the door open and looked out. The eastern horizon was beginning to glow. “I’d better go.”

“Father, bless.”

The words surprised the priest, but he paused on the threshold and made the sign of the cross in the air. “Through the prayers of the holy fathers, Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on us and bless us.” After a moment, he added, “Lord now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word,” and closed the door.

In the warm, golden light of a new day, he walked to his car and headed home.

Fr. Christopher had just settled down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cold cereal when the phone rang.

“Father, it’s Ed Hillyer. I just wanted to tell you I’ve spoken with the general manager and he says it would be fine to sell you number 99135. Once I figured out who you were and all--”

“Thank you, but I’ve changed my mind,” the priest replied. “I won’t be needing the caboose after all.”

“Well, I should tell you they’ll be hauling it away tomorrow. By Monday it will be a lost piece of railroad history. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you change your mind?”

Fr. Christopher looked up at a photograph on the wall. His father stood on the step of caboose 99135, one hand on the platform railing and the other almost protectively on the back wall of the car. He smiled.

“Call it a last favor to an old family friend,” he said, and hung up the phone.

For Halloween: The Water Bottles

2007-10-31T09:58:00.000-05:00

Here's a little something I wrote for a contest titled "Ordinary Horrors". It's apropos for Halloween, I suspect. And a tip of the hat to the memory of the master of weird scray tales, H.P. Lovecraft.

-----------

Old Missus Shrewsbury asked me and my friends to clean out her basement lots of times, but we always had an excuse. Soccer practice, prayer service at church, homework, you name it and we used it.

It's not that we couldn't use the money she offered us, it's just that her house was nasty. It was probably a really nice place when it was built a hundred years ago, but my mom says Missus S. and her husband had let it go to seed. I'm not sure what that means, but I guess it means what I said. It was nasty and dark, and it even looked like her. The roof was all hunched over and the windows looked like google-eyes and it was even kind of a sick green around the edges. It smelled bad too, like maybe the toilet was backed up all the time or something.

Anyway, we're hanging around Three Corner Park when Joey's cell phone started ringing. It sucks that Joey had a cell phone and the other guys didn't, but not because we wanted one ourselves. It sucked because everybody knew to call Joey if they wanted to get hold of us.

"Bobby, I want you to go over to Mrs. Shrewsbury's house and help her clean out her basement."

Great. The old biddy had finally got smart and asked my mom.

"Aw mom, we're busy," I hedged, trying to put it off.

"I know what you're busy doing, probably looking at dirty magazines with your friends. You get on your bike right this instant, young man, or you'll find yourself in hot water when you get home. And you'd better tell Joey and Kenny their moms said they're to go and help you."

Parents don't have a clue, you know what I mean?

Joey and Kenny were really mad, but since we didn't have any other choice, we rode our bikes on over to the Shrewsbury place. The old lady herself was standing out front waiting for us. She looked like an old toad, the way her eyes were all bulged out, and that big wide mouth with the thick lips.

"I'm so grateful you boys could help," she said as we went inside. Man, that house smelled funky, you know what I mean? Not just that old person smell, but something really gross too.

"Now there's some cookies there on the kitchen table, and you help yourself to all you want." Well that was okay. They were pretty good cookies, though they looked weird. They were shaped sort of like water drops, and had weird little nuts and stuff in them, but they were good. We ate a bunch of 'em, and then told Missus S. we were ready to get to work.

She handed us a bucket and a couple of mops and a broom and some old towels and a box of some stinky cleaner. "Just stack all the boxes in neat piles and clean the floors and dust around," Missus S. told us, "but don't you go in the back room. That's where I keep my dear Robert's things and I don't want anyone messing with them."

Like we would do anything with a bunch of old junk in the basement of the crappiest house in town. Right.

"Now I have to run downtown and do some shopping boys, so you just stay downstairs and do your cleaning until I get back. I don't want you coming upstairs when I'm not here. I have a lot of valuable antiques and don't want them damaged."

You'd have thought we were a bunch of gang-bangers the way she lectured us about leaving stuff alone. I had to kick Joey in the shins, he was rolling his eyes so bad I thought for sure Missus S. would notice and give us hell.

Finally the speeches were all over and she opened the basement door for us. It was pretty dark and smelled disgusting. I wished I had one of those plug-in air things I always thought were so dumb, but in there they would have been great.

"Oh wait," Mrs. S said before we could start down the stairs. "You must be thirsty after those cookies." She went over and opened a cabinet and pulled out three big old-fashioned glass bottles which she filled at the sink. "You take these down with you in case you need something to drink while I'm gone."

That was that. We each took one of the bottles, Missus Shrewsbury flipped the light on at the top of the stairs and down we went, like prisoners being marched out to be shot.

I set my bottle on one of the higher steps as I got to the bottom, and the other guys did too. As they turned to look around the room, I heard the door close and then a click like a key turning in the lock.

"Aw crap," I said, turning to the guys. "She fricking locked us in!"

If looks could kill, I'd have been dead right then.

"I can't believe you got us into this, Bobby," Joey grumbled. He was looking around at the shelves that lined the old stone walls of the little room at the base of the stairs. "Can you believe all the old junk down here?"

Kenny walked over to a bunch of old boxes that had apparently been tossed in a corner and started pulling some of them into a more or less neat pile.

"The sooner we get started the sooner we get done," he said. He paused a second and looked up. "Hey look at that, the whole underside of the floor is covered in metal!" He was right. You couldn't see the joists or supports or anything because it was almost like it had been covered with metal tile.

"Maybe she's afraid of alien brainwashing rays," I snorted. "But who cares? I'm telling you she locked us in! We could get done in five minutes but we'd have to stay here until she gets back from the store."

Joey and Kenny ignored me. They were still pissed off, I guess. I started sweeping all the junk on the floor to one side while Joey took one of the old towels and started running them over the shelves, being real careful not to bother anything actually sitting there. Kenny kept piling boxes.

"Hey, look at these boxes," Kenny said finally as he put the last of them against the wall. "They're all from Tournear Butcher Shop."

Joey dropped his towel in the bucket and went over while I swept around the back of the stairs.

"Yuck, man, they stink BAD!" Joey said, backing away. "And look at 'em, all brown and crap. Is that dried blood?"

Kenny shrugged. "They don't smell no worse than the rest of the house. And at least Miz Shrewsbury will be grateful they're all piled up nice and neat. Maybe 20 bucks grateful?"

"Hey maybe she and the old man chop people up in the back room and ship them out in the boxes," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder to the small wood door under the stairs that I had just pushed my broom past.

"Man are you stupid," Joey said, picking up his bottle of water and taking a swig. "The dumb boxes wouldn't be messed up with blood NOW, before they were loaded up, you dummy."

Kenny came over too and got a drink, nodding his head. "Yeah, doofus. Where'd you get your brains?"

"Well ok then, maybe they bring in fresh meat for the dog or something." I stepped around the stairs and reached for my bottle of water, and Joey slapped my hand away.

"They ain't GOT a dog, dipstick. You're so fricking dumb I think Kenny and me should show you just how dumb you are!"

"Aw come on guys," I whined, "It's hot down here, and I just want a drink of my water."

"We wouldn't BE down here if it weren't for your mom," Kenny said viciously.

They jumped at me, or tried to, but I still had the broom and I got 'em both a couple of good cracks upside the head before they could get me down on the floor and start pounding me.

Now I was mad, because it wasn't my fault Missus Shrewbury had asked my mom to get us to help her. Just because we lived next door didn't mean I was to blame for getting us tapped to do the nasty work.

I've always been a better fighter than either Joey or Kenny, so I got a good grip on one and gave the other a kick in the butt. They both went head over heels against the little wooden door under the stairs.

It slammed open with a crack like a shotgun going off, and Joey and Kenny went sprawling inside.

"Oh crap," I thought, "we're in for it now!" But Joey and Kenny just lay there on the floor looking up with their mouths wide open.

"Whoooooooa," Joey said, looking at something I couldn't see.

"What the frick is that?" Kenny added as I scrambled up off the floor outside and stuck my head inside the back room.

It was about 10 foot square, and should have been dark since it didn't have any windows, but it was almost as light as the outdoors. That was because of the fancy old shelves that ran along the back wall from floor to ceiling. Well, not the shelves, but the rows and rows of old glass bottles lined up on them.

They were a lot like the bottles the old biddy had given us, except these all had stuff written on them, or carved on them, or something. Sort of like those really old Coke bottles from the 1930s with the raised Coke emblem instead of the stamped on one.

Joey and Kenny were just staring at the bottles and sitting on the muddy floor, but I looked around.

The walls were like hand-hewn stone and they were all covered with green slimy moss stuff. The floor was muddy, like I said, except right around this big manhole sized metal cover right in front of the shelves.

I didn't like any of it. I got this prickly feeling on my neck and I backed up until I was right against the underside of the stairs.

"C'mon guys, let's get out of here and shut the door, Missus Shrewsbury doesn't need to know we were in here," I said, but they weren't listening to me.

Joey was the first one on his feet and he walked over to look at the bottles. Kenny wa right behind him, but scrunched down to look at the manhole.

"Where do ya suppose this goes?" he asked. "Maybe they use it to bring the bodies in and out before they chop 'em up."

I guess he'd forgot that I was dumb to suggest that.

"Look at the weird writing on these," Joey said, picking one up.

"Holy crap, Joey, put that thing down, remember what Missus Shrewsbury said," I hissed, motioning for both of them to get out of there. "You get your asses out of there RIGHT NOW!"

"Awwwwww, Bobby's afraaaaaaaaid!" they both laughed, and I blushed bright red.

"I am NOT, but you're not supposed to be IN there!"

"Look at this one," Joey said turning toward me, holding one of the bottles with the open end turned toward me. "It's like half full of water, and on one side is some words all scratched out so you can't read 'em."

Kenny was pulling at the manhole, trying to lift it up. "Hey Bobby, get your ass in here and help me lift this up."

At the same time, Joey had turned the bottle in his hand. "On this side it says 'This is the water of life asana coquelimok--'"

All hell broke loose.

Every single bottle on the shelves suddenly began spurting water like the hoses down at the car wash! The bottle in Joey's hands damn near exploded as it sprayed water directly at me, knocking me all the way across the outer room.

I'm not exactly sure what happened after that, because I landed against Kenny's stack of boxes and one fell down and slammed me in the head. I came to half sitting on one of the boxes with the water almost up to my shoulders!

I jumped up and started to run over to the little door under the stairs, but the water was pouring out of there like the Flood in the Bible. Just in the minute it took me to fight my way across and under the stairs the water got a foot deeper.

What the hell was all this? All this water was apparently pumping out of the bottles on the shelves, and there were so many they were totally flooding the basement faster than a fire hydrant pumps water to put out a fire.

"Joey! Kenny!" I yelled and tried to push into the back room.

The flow of water was way too strong, though I thought I could see one of those swirly whirlpool things like you see when you let the water out of the bathtub. Maybe Kenny had got the lid off that drain or whatever it was and it was sucking down some of the water.

Then I heard Joey screaming,"Go open the fricking door, Bobby! Let some of this water out!"

That seemed like a good idea so I half walked, half swam back around the stairs and crawled up them. The water was still getting deeper, and I could guess why the whole bottom of the floor above was covered with metal if this sort of thing happened very often.

I had to give the old door a really hard kick to get it open, and I know I busted the lock real good. Missus Shrewsbury was going to be pissed, but then maybe she'd have been more pissed to find three drowned boys in her basement.

I lay down on the floor and stuck my head down, looking through the open stairs into the swirling waters still pouring out of the back room.

"Okay, I got it you guys, come ON!"

I guess getting the basement door open eased some pressure or something, because the water didn't seem to get any deeper, and a minute later Joey and Kenny were swimming around the stairs. I didn't understand it--they looked all pale and scared out of their wits.

Then Kenny screamed and looked back, and Joey screamed too, and I dropped my head down again looking under the top stair into the back room again.

That's when I think I finally lost it.

I'm never gonna forget that sight, as Joey and Kenny were dragged back into the gushing, swirling waters that those big bottles were still pumping out to beat the band.

Nobody could swim against the sucking of the water down that big manhole drain, and that gross, disgusting thing with the huge frog-mouth that was gulping down everything as it sat in the opening.

Nobody could fight against the tentacle or tongue or whatever it was that was wrapped around Kenny's leg as it reeled him in like a fish on a string.

I ran home.

Joey and Kenny didn't come to school the next day, and somebody told me they hadn't come home the night before.

And when I walked by Missus Shrewsbury's house on the way home, she was sitting on the porch, and she had a big old glass bottle sitting on the little table beside her, carved with the letters "Water of Life".

She just looked at me and gave me a froggy kind of grin.

"Dear Robert forgives you for messing with his things," she said, and licked her lips.

Mortality

2007-10-16T11:07:00.000-05:00

I learned this weekend that two friends of mine have died.

The first actually occurred in June. I only found out about it while reading the newsletter of the Fine Arts Department at Illinois State, where I graduated back in '84.

Dr. John Ferrell was a guiding light in my love of choral music. He led the Madrigal Singers at ISU, in which I sang for the entirety of my time there.

He did not direct us by standing in front and waving his arms as conductors usually do. Since our raison d'etre was performing the annual Christmas Madrigal Dinners, we sang with only a minimal direction from one of the singers, starting and stopping. But Dr. F. would nurture our collective creativity and inspire quality performance by brief but pointed commentary, a quick outline of how a musical line should arch and fall, a soft-spoken word on forming the words around the music.

Dr. F. nurtured us in other ways too. He was always available for counsel. He was one of "The Wise", as far as I was concerned. I can imagine him in the classic educational setting: he at one end of a log and the student at the other, talking music. In addition, when there was a need (such as when we journeyed to the British Isles on our bi-annual singing tours) he would help us find the funding to pay for the trip--in my case, twice.

I will miss him.

The second death was brought to my attention Saturday morning when I printed the birth and funeral announcements for my airshift.

Chris Walton was 52. A resident of Quincy and formerly of Carthage, we shared a love for gaming. He died of an apparent heart attack on Friday.

Chris was always willing to play something. He didn't appear to care what, he simply wanted to enjoy the camaraderie and play of the game.

I last talked with him when my fiancee was in town. We were leaving Midwest Comics as he was arriving, and I introduced him to Paula. He offered to teach her the game she had just purchased for me for my birthday.

I did not realize that Chris held a degree in history and teacher certs. At some point he must have decided not to pursue the teaching, but I can see him in that role. He told good stories, he knew the history represented in many games like the proverbial back of his hand, and while he was a trifle odd perhaps, he was a good man.

I regret that I did not have the chance, in either the case of Chris or Dr. Ferrell, to tell these two men how much I valued their presence in my life.

In the Orthodox Church we pray for those who have passed on with simple words:

May their memory be eternal!

Now I'm off to tell a few people whose friendship and guidance I have enjoyed how much I love them.

Sometimes you just have to say "I can't."

2007-10-08T18:21:00.001-05:00

I'm crabby today, so bear that in mind.

I'm listening to these stories about the Chicago marathon, and listening to the runners complaining about how the race officials screwed up.

Apparently the organizers stocked up on enough water for a normal October weekend in the Windy City, but it was very hot and humid instead. This there was not enough water--although from the footage I saw the runners were dumping the water over their heads instead of drinking it like they were intended to do.

Okay, forget that. I don't run so I don't know the mechanics.

But...

What about their OWN responsibility?

People, it was hot and humid, adding even more difficulty to an already tough event. Shouldn't the runners bear responsibility for knowing whether the added difficulty removed the marathon from their capabilities? Why is that the organizers' fault?

My soon to be daughter in law runs. I think she would have the common sense to realize when conditions would change a race from a challenge to a downright dangerous and potentially injurious and "out of my league" event.

Why didn't these runners simply step back and say "I can't do this today"? Is it just pride that they "made the cut" and they wanted to be able to say "I did it"? Some of them are in the hospital in payment of that attitude.

Hot--humid--long race--DANGEROUS. Some could handle it. Others could not. It wasn't the responsibility of the race organziers to penalize everyone by canceling the marathon. It was the responsibility of the runners to know what was beyond their capabilities.

Ah well, its not like I've never done something dumb like that--I have. One hopes that next time organizers will take such conditions into account and that participants will honestly face up to their own limitations.

My deepest sympathies to the family of the man who died. That is a tragedy that no one should have to go through.

Sometimes the well is dry...

2007-10-08T12:13:00.000-05:00

Like today.

Heck, like the whole weekend.

Here I am trying to do better on posting and I hit a dry patch. Gawd, that sucks.

On the more positive side of things, we had our annual meeting at church yesterday. Amazing to see what started with a handful of people barely able to support itself has grown to a budget that pretty much supports itself, with a substantial part of that being given to people in need and other charitable work. Glory to God glory to Him forever, as we Orthodox are wont to say.

Workwise, just want to remind you all that it's National Fire Prevention Week. Check the
smoke and carbon monoxide alarms, make sure you aren't overloading your outlets,
no wires running under rugs where there's lots of people walking by, and all that stuff.
Oh yes, make a plan for getting out of your home and practice it. And finally, go join area firefighters in Washington Park on Sunday for a good time to lighten up on the heavy message.

Hmmm, apparently I did have something to say after all. Good! :)

Love

2007-10-04T11:07:00.000-05:00

The fragrance of love! When we burn incense, we think of the fragrant heavenly aroma of love. The Holy Spirit, like a heavenly fire, brings the warmth of love into the human heart, and like a fresh wind, chases away the stench of sin and spreads the aroma of Christ to the world. That savor all the saints have borne within themselves. People have sensed it in living saints and in their relics. The Apostle speaks of this: "We are unto God a sweet savour of Christ," the sweet perfume of recognition of the truth and the sweetness of love (cf. 2 Cor. 2:14-16).
--Lessons in Divine and Christian Love from The Lament of Eve by Johanna Manley

LOVE (III)
by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything."

A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.

You see, to love of God is joined also love of neighbor: the person who loves God doesn't neglect his brother; nor esteem money ahead of a limb of his own but shows him great generosity, mindful of Him Who has said, 'Whoever did it to the least of My brothers did it to Me.' He is aware that the Lord of all considers as done to Himself the service given to his fellow servant, and so he will perform every service with great enthusiasm and give evidence of great generosity in almsgiving, considering not the lowliness of appearance but the greatness of the One Who has promised to accept as done to Himself what is given to the poor.
--St. John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis, Vol. 3

This one's for Paula.

The Chickens! The Chickens!

2007-10-04T10:43:00.000-05:00

Gawd, I love Doug Savage's chickens! They always get me laughing my butt off (and given the size of my butt, that's a good thing :)

Check out his Savage Chickens site at http://www.savagechickens.com

Good health...

2007-10-03T09:48:00.000-05:00

...is hard to come by.

Yesterday I had to head up to the Blessing cardiac unit and take a dobutamine stress test. Had some chest pains a couple weeks ago and they wanted to check me out.

Those who know me know I am a sizable fellow so I couldn't do the treadmill--I had to do the one where they inject you with a drug that makes your body respond as if you were exercising heavily, thus raising your heart rate and giving the docs a chance to see if there is anything wrong with the old ticker.

I call it the "lethal injection stress test". I hate 'em. This was my third and it was as bad as all the others.

It helped that the techs and nurses were all very sweet. The ultrasound woman was quite attractive, and reminded me of a girl I pined for way back in high school. And Dr. Mannapaddi is a hoot and a half. But I digress.

Anyway they shave parts of my chest to attach the leads (ugh), insert the IV feed (double ugh), do the prelim baseline ultrasound (ouch), and then they shoot me up.

Did I mention that I hate this test?

It's ok for a while, almost like going up and down the stairs at the apartment four or five times. The heart starts to pound a bit is all.

They're tying to get your heart rate up to about 120, IIRC. That's fine, but at some point the whole experience goes from "oh this is like a nice brisk walk" to "Holy crap when did I sign up for the freaking marathon?!?!"

The heart is pounding like it's going to explode out of my chest (as seen in many hideously wonderful horror movies). My head is a bit light now. My stomach is dying for a chance to express itself but I wisely deprived it of anything to spew last night. My back is twitching since they lay you on your side. In fact, my right arm and shoulder are doing a bit of St. Vitus too. Great merciful Pumpkin this is too much!

Then to top it off, ultrasound starts digging holes in my chest and left side trying to get more pics of my heart before it goes kerblooey. Yeeeeowch! And the freaking gel they use is like 32 degrees (or colder)!

Longest 10 minutes of my life. Well, second longest. The last time they did this test on me they couldn't get my heart rate over 120. I think I was suspended at 100 or so for some interminable amount of time. But this one was bad enough.

Dr. M. informs me that my heart is damn near perfect. Nothing to see here, folks, move along. Of course he does point out that I need to effect some changes in lifestyle (eat less exercise more--but I'm not going to that place which the test simulates, sorry!) and drop about 150 pounds. That's nice to hear, actually, since a year ago it was 200 lbs I needed to drop.

Anyway, I'm apparently as healthy as a fat man can be expected to be. Better, in fact.

But they still don't know what caused the chest pains.

Well I'm tapped out now, and late for work to boot. So you'll have to finish this one up yourselves.

(insert witty closing bon mot here)

A bit of poetry to while the hours...

2007-10-01T20:27:00.000-05:00

This was written when I was active in the Society for Creative Anachronism and was serving as one of three "Kingdom Bards" for the King and Queen of the Middle Kingdom (IL, IN, WI, MN, OH, MI). It isn't quite authentic in the style of a medieval plaint, but one adapts as one must to modern sensibilities. :)

To Her Grace, the Doe of the Middle Kingdom, the Gentle Queen

Oh fairest Queen, Oh lady bright,
Above me as far as sky to earth
This simple song I sing tonight,
My prayer is it may cause thee mirth
But soft, not laughter of derision,
Rather thy gentle smiles bestow
And trust my tune like wise magician,
From thy emerald eyes bring flow
Of joyous tears and heartstrings tune,
And to thy puissant lord should bring
Thee closer in thy love and soon,
I pray this comes from what I sing.

The Plaint

Oh morning star
Above the heights I pray thee rise
So in thy light
The glory of my Queen I'll spy;
The fairest lady of the land is she, the Queen
Saving but one, my own true love
(in truth 'tis as should been)
But gentle Queen still I do honor thee.

Oh noonday Sun
Thou shouldst hide thy glory, shade thy name;
The lady Queen
Doth sing with me, puts thee to shame;
Sweet melody like nightingale sings she, the Queen
Saving but one, my own true love
(in truth 'tis as should been)
But noble Queen still I do honor thee.

Oh twilight sky
In deepsome luster glorious beauty thrives.
Like as my Queen
Whose emerald eyes with thy beams of glory strive,
The victor of the contest fair is she, the Queen
Saving but one, my own true love
(in truth tis as should been)
But beauteous Queen still I do honor thee.

O moon of night
Can I compare thee to my Queen?
My lady fair,
Beloved too, outshineth thee.
They stand so lovely in my dreams, the moon, the Queen
Saving but one, my own true love
(in truth 'tis as should been)
Above all others I do honor these.

Finis le plaint

My lady Queen, these are but words,
And lack the music that I write
At Crown I pledge to sing for thee
If wilt allow that busy night
And now God grant thee rest and grace
And peaceful joy all in thy place,
Goodnight fair Queen, sweet resting too,
Goodnight, dear one, at last, adieu!

Speaking of games

2007-09-29T07:06:00.000-05:00

It's the last Saturday of the month and that means it's Game Day at Midwest Comics & Collectibles at 18th and Broadway.

So during the course of the day I will be spending a few hours huddled over a game board of some kind playing something with friends. We'll probably order out for pizza too.

Want to see what it's all about? Stop by and tell them Kevin sent you. There are plenty of folks who will gladly teach you one of the easier games that we like to play. Mention Settlers of Catan, or BattleLore, or even Axis & Allies naval miniatures...or just ask if there are any fun Euros you can try out.

And if you're really brave and you see me, you can ask for a turn or two of Byzantium Reborn, a game on the fight between the Greeks and the Turks post World War 1. Brave not because I'm any good at playing, but because it's somewhat more complex than the Euro-games that we usually play.

Midwest opens at 11. They start gaming at 12. I'll likely be there mid-afternoon.

And for those who think I'm nuts for playing these games, I'll post an After Action Report later tonight. :)

PS. If you don't want to play games, go to the rock show at John Wood, or any of the other activities taking place today. Really, honest, just get out of the house and enjoy the day!

It's the time of year....

2007-09-28T15:18:00.000-05:00

...when there's too much football going on.

Of course, I would say that because I'm not a big sports geek. Sorry, that's just how it is. That is strange though, seeing that the game is all about using resources tactically and strategically to achieve your goals, and I'm a big strategic and tactical gamer. Why just last night I rolled over the French at Agincourt...but that's another posting.

I like baseball, high school basketball (come on, I grew up in Indiana and now I live in Quincy, you KNOW I have to like h.s. hoops :), even have seen some impressive soccer. But football leaves me cold.

My friend "J" doesn't understand this. He's a football nut--a freak--a fanatic. He looks at my pictures in my (now ancient) yearbooks and wants to know how I didn't get roped into football when I was young.

The fact is, I did play backyard football all through grade school. I have wonderful memories of a "big game" between my buds and myself against some kids from another classroom at Holman School in Peru, Indiana. We were in Steve Beiter's backyard, the ball was passed to me and I went across the goal line with five of the "enemy" trying to drag me down. I was too big and too strong for those little punks to stop. Thank god it wasn't flag ball.

But then in 6th grade they started a "real" football program for the kids. And they badgered me and badgered me to sign up. I wasn't interested in organized play but I finally gave in, figuring if nothing else it would be fun to re-enact some of our better plays from the backyard.

I played for less than 30 seconds in one game of the 8 game "season". The coach never explained, never offered instruction, never did much of anything, and I ended up being the one guy who never got on the field. And therein lies the foundation of my complete non-interest in football. No thanks, not even in a boardgame simulation or on the computer.

I turned my attentions to marching band, where I got to be involved in every event (albeit I was a pretty bad trombonist). That also wore thin, since I ended up having to learn a new show for every home football game, and that fouled up Friday nights for three years of high school. So there's some resentment of football, too, for messing up my free time. I quit band after my junior year in h.s. too!

So that's why I'm not into football and you won't see much beyond this post on my blog, "J".

But I COULD be coaxed into some backyard gridiron action sometime this fall, if the price is right. :)

Autumn arriving

2007-09-27T09:47:00.000-05:00

For the most part, autumn has to be my favorite time of the year.

As the trees begin to turn, and the temperatures fall into a zone that I find very comfortable (60 to 70 degrees) and the sun loses its summer ferocity, I begin to feel the urge to take walks again, to breath fresh air, to ramble a bit (physically, not verbally).

Quincy is a great place to ramble about. There's one heck of a lot of cool stuff to see, from the riverfront to the airport, from the lock and dam to Moorman Park. Nature, manmade wonders, people, all kinds of stuff. Lots to see, lots to do. Or not do--I spent an hour yesterday just sitting in Washington Park and enjoying the day now that the heat finally seems to have gone bye-bye for another year.

Don't get me wrong: while I hate the incredible heat of summer, and the extreme cold of winter, those seasons have a beauty of their own in Quincy (and maybe other places, but I'm not talking about them today). I like them, especially that one night we seem to get every year when snow has fallen all day and now the sky is low and the snow undistrubed and its silent and no one is around. Or the K of C and the county fair and various other fun things in the summer.

But I'm a red and gold, scrubbed blue sky, chilly night/pleasant day, apple cider, corn maze, guitar and folk songs by a fire, let's-hear-it-for-fall fun kind of guy. Quincy fall days seem to have something special. Maybe it's just me, but there it is.

Sure, as a community we have issues, but all in all I don't think I'd want to live anyplace else, especially in autumn.

"And if I'd ever leave you,
It wouldn't be in autumn.
Seeing you in autumn, I never could go.
Your hair streaked with sunlight,
Your lips red as flame,
your face with a luster
That puts gold to shame..."

I like it here, falling leaves and all.

More ???s about Orthodox Christianity

2007-08-31T14:35:00.000-05:00

This must be the month for questions about what it means to be an Orthodox Christian!

In conversation today a friend asked me why he wouldn't be allowed to take communion in an Orthodox Church. Best explanation I've ever found is this from Frederica Mathewes-Green, a journalist and NPR commentator--and the wife of an Orthodox priest.

Visitors are sometimes offended that they are not allowed to receive communion. Orthodox believe that receiving communion is broader than “me-and-Jesus”; it acknowledges faith in historic Orthodox doctrine, obedience to a particular Orthodox bishop, and a commitment to a particular Orthodox worshipping community. There’s nothing exclusive about this; everyone is invited to make this commitment to the Orthodox Church.

But the Eucharist is the Church’s treasure, and it is reserved for those who have united themselves with the Church. An analogy could be to reserving marital relations until after the wedding.

We also handle the Eucharist with more gravity than many denominations do, further explaining why we guard it from common access. We believe it is truly the Body and Blood of Christ. We ourselves do not receive communion unless we are making regular confession of our sins to a priest and are at peace with other communicants. We fast from all food and drink—yes, even a morning cup of coffee—from midnight the night before communion.

Only Orthodox may take communion, but anyone may have some of the blessed bread. If someone hands you a piece of blessed bread, do not panic; it is not the eucharistic Body. It is a sign of fellowship.

--F. Mathewes-Green, "12 Things I Wish I'd Known: First Visit to an Orthodox Church"

I couldn't say it any better myself.

That's "what's up with that", J.

---------------

"As this piece of bread was scattered over the hills and then brought together and made one, so let Thy Church be brought together from the ends of the earth into Thy Kingdom. For Thine is the Glory and the Power through Jesus Christ forever."-an anaphora prayer from the Didache

Random wanderings

2007-08-31T09:11:00.001-05:00

I love the sun as much as the next guy.

A bright sunny day down by the river with a bag of sandwiches and some fruit to munch on, watching the river, maybe getting a lift from a friend for a trip up or down the Big Muddy for a bit, maybe sitting with the sweetheart, a little PDA, maybe doing the Friday evening Movies on the Muddy thing as the sun sets...

Sweet. Priceless. You get the idea.

But man I get tired of the sun rolling up over the post office roof and frying my eyes when I'm trying to sleep in the morning.

I think I'll move the bed and put up a shade.

------

Tomorrow's the big day. Paula is coming for a visit.

You know, if I kept up with my cleaning on a regular basis, I wouldn't be going crazy trying to get all 1400 square feet neatified now.

Yeesh, I'm such a slob. :(

OTOH, my sweetie's coming to town. :)

People say the nicest things

2007-08-29T09:21:00.000-05:00

Early this week I had a conversation with a friend who does a lot of reading in the Quincy blogs.

In discussing the vagaries and foibles of some of my esteemed "brothers and sisters of the e-page" my friend commented that he wished I would do more "Quincy commentary" as some of the local bloggers do (read "get political and controversial and say how nasty Quincy is").

Then he paid me what he thought was an insult and I took as a great compliment.

"Your blog is getting to be as boring and self-centered as Hart's!"

I had to laugh, because I think Rodney Hart's blog is an excellent mix of light commentary, musings, oddball sidebars, and just interesting conversation. To be compared to his fine writing skills makes me feel pretty darn good.

Self-centered? Well, I do talk about my experiences and thoughts, but I hope it doesn't actually come off as self-centered. My apologies if it does--but it is what it is.

As for the nastified stuff on some of the other Quincy blogs...

There's some fine meat out there in the blogs, and I do peruse them from time to time. But I don't care for the foul language, the insults, and the junior-high behavior of adults who ought to know better. I don't want that happening here--I don't have the time to ride herd on a bunch of people who would never behave in person the way they do online.

When there are issues that I believe are worth offering a comment, I will. I have in the past. But it's not going to happen on a regular basis.

There's also the fact that I have certain responsibilities due to my work and it would not be appropriate for me to comment publically on things I'm reporting on.

But dude, thanks for the compliment! :)

Shilling for something good

2007-08-24T14:03:00.001-05:00

Listen up.

If you happen to be 55 or older (no, I am not, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate this program for its value), consider participating in what qualifies in my book as an "educational pilgrimage".

I'm talking about the upcoming fall POLIS series.

POLIS is Quincy University’s program of continued education for retired and semi-retired persons over 55 years of age and there are a lot of interesting subjects to be discussed beginning September 6th.

Want to learn more about the experience of vets in World War 2? How about some seriously interesting stuff about the Father of Waters, the Mississippi--Quincy's doorstep, if you will?

There are also offerings on local media, law enforcement, literature, music, Islamic civilization and stress and depression.

No tests, no grades, no pressure, just inexpensive education. $30, plus a small fee for each course (you don't have to take them all)--that's a deal you cannot beat.

Keep learning or settle in to become mulch right now.

Want to know more? Contact POLIS at 228-5594 or by email at polis@quincy.edu, or visit www.quincy.edu.

What's in an Orthodox wedding

2007-08-16T13:52:00.000-05:00

A couple of folks asked me just what makes an Eastern Orthodox Christian wedding different from a western Christian wedding.

For an overview, head here:

http://www.yasou.org/church/wedding.htm

It's primarily Greek in customs (though not in Tradition) but most of it applies to all the various Orthodox bodies.

The wedding of Paula and myself will likely have an odd mix of American, Russian, Greek, Syrian and even Serbian customs. :)

And for those who don't know yet--I am marrying my long time friend Paula of Franklin, Ohio next July 19 at St. Raphael Orthodox Christian Church here in Quincy. She will be moving here next spring.