Looking Good

While I was not watching Sunday Morning, I was in the other room attending to a minor task which allowed me to listen to the program with one ear, and the requisite half-mind it takes to follow tv programming.

The segment was about someone named Ethan Hawke whom the interviewer referred to as "the face of Generation X."  The first thing that caught my ear was Mr. Hawke's statement to the effect that when one was shooting pool, for instance, the important thing is not to make the shot, but to look good while making the effort.

Yes.  Characterization of Generation X.  The accomplishment, or failure to accomplish, is not important so long as one looks good in the endeavor.  Form over substance.

The subject capped the interview with a summary of his philosophy.  Succinctly stated, he said that if one pursues his art with dedication it is all good, whether or not the efforts culminate in achievement.

Draw your own conclusions.

I Am a...

Last summer a young minister of the gospel between pastoral charges wrote a thoughtful blog post in which he wondered where he would be if for some reason the Lord closed the door to his ministry in a professional capacity.  He concluded by asking 

Is it ok, that my identity is so deeply rooted in my ministry? What would I do, if I was not a pastor anymore? What if, for some unknown reason, God decided to take it away from me? What kind of Christian would I be then? What kind of person would I be then? Who would I be?

I responded in the comments section with a rather long but heartfelt analysis of his questions.  For some reason, I feel impelled to share my response here on String Too Short to Tie.  It is redacted only to the extent that I removed the closing paragraph which was personal in nature.  I said 

So, who would you be if God removed the opportunity to minister in a professional capacity? First of all, if God does that, He will provide something that will utilize your skills in an even more productive way. Believe it. Secondly, you will follow the leading and will of God, even if that means the unknown, and seemingly endless hours in prayer. And finally, you will still be the man that God has created you to be, but your job may change.

A typical ice-breaker when we meet someone new to us is “What do you do?” I’m guessing, based on a life-time of observation, that not one in forty answers the question. Instead, they will reply, “I am a teacher,”: or “I am a minister of the gospel,” or “I am an accountant,” and so on, thereby defining themselves by what they do. I think this is one of the great tragedies of our day, for people do literally define themselves by their occupation, or their career, and thus never internalize, then act out their potential. There is nothing wrong with a career, or an occupation, nor is it sinful to take pride in what one does. But it is truly limiting the spirit when we define ourselves in such narrow terms.

Rather, you might say “I am a child of the living God, joint-heir with my Elder Brother, Jesus, who is the Christ. I am a man who is afflicted with weaknesses, but nevertheless a man of great strength; a man of hopes, and dreams, and desires. I am a son, a husband, a father, a functioning and useful member of the society in which God has granted me a place.”

So this is not what the stranger expects when he asks. He expects to hear, “I am a …(insert job title.)” There is nothing wrong with answering the question, by the way, and in a social situation it will probably make everyone, including one’s self more comfortable. But answer it honestly, don’t reinforce the proclivity to define yourself by your job.

I have been retired 22 years. I feel this issue strongly, for while I had the best job in the world, had I defined myself by my job, I would now be a nothing, would I not? So the next question people ask after I tell them I am retired is “What do you do with yourself?” as though they cannot possibly imagine someone being able to maintain an interest in life when his “I am job” definition no longer applies.

One hopes, given the above, that in the scenario you present, the answers to your other questions would be: the same kind of Christian, the same kind of person, the same Person, you are right now. You’d just be used of God in a different way.

Keep the faith. 

Let Good Sense Be Your Umbrella

I do so hope this blog doesn't become an imitator of those cable tv networks which major in reruns.  However, encountering some people and some situations recently, I thought, "I have already addressed that."  And so I did, in this manner.

I have been acquainted with any number of people over the years who could well have carried the name of this Al Capp character. Pronounce it, no, probably not, but live up to it, yes, certainly.

Like this lovable little pinned-together character, these folk go around with a rain cloud as a constant companion. An observation that I have made is that in a good many of these "cases" there is no provision made for the impending rain. They carry no umbrella, probably don't own one, and if they did they wouldn't know where they last put it down.

Now, generally speaking, I like people. I feel for the misfortunes that befall even those with whom I'm not acquainted. But while we may not live in a victim-less society, it is certainly the case that there are more instances of self-inflicted misfortune than most people like to own. Many of the people I have observed are near and dear to me, yet their ills are more often than not brought upon themselves by their own choices and behaviors. I could go on and on. Just saying.


He doesn't have sense enough to pound sand in a rat hole  --Dad's second-favorite saying. (The pronoun is interchangeable with "she." And with "they" and "you" combined with "don't" instead of "doesn't.")

The Palm

There stands the regal palm tree

Its use is more than I can see.

It wears a crown but gives no shade

and never a bit of fruit is made.

“Regal” is an apt description
The tree, the king, share this affliction

One is useless as the other

Each an embarrassment and a bother.

California in my youth

Sported palm trees, it’s the truth

But the ones I knew there

Wore edible fruit in their hair.

The date palm, a tree utile,

Its production was not futile.

On Oahu I met the coconut,

A palm tree too, similar but

at least it produced a bread

that if it fell not on your head

was edible, a thing of joy,

I’ve eaten them since a boy.

Yet this thing I see above me

Is useless as food or shade. A tree?

What is this tall thing for?

Why, my friend, it is décor!

Flesh Out the Invisible Man

Long time, no see.  I fell into feeling sorry for myself again recently.  Shall I address this on String Too Short? I asked myself.  Oh, that has been done.  So I resurrected this, not because I am a poet, but because I needed to reflect once again on the words that follow the doggerel.  If  I just sit and allow myself to think I am neglected, I need to ask myself why I can't do something about that.  Am I incapable of making a call, reaching out to someone?  Going now to the scriptures.

OH THE INVISIBLE MAN!

HE'S THE GOODEST MAN YOU NEVER SAW!
HE IS HERE EVERY DAY
HE DOES HIS CHORES. IN EVERY WAY
HE'S AS GOOD AS ARY ONE YOU KNOW
AND YET SEE HIM? I' TROW,
SEE HIM, YOU NEVER CAN.
AIN'T HE A' AWFUL GOOD INVISIBLE MAN?
INVISIBLE, INVISIBLE, INVISIBLE MAN.

I'VE SERVED MY BEST IN EVERY WAY

GAVE MY KIDS MY LIFE EVERY DAY
TO THEM I'VE BEEN AWFULLY GOOD
YET TO DATE I'VE NEVER UNDERSTOOD
WHY? EVEN TO THEM I CAN'T BE SEEN
WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH ME 'N
THE THINGS I KNOW? SEE ME?
THEY NEVER CAN.
I'M THE INVISIBLE, INVISIBLE MAN.

I DEVOTED MY LIFE TO A CAREER
THE YOUNGSTERS I ATTEMPTED TO STEER
INTO THE PATHWAYS THEY SHOULD GO
BUT NOW THERE'S SCARCE A ONE I KNOW
WHO SEES ME WHEN I PASS HIM ON THE STREET
I SHUFFLE ALONG ON TIRED FEET
AND WISH A SMILE WOULD SHINE MY WAY,
BUT NO, NOT HAPPENIN' TODAY.
IT'S WHO I AM: THE INVISIBLE, INVISIBLE MAN.

WHOA! YOU SHUFFLIN' OL' INVISIBLE MAN
INVISIBLE, INVISIBLE, INVISIBLE MAN!
DID I HEAR SOMEONE CALL?
NO, NO, NO NOT AT ALL
IT'S MERELY WIND AHOWLIN'
OR ENTS OR ELVES OR SQUIDGICUMBAWLIN'
AS EVER, AS EVER INVISIBLE MAN
CAN'T BE SEEN BY ANYONE IN THE LAN'.
THAT LONELY OL' BONEY OL' INVISIBLE MAN

--

WITH INSINCERE APOLOGIES TO J.W.RILEY AND TO H.G. WELLS

I suspect that all people have times in which feelings such as these creep into their lives. It is part of the human condition to feel alone, lonely or ignored on occasion.

Yet I know that this too shall pass. In truth I have a huge, loving family and many, many friends. They all have lives, too. And it is a busy world in which we live. There are often near-overwhelming responsibilities. A kind and loving word could lift a friend of yours; just let them know they haven't been forgotten.

And above it all, we are held in the loving hand of our Heavenly Father, who will never leave us, nor yet forsake us.  John 14:18

 Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.  Hebrews 13:5

© 2010 David W. Lacy

A Pretty Picture and Musings

BBBH and I are off this week doing stuff.  We hope it will be sufficiently memorable to warrant reports here.  Meanwhile, I have raided the archives from three or four years ago.  This is reworked for a re-post.


Memory and History

We know that nostalgia is an unreasonable yearning for something in the past, something that cannot be. But what we don't often think about is that everything is past. What we recall, we may hold so long as we can remember. What we record is history.

Imagine a movie being played reel-to-reel. (We have to go retrotech here for the imagery.) The top reel is the future, the lower reel, the past. As the film flicks by the lens the present is revealed, in this case 1/24th of a second for each frame. But the present can actually be defined by infinitely smaller units: nanoseconds. Nay, even less for instantly the "present" is the past. We cannot see the future. We may anticipate it, contemplate it, fantasize about it or even plan for it. But we cannot live it. Only the briefest of instants compose our present experience.

We cannot live in the past; it is gone. But we may remember it, recall it, relate it, thereby relegating yet more of our "present" to the past. What is your life without memory?

For all that philosophers and physicists may expound on this "time" we have, it is just as simple as we have limned it herein and just as complex as our memories allow.

Are you making any memories? Are you making history?

Is your hand in the hand of the Eternal Guide?

Peppermint Patty and Ducky Duddle*

I have any number of file folders with labels such as "Stuff," or "TTK," or "Bulletin Board." Over the years in the office, I dropped clippings from articles, things I had posted on the bulletin board, and in general things that interested me at the time. Occasionally I will pull one of these folders from the file cabinet and reminisce a bit. Sometimes I think, "What was I thinking?"

The cartoon above may be a reminder of a time when your student, or perhaps you yourself, had such an experience in your classroom. That may have represented a difficult childhood moment. But I look at Peppermint Patty's dilemma today and see it in a whole new light, for this experience is becoming more and more commonplace in my daily living. I find frequently I know exactly what I am thinking and I know that I know the word I want as well as I know my name, and yet it will not fall off the tip of my tongue. Very frustrating. There is a scientific name for this phenomenon, but I can't think of it at the moment.

I kept a supply of these little forms in my desk drawer. Occasionally a student, or a staff member, was the recipient of one of these. Good for making paper airplanes, or it might have been placed in the circular file. Whatever the case, my writing was not limited to reprimands and directives. One wonders, though, which sorts of notes had the greatest effect on a person's behavior.

There is another thing that happens when one gets old. He muddles in nostalgia and wonders what might have been. Or even what was.

*When I was in first grade, we sang a little song that went as follows:

A little Ducky Duddle went wading in a puddle,

went wading in a puddle quite small.

Said he it doesn't matter how much I splash and splatter

for I'm only a Ducky after all.

Now how's that for nostalgia?

Vacation's End

Sudoku Sam.




Entertaining Kent was a breeze, because he could entertain himself with his Sudoku book when we weren't entertaining him.

Kent really enjoyed the beach. He was fascinated by the marine life.

On Thursday we visited the Texas Museum of Marine History. It was quite fascinating. The view from the lighthouse was fabulous, and the wind whistling through the rigging of the sailboats in harbor was enchanting.

I was fascinated by a couple of the displays which many patrons strolled by nonchalantly. First, and near the beginning of the tour was an antique brass binnacle. The feature that astonished me was the Navigator's Balls, or Kelvin's Balls, not that they were there, but that someone (Kelvin, I suppose) was brilliant enough to figure out that the placement of magnetic balls in a certain way could serve to correct magnetic deviations on an ironclad ship.

The second attraction that piqued my curiosity was not astonishing so much as it was puzzling. There was a graphic/pictorial display of riverboat commerce in early Texas history. What caught my eye? The narrative of a side-wheeler which disappeared in 1832, "presumably sunk in the Brazos River." I have crossed the Brazos numerous times, and that fairly near the mouth of the river. It is an important river, but I cannot for the life of me imagine a boat sinking in that stream and no one knowing where. Doesn't seem credible to me.

At any rate, Kent's vacation ends this morning when he boards a plane to travel back to Indiana. We had a great week. Hope he would say the same.

Boyhood Chums, and Others

Those of you who have been with STSTT for awhile know that I have revealed things about myself, intentionally or inadvertantly, particularly with regard to my childhood experiences making me Who I Am.

The mind wanders over the plains of nostalgia and climbs the mountains of memory this morning. I am wondering what happened to some of the contemporaries of my childhood.

Tommy. Tommy was two years my junior and he had a brother, Chet, who was my age. Twilight games of Kick the Can or Hide and Seek often included these boys, as well as others. At eight years of age, Tommy was a thumb-sucker. Imagine if you can the merciless teasing and name-calling to which Tommy was subjected because of this habit he seemingly could not, or would not, give up. How did this small facet of his young life affect him in later life? I wonder.

Chet, as I remember him, had no outstanding traits or characteristics. He was a kid, tougher than I, confident in himself, jovial enough, but not particularly noteworthy. I have no idea whatever happened to these boys.

I have mentioned my best friend Wes on occasion. I pretty well had him figured out and I have a clear notion of how his early childhood served to mold his character. We remained close friends until his dying day. But a block north of Wes there lived a "tough kid," a blue-eyed towhead who was in fact a half-year younger than I, but he was a bully. Clifton was physically strong, had a mean streak as wide as the Missouri, and made it a point to ensure that everyone knew he was tough. Reflecting back, I think perhaps I did not like Clifton (not "Cliff." That could get you a bloody nose.) Now, sixty-five years later, I wonder what ever happened to Clifton.

I've not mentioned girls. Well, Daddy cautioned me about girls, just as though he imagined that I would be bold enough to approach any of them. "Girls," he said, "are to be looked at, laughed at, and forgotten." This did not exactly inspire me to confidence in my dealings with the fairer sex.

Then there was Clyde. Have to love the people in the 30s who named their kids Chester, and Clifton, and Clyde. Oh, where are you now, Chappies? And Carl, who once beaned me with a rock. Where are you now?



Image of Derrick and Onion by Ray Billingsly

Old Guy y Viejo #T

Had I a bit better facility at languages, I should learn some rudimentary Spanish. The population here in Hidalgo County, where we are currently ensconced, is more than 88% Hispanic. A little while ago, we were in a Wal-Mart and while Beloved Beautiful made a last pass through some of the aisles, I sat on a bench near the entryway. Presently an old gentleman, meaning a man near my own age, came and sat on the other end of the bench. I remarked that old guys had to sit sometimes. His broad smile told me he was friendly, but it also said he didn’t understand a word I said. Presently he asked me habla Espanol? I said, No, not really. Whereupon we engaged in a conversation with much hand-waving and gesticulation. It was not fruitless, either, because before we parted company, we knew that our spouses were still shopping, that he had children, five sons and a daughter, that I had two of each. He learned that I lived in some foreign place called “Indiana,” and I learned that he was originally from Mexico, but had lived in Edinburg for forty years. When I left the store, I gave him a hearty, buenos dias! and he returned the benediction. It was a doubly pleasurable experience, for I spent some pleasant moments with a stranger, and left the encouter feeling that most people are good people. And too, it brought back to mind an experience I had some twenty-three years ago when the father of a daughter-in-law visited us at our place on the lake. He was from Germany, and he had about the same amount of English as I had German, which was very little. We stood on the lakeshore enjoying the sights and the sounds of a summer morning, the sunshine warming our shoulders. The gentle waves lapping at the hull of the boat tied at the pier; the occasional "plop" of a fish reentering the water following its leap for an insect, or of a frog returning to the water from his lilypad puncuated our verbal gymnastics, lending a sense of well-being to the interchange. Opa, we all called him Opa, even though he and I were at most a short generation apart in age, visited for quite a long time, employing the same techniques that I used today with the old gentleman in the Wal-Mart. Much pointing, hand-waving; smiling and exclaiming "Ah, so!" But again, a bond was formed which I treasure to this day, though Karl has long since departed this earthly realm.

Days are Swifter...

When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. Job 7:4

I do that. Job continues on with his complaint that his skin is broken (I have that); that his days are passing quicker than the eye can see (mine, too); that his life is a wind and he shall no more see good. (I fear I might have that, too. I know I don't see as well as I once did.)

What is good? Do that which is right and good in the sight of the Lord. Deuteronomy 6:18.

Notice it does not say "Do that which is right in your own sight;" nor yet does it say "Do that which is right in the eyes of your fellow man." Interesting.

Bodacious thoughts on the beginning of a new year.

Not With a Bang But a Whimper

In reference to the final stanza of "The Hollow Men," whether Eliot was alluding to Guy Fawkes and the end of his plot or not, it is the case, in my estimation, that Eliot was prescient beyond his own, or his critics' ken. Not by bombing or by warfare, but literally by the whimper that may be heard when the world as we know it fails and falls due to the breakdown of the information age as it is contained within cyberspace. Whether this is due to a deliberate act, or acts, or due to unintended consequences of inadvertant overload, it is evident that the possibility of such failure is real, and perhaps imminent.

That someone, or some electronic entity, is lurking within your personal system, taking and planting information unbidden by you, the user, is a given. In my own case, my computer has virtually maxed out its capacity by the simple addition of layer after layer of "protection" against such threats, and still they come.

This is nothing, given that we are hearing now of the extent to which the US military has been compromised by unbidden "spying" within its secure cybersystem. That world banking could be likewise compromised goes without saying.

Do you think it unrealistic that "it" may all come tumbling down?

Think Twice

I keep a journal, such as it is, infrequently as I post therein, as--
Well, this post I dropped on it over a year ago is explanatory:

I maintain this blogsite simply as a place to record thoughts, be they sensible or not. I look back at it once in a while, primarily to remind myself that it is a good idea not to share everything one thinks with everyone one knows. Or doesn't know.

It seems to me as I surf through the interwebs, as I read newspapers, and as I listen to the radio or television, that there are entirely too many people with too much to say which is unfiltered and unthought. I suspect I have been guilty of same. But I do try to confine much of the drivel that seeps through my mind to the private blog, or better yet, to the dustbin. When I choose to post something on String Too Short to Tie, it is my hope that, while I know I was entertained by it, if someone else should happen upon it they, too, will be amused or enlightened.

So, in summary, think twice before posting once.
I do wish I could learn to apply that rule to conversation with BBBH!

Borrowed, Continued

Cookie welcomes you this morning with his CSL* greeting. He has placed his little paws in such a manner as to form a heart saying, "I love you."

Here is the continuation of the cribbed post started yesterday.


16. Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
17. Every one has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.
18. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?
19. Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
20. What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
21. I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
22. Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
23. Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
24. Just remember - if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.
25. Light travels faster than sound. That's why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

Number 23 is the one I find myself quizzically pondering most frequently. Really, I remember my past, and yet I still cannot for the life of me figure out what happened.

*Canine Sign Language

Frankly Borrowed Material...

..I'm not nearly this clever.


I was looking through some files stored in the word processor. This one was saved over five years ago, and I neglected attribution; or perhaps I never knew who the author is. It's fun.


Deep Thoughts For Those Who Take Life Way Too Seriously


1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
2. A day without sunshine is like . . . night.
3. On the other hand, you have different fingers
4. 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
5. Remember, half the people you know are below average.


6. He who laughs last thinks slowest.
7. Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
8. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.
9. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.
10. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.


11. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
12. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
13. How many of you believe in psycho-kinesis? Raise my hand.
14. OK, so what's the speed of dark?
15. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.


Ponder these. Come back tomorrow for the rest of the list.
TTFN

The Irish in the US and Canada

We are the Fenian Brotherhood, skilled in the arts of war,
And we're going to fight for Ireland, the land we adore,
Many battles we have won, along with the boys in blue,
And we'll go and capture Canada, for we've nothing else to do.
-- "Fenian soldier's song"



145 years ago the Fenian incursions into Canada took place. Erie Raid, May 31, 1866.

Here are some historical what ifs.
1) What if the US had not invoked neutrality?

2) What if the Fenians had been successful in their attempts on Canada?

Many historians consider the answer to both questions to be the same: Ireland would have been free of England a century and a half ago, and Canada would have been annexed by the United States.

Given the many questions that resulted from the actions as they were, it is little wonder that US-Canadian relations were a bit cool until WWII.

References

"Here Comes that Damn Green Flag Again" by Michael Ruddy

"The Fenian Raids" The Manitoba Historical Society

Treaty of Guadalupe Hildalgo #T

My great-great grandfather, Spencer B. Lawson was a private in the USArmy under Winfield Scott during the Mexican-American war of 1846-1848. The United States drove all the way into Mexico City, thus defeating Santa Anna. The Americans then negotiated a peace treaty with the Mexican government. This Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ceded a major portion of Mexican territory to the conqueror, actually comprising about 55% of the land area of the country.*

The cession gave all of California, Nevada, Utah and Texas to the United States, as well as some or most of the states of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma, Kansas and Wyoming.

The accompanying map shows what this land mass looks like relative to the current state boundaries.

The hostilities actually ceased on February 2, 1848 and a treaty was subsequently hammered out. The treaty was ratified by the United States Senate on March 10, and became of full effect on May 19 when it was ratified by Mexico.

There are so many "what ifs" surrounding this whole era of history with regard to Mexican-American relations that it would take volumes just to delineate them, to say nothing of analyzing the effects even to now, and into the future.

My favorite "what if" is What if we had subjugated Mexico, took over the entire country to the borders with Guatemala and Belize and annexed it into the United States?

An equally valid "what if" is What if the cession had never occured and the entire "American Southwest" were still part of Mexico?

And finally, What if old guys with too much time on their hands did not engage in the futile activity of imagining suppositions regarding the altering of the past?

*This map includes Texas as part of the cession, which is not technically accurate, in that The Republic of Texas was established in 1836 and annexed as a US state in 1845. Mexico, however never relinquished its claim to the lands of Texas. Since the war and treaty discussed here ultimately resolved that dispute, I have included all the land that the United States acquired from Mexico, as well as the disputed area known as Texas. The southern-most portions of Arizona and New Mexico shown in brown on the map were later acquired from Mexico through the Gadsden Purchase of 1853.

Marie Antoinette, Poe, and Root Beer

I was thinking that May 16 was certainly a day for foolishness over the course of the past. Witness that on this date in 1770 14 year old Marie Antoinette married 15 year old Louis-Auguste, later King of France. Enough with the teen marriages? No, for on the same date in 1836, Edgar Allan Poe married his 13 year old cousin, Virginia. Enough insanity? On May 16, 1866, C. E. Hires invented root beer!

But as I was walking in the garden, this magnificent creature dropped from the tree into the newly-sprouted yarrow. This brings me back to the reality that it is a beautiful creation. So much for perusal of old almanacs. And I really do like root beer, especially when it is decanted over vanilla ice cream in a tall mug!

Antheraea polyphemus

Royal Wedding

The bride beautiful. It is axiomatic: All brides are beautiful.

No, I did not get up to watch. But yes, I saw numerous "reruns." How could I have not ? Oh, leave the telly off?

Best twitlet comment: Two giggling, ecstatic girls on camera. One says, "Catherine went into Westminster a commoner and came out royalty."

Oh, really. Did she get a blood transfusion in there? Royalty is not "of the blood"? So why do we always speak of "royal blood"? Truth, there is no difference between commoner and royal. We are all but dust.

The madding crowd; the titillated throng. Best comedic line: Ellen DeGeneres said, "Two billion people watched the wedding. Put it in perspective, eight people didn't."

The happy Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. One truly wishes them many years of marital bliss and long life, as we do for all newlyweds. I might have liked a shot of "the kiss." But that is a bit intimate, don't you think? (actually it was on and off so quickly the shutter couldn't catch it.)

My moment of envy: I have always fantasized about ownership of an Aston-Martin and there is the Duke driving one. And I'll never ever get close enough to one to touch it. What was I saying about "we are all but dust"?

This, Too, Shall Pass

Yeah, pretty much like that.

Yet it is only the end of March. I have seen serious snowfall around here on April 17. Admittedly, that was many years ago, but with Indiana weather, anything is possible.

I love Indiana. Really, I do. The weather perhaps not so much; but then, it is doubtless the climate that gives us the beauty that is Hoosierland, and I guess the weather is a function of the climate. Or the climate is the cumulative total of the weather. Or something like one of those.

Truly, I complain much less about the weather as I age. Two reasons for this, I think. The first is that I am so grateful to the good Lord for granting me another day in which to live that I think it would be ungracious of me to whine about it. The second is that we have been blessed with the health and wherewithal to enable us to escape the winters by absquatulating to the South; and winter weather is the part I dislike most!