Step 3: Get a Handicapped Placard
4 days ago
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Quote of the Day
"A religion that takes no account of practical affairs and does not help to solve them is no religion."
- Gandhi
- Gandhi
Black Umbrellas
by Rick Agran in Good Poems, American Places
On a rainy day in Seattle stumble into any coffee shop
and look wounded by the rain.
Say Last time I was in I left my black umbrella here.
A waitress in a blue beret will pull a black umbrella
from behind the counter and surrender it to you
like a sword at your knighting.
Unlike New Englanders, she'll never ask you
to describe it, never ask what day you came in,
she's intimate with rain and its appointments.
Look positively reunited with this black umbrella
and proceed to Belltown and Pike Place.
Sip cappuccino at the Cowgirl Luncheonette on First Ave.
Visit Buster selling tin salmon silhouettes
undulant in the wind, nosing ever into the oncoming,
meandering watery worlds, like you and the black umbrella,
the one you will lose on purpose at the day's end
so you can go the way you came
into the world, wet looking.
On a rainy day in Seattle stumble into any coffee shop
and look wounded by the rain.
Say Last time I was in I left my black umbrella here.
A waitress in a blue beret will pull a black umbrella
from behind the counter and surrender it to you
like a sword at your knighting.
Unlike New Englanders, she'll never ask you
to describe it, never ask what day you came in,
she's intimate with rain and its appointments.
Look positively reunited with this black umbrella
and proceed to Belltown and Pike Place.
Sip cappuccino at the Cowgirl Luncheonette on First Ave.
Visit Buster selling tin salmon silhouettes
undulant in the wind, nosing ever into the oncoming,
meandering watery worlds, like you and the black umbrella,
the one you will lose on purpose at the day's end
so you can go the way you came
into the world, wet looking.
Monday, May 30, 2011
His Stillness
by Sharon Olds in Good Poems, American Places
The doctor said to my father, "You asked me
to tell you when nothing more could be done.
That's what I'm telling you now." My father
sat quite still, as he always did,
especially not moving his eyes. I had thought
he would rave if he understood he would die,
wave his arms and cry out. He sat up,
thin, and clean, in his clean gown,
like a holy man. The doctor said,
"There are things we can do which might give you time,
but we cannot cure you." My father said,
"Thank you." And he sat, motionless, alone,
with the dignity of a foreign leader.
I sat beside him. This was my father.
He had known he was mortal. I had feared they would have to
tie him down. I had not remembered
he had always held still and kept quiet to bear things,
the liquor a way to keep still. I had not
known him. My father had dignity. At the
end of his life his life began
to wake in me.
The doctor said to my father, "You asked me
to tell you when nothing more could be done.
That's what I'm telling you now." My father
sat quite still, as he always did,
especially not moving his eyes. I had thought
he would rave if he understood he would die,
wave his arms and cry out. He sat up,
thin, and clean, in his clean gown,
like a holy man. The doctor said,
"There are things we can do which might give you time,
but we cannot cure you." My father said,
"Thank you." And he sat, motionless, alone,
with the dignity of a foreign leader.
I sat beside him. This was my father.
He had known he was mortal. I had feared they would have to
tie him down. I had not remembered
he had always held still and kept quiet to bear things,
the liquor a way to keep still. I had not
known him. My father had dignity. At the
end of his life his life began
to wake in me.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
HOLY SONNETS. XIV.
by John Donne
Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Quote of the Day
Unfermented grape juice is a bland and pleasant drink, especially on a warm afternoon mixed half-and-half with ginger ale. It is a ghastly symbol of the life blood of Jesus Christ, especially when served in individual antiseptic, thimble-sized glasses.
Wine is booze, which means it is dangerous and drunk-making. It makes the timid brave and the reserved amorous. It loosens the tongue and breaks the ice, especially when served in a loving cup. It kills germs. As symbols go, it is a rather splendid one.
- Frederick Buechner in Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC
Wine is booze, which means it is dangerous and drunk-making. It makes the timid brave and the reserved amorous. It loosens the tongue and breaks the ice, especially when served in a loving cup. It kills germs. As symbols go, it is a rather splendid one.
- Frederick Buechner in Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC
Bridal Shower
by George Bilgere in Good Poems, American Places
Perhaps, in a distant café,
four or five people are talking
with the four or five people
who are chatting on their cell phones this morning
in my favorite café.
And perhaps someone there,
someone like me, is watching them as they frown,
or smile, or shrug
at their invisible friends or lovers,
jabbing the air for emphasis.
And, like me, he misses the old days,
when talking to yourself
meant you were crazy,
back when being crazy was a big deal,
not just an acronym
or something you could take a pill for.
I liked it
when people who were talking to themselves
might actually have been talking to God
or an angel.
You respected people like that.
You didn't want to kill them,
as I want to kill the woman at the next table
with the little blue light on her ear
who has been telling the emptiness in front of her
about her daughter's bridal shower
in astonishing detail
for the past thirty minutes.
O person like me,
phoneless in your distant café,
I wish we could meet to discuss this,
and perhaps you would help me
murder this woman on her cell phone,
after which we could have a cup of coffee,
maybe a bagel, and talk to each other,
face to face.
Perhaps, in a distant café,
four or five people are talking
with the four or five people
who are chatting on their cell phones this morning
in my favorite café.
And perhaps someone there,
someone like me, is watching them as they frown,
or smile, or shrug
at their invisible friends or lovers,
jabbing the air for emphasis.
And, like me, he misses the old days,
when talking to yourself
meant you were crazy,
back when being crazy was a big deal,
not just an acronym
or something you could take a pill for.
I liked it
when people who were talking to themselves
might actually have been talking to God
or an angel.
You respected people like that.
You didn't want to kill them,
as I want to kill the woman at the next table
with the little blue light on her ear
who has been telling the emptiness in front of her
about her daughter's bridal shower
in astonishing detail
for the past thirty minutes.
O person like me,
phoneless in your distant café,
I wish we could meet to discuss this,
and perhaps you would help me
murder this woman on her cell phone,
after which we could have a cup of coffee,
maybe a bagel, and talk to each other,
face to face.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
New York Notes
by Harvey Shapiro in Good Poems, American Places
1.
Caught on a side street
in heavy traffic, I said
to the cabbie, I should
have walked. He replied,
I should have been a doctor.
2.
When can I get on the 11:33
I ask the guy in the information booth
at the Atlantic Avenue Station.
When they open the doors, he says.
I am home among my people.
1.
Caught on a side street
in heavy traffic, I said
to the cabbie, I should
have walked. He replied,
I should have been a doctor.
2.
When can I get on the 11:33
I ask the guy in the information booth
at the Atlantic Avenue Station.
When they open the doors, he says.
I am home among my people.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Annie's "Weekly" Roundup
So we have had a lot going on around here as far as Annie is concerned. A million small things that add up to hours and hours each week of paperwork and phone calls to doctors and insurance companies and medical supply companies.
Insurance: Annie has primary insurance through Cobra but we just got her secondary insurance through Medicaid finalized. This is a great relief as it provides a safety-net when our primary insurance acts like pin-heads. In addition, we received secondary DME (Durable Medical Equipment) coverage through California Children's Services (formerly Crippled Children's Services - anyone want to guess why they changed the name? Anyone?). This is great news as it provides an additional safety-net for things like wheelchairs, catheters etc.
Mobile Stander: This is our most urgently needed piece of equipment. Even though Annie doesn't move her legs, it is really important for her to bear weight on her legs to develop a healthy bone density; otherwise the bones in her feet and legs could become brittle. A mobile stander is like a wheelchair that you stand upright in; straps provide the support she needs to help her do weight bearing. Thanks to a combination of Primary insurance and CCS, we should have Annie's mobile stander in 2-3 weeks!
New Wheelchair: Again, thanks to primary insurance and CCS, Annie's new wheelchair is on order. It is customized to her current measurements and she will have room to grow. It is a "rear-wheel-drive" wheelchair as opposed to the "front-wheel-drive" one she has now which is important for her development. Did I mention the whole thing is coated in awesome glow-in-the-dark paint?! We should have it in two to four weeks.
Speech Therapy: If you have been reading recent posts, you know this is a big concern of ours. Annie is schedule to start group therapy once a week starting a week from next Wednesday. We are still working on scheduling her for once-a-week individual speech-therapy sessions.
Cognitive Evaluation: Again, those of you who have been following along recently know that one of Annabelle's therapists has raised a concern that Annie might be autistic. We are working on scheduling a comprehensive evaluation that may give us some more definitive answers.
Autism Specifically: After doing some more research on autism, we really don't believe that Annie is autistic. That being said, she exhibits enough autistic symptoms that I can see why a therapist might question it. If Annie is diagnosed as autistic, I would expect her to be a boarder line case. We are still anxious but feeling better than we did initially.
Mom and Dad: There was once a time when the wife and I were both employed full time and making good money. Since the wee-one hit the scene, we have had many discussions about child care and which one of us should work when and how much etc. Looking at the looming schedule of two PT appointments a week and then 2 speech therapy appointments a week (not to mention starting 3 additional Early Start appointments a week in the fall) we are coming to the conclusion that we can't both work on the same day. The only way to manage all these appointments is for either mom or dad to be home each day. The idea of doubling and tripling up appointments on any given just doesn't work as Annie gets a full-on workout at each and she would never stand for double and triple headers. So that throws any future plans into a whole new light for us.
So that's the latest. I know this was long but believe me, it was a summary. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers and we will keep you updated with news.
Blessings and thanks.
Insurance: Annie has primary insurance through Cobra but we just got her secondary insurance through Medicaid finalized. This is a great relief as it provides a safety-net when our primary insurance acts like pin-heads. In addition, we received secondary DME (Durable Medical Equipment) coverage through California Children's Services (formerly Crippled Children's Services - anyone want to guess why they changed the name? Anyone?). This is great news as it provides an additional safety-net for things like wheelchairs, catheters etc.
Mobile Stander: This is our most urgently needed piece of equipment. Even though Annie doesn't move her legs, it is really important for her to bear weight on her legs to develop a healthy bone density; otherwise the bones in her feet and legs could become brittle. A mobile stander is like a wheelchair that you stand upright in; straps provide the support she needs to help her do weight bearing. Thanks to a combination of Primary insurance and CCS, we should have Annie's mobile stander in 2-3 weeks!
New Wheelchair: Again, thanks to primary insurance and CCS, Annie's new wheelchair is on order. It is customized to her current measurements and she will have room to grow. It is a "rear-wheel-drive" wheelchair as opposed to the "front-wheel-drive" one she has now which is important for her development. Did I mention the whole thing is coated in awesome glow-in-the-dark paint?! We should have it in two to four weeks.
Speech Therapy: If you have been reading recent posts, you know this is a big concern of ours. Annie is schedule to start group therapy once a week starting a week from next Wednesday. We are still working on scheduling her for once-a-week individual speech-therapy sessions.
Cognitive Evaluation: Again, those of you who have been following along recently know that one of Annabelle's therapists has raised a concern that Annie might be autistic. We are working on scheduling a comprehensive evaluation that may give us some more definitive answers.
Autism Specifically: After doing some more research on autism, we really don't believe that Annie is autistic. That being said, she exhibits enough autistic symptoms that I can see why a therapist might question it. If Annie is diagnosed as autistic, I would expect her to be a boarder line case. We are still anxious but feeling better than we did initially.
Mom and Dad: There was once a time when the wife and I were both employed full time and making good money. Since the wee-one hit the scene, we have had many discussions about child care and which one of us should work when and how much etc. Looking at the looming schedule of two PT appointments a week and then 2 speech therapy appointments a week (not to mention starting 3 additional Early Start appointments a week in the fall) we are coming to the conclusion that we can't both work on the same day. The only way to manage all these appointments is for either mom or dad to be home each day. The idea of doubling and tripling up appointments on any given just doesn't work as Annie gets a full-on workout at each and she would never stand for double and triple headers. So that throws any future plans into a whole new light for us.
So that's the latest. I know this was long but believe me, it was a summary. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers and we will keep you updated with news.
Blessings and thanks.
Summer Kitchen
By Donald Hall in Good Poems, American Places
In June's high light she stood at the sink
With a glass of wine
And listened for the bobolink
And crushed garlic in late sunshine.
I watched her cooking, from my chair.
She pressed her lips
Together, reached for kitchenware,
And tasted sauce from fingertips.
"It's ready now. Come on," she said.
"You light the candle."
We ate, and talked, and went to bed,
And slept. It was a miracle.
In June's high light she stood at the sink
With a glass of wine
And listened for the bobolink
And crushed garlic in late sunshine.
I watched her cooking, from my chair.
She pressed her lips
Together, reached for kitchenware,
And tasted sauce from fingertips.
"It's ready now. Come on," she said.
"You light the candle."
We ate, and talked, and went to bed,
And slept. It was a miracle.
Man on the Street
As I have said before, I try not to take any of these comments to heart. After all, we have had 3 YEARS to wrap our heads around this and the person that we meet in the mall has had about 3 SECONDS so I try to give them a break. These comments range from the pitying, "Awwww . . ." to "Wow! what a fancy stroller!". More than once, someone has asked if Annie is in a stroller or a wheelchair and I feel bad for the person as I explain it is a wheelchair and watch the color drain from their face.
Yesterday we set a new record though. We were walking through Seaport Village and I was pushing Annie in her wheelchair. We turned a corner and walked past a group of 60-something women. One of them exclaimed, "Look at that. What a great idea!".
I chuckled as I continued past, shaking my head. Yes, what a "great idea"; let's put ALL our toddlers in wheelchairs.
Wow. Really people?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
On the Back Porch
by Dorianne Laux in Good Poems, American Places
The cat calls for her dinner.
On the porch I bend and pour
brown soy stars into her bowl,
stroke her dark fur.
It's not quite night.
Pinpricks of light in the eastern sky.
Above my neighbor's roof, a transparent
moon, a pink rag of cloud.
Inside my house are those who love me.
My daughter dusts biscuit dough.
And there's a man who will lift my hair
in his hands, brush it
until it throws sparks.
Everything is just as I've left it.
Dinner simmers on the stove.
Glass bowls wait to be filled
with gold broth. Sprigs of parsley
on the cutting board.
I want to smell this rich soup, the air
around me going dark, as stars press
their simple shapes into the sky.
I want to stay on the back porch
while the world tilts
toward sleep, until what I love
misses me, and calls me in.
The cat calls for her dinner.
On the porch I bend and pour
brown soy stars into her bowl,
stroke her dark fur.
It's not quite night.
Pinpricks of light in the eastern sky.
Above my neighbor's roof, a transparent
moon, a pink rag of cloud.
Inside my house are those who love me.
My daughter dusts biscuit dough.
And there's a man who will lift my hair
in his hands, brush it
until it throws sparks.
Everything is just as I've left it.
Dinner simmers on the stove.
Glass bowls wait to be filled
with gold broth. Sprigs of parsley
on the cutting board.
I want to smell this rich soup, the air
around me going dark, as stars press
their simple shapes into the sky.
I want to stay on the back porch
while the world tilts
toward sleep, until what I love
misses me, and calls me in.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Jesus or Mary Kay? - Torn Between Two Religions
I heard this great podcast by Jen Lee - totally worth 20 minutes or so of your time:
http://i.mixcloud.com/C0rsp
http://i.mixcloud.com/C0rsp
Bums at Breakfast
by David Wagoner in Good Poems, American Places
Daily, the bums sat down to eat in our kitchen.
They seemed to be whatever the day was like:
If it was hot or cold, they were hot or cold;
If it was wet, they came in dripping wet.
One left his snowy shoes on the back porch
But his socks stuck to the clean linoleum,
And one, when my mother led him to the sink,
Wrung out his hat instead of washing his hands.
My father said they'd made a mark on the house,
A hobo's sign on the sidewalk, pointing the way.
I hunted everywhere, but never found it.
It must have said, "It's only good in the morning—
When the husband's out." My father knew by heart
Lectures on Thrift and Doggedness,
But he was always either working or sleeping.
My mother didn't know any advice.
They ate their food politely, with old hands,
Not looking around, and spoke in short, plain answers.
Sometimes they said what they'd been doing lately
Or told us what was wrong; but listening hard,
I broke their language into secret codes:
Their east meant west, their job meant walking and walking,
Their money meant danger, home meant running and hiding,
Their father and mother were different kinds of weather.
Dumbly, I watched them leave by the back door,
Their pockets empty as a ten-year-old's;
Yet they looked twice as rich, being full of breakfast.
I carried mine like a lump all the way to school.
When I was growing hungry, where would they be?
None ever came twice. Never to lunch or dinner.
They were always starting fresh in the fresh morning.
I dreamed of days that stopped at the beginning.
Daily, the bums sat down to eat in our kitchen.
They seemed to be whatever the day was like:
If it was hot or cold, they were hot or cold;
If it was wet, they came in dripping wet.
One left his snowy shoes on the back porch
But his socks stuck to the clean linoleum,
And one, when my mother led him to the sink,
Wrung out his hat instead of washing his hands.
My father said they'd made a mark on the house,
A hobo's sign on the sidewalk, pointing the way.
I hunted everywhere, but never found it.
It must have said, "It's only good in the morning—
When the husband's out." My father knew by heart
Lectures on Thrift and Doggedness,
But he was always either working or sleeping.
My mother didn't know any advice.
They ate their food politely, with old hands,
Not looking around, and spoke in short, plain answers.
Sometimes they said what they'd been doing lately
Or told us what was wrong; but listening hard,
I broke their language into secret codes:
Their east meant west, their job meant walking and walking,
Their money meant danger, home meant running and hiding,
Their father and mother were different kinds of weather.
Dumbly, I watched them leave by the back door,
Their pockets empty as a ten-year-old's;
Yet they looked twice as rich, being full of breakfast.
I carried mine like a lump all the way to school.
When I was growing hungry, where would they be?
None ever came twice. Never to lunch or dinner.
They were always starting fresh in the fresh morning.
I dreamed of days that stopped at the beginning.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Sacred
by Stephen Dunn in Good Poems, American Places
After the teacher asked if anyone had
a sacred place
and the students fidgeted and shrank
in their chairs, the most serious of them all
said it was his car,
being in it alone, his tape deck playing
things he'd chosen, and others knew the truth
had been spoken
and began speaking about their rooms,
their hiding places, but the car kept coming up,
the car in motion,
music filling it, and sometimes one other person
who understood the bright altar of the dashboard
and how far away
a car could take him from the need
to speak, or to answer, the key
in having a key
and putting it in, and going.
After the teacher asked if anyone had
a sacred place
and the students fidgeted and shrank
in their chairs, the most serious of them all
said it was his car,
being in it alone, his tape deck playing
things he'd chosen, and others knew the truth
had been spoken
and began speaking about their rooms,
their hiding places, but the car kept coming up,
the car in motion,
music filling it, and sometimes one other person
who understood the bright altar of the dashboard
and how far away
a car could take him from the need
to speak, or to answer, the key
in having a key
and putting it in, and going.
Recently Read
Americans are impatient with riddles and so they give poetry a wide berth, knowing from Miss Fernwood’s 8 th grade English class that a page of writing with an uneven right margin means a series of jokes with no punch lines, a puzzle with no right answers. And Americans have an irreverent streak: we sit in church hoping someone will fart. Poetry is a hushed chapel in which the poet sighs and the congregation must sigh along with her. And in this chapel, nobody ever farts. The gases are absorbed in the heart and emitted verbally.
- Good Poems, American Places
- Good Poems, American Places
Monday, May 23, 2011
Quote of the Day
To base one’s faith on beautiful scenery is to leave oneself open to grave doubt if you should visit Oklahoma.
- Garrison Keillor in Good Poems, American Places
- Garrison Keillor in Good Poems, American Places
Friday, May 20, 2011
Think of the Children
Me: I just went to Walmart for the first time and it was like entering the promised land
Wife: O, brother
Me: It's like they put a king-sized grocery store and a king-sized Target under the same roof as a half-sized Home Depot
Wife: We are not shopping at Walmart
Me: I checked the prices on a few things there and everything is cheaper! The aisles are so wide that three carts can fit side-by-side!
Wife: You are not allowed to shop at Walmart. They use forced child labor to stock their shelves in the middle of the night.
Me: Give me a break
Wife: Seriously five-year-olds. Slave labor.
=Later that same night=
Me: Hey, how come we are watching a movie in the dark in the family room while EVERY LIGHT IN THE LIVING ROOM IS STILL ON?
Wife: Huh?
Me: Somewhere, a five-year-old who was laid off from Walmart is shoveling coal into a power plant just so we can waste electricity. Can't we turn the lights off when we aren't using them? Think of the children . . .
Wife: Oh shut up
Wife: O, brother
Me: It's like they put a king-sized grocery store and a king-sized Target under the same roof as a half-sized Home Depot
Wife: We are not shopping at Walmart
Me: I checked the prices on a few things there and everything is cheaper! The aisles are so wide that three carts can fit side-by-side!
Wife: You are not allowed to shop at Walmart. They use forced child labor to stock their shelves in the middle of the night.
Me: Give me a break
Wife: Seriously five-year-olds. Slave labor.
=Later that same night=
Me: Hey, how come we are watching a movie in the dark in the family room while EVERY LIGHT IN THE LIVING ROOM IS STILL ON?
Wife: Huh?
Me: Somewhere, a five-year-old who was laid off from Walmart is shoveling coal into a power plant just so we can waste electricity. Can't we turn the lights off when we aren't using them? Think of the children . . .
Wife: Oh shut up
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Closer to Heaven
by Rodney Crowell
http://youtu.be/s2o6WBTXQ30
I don't like humus
I hate long lines
Nosy neighbors
And Venetian blinds
Chirpy news anchors
Alter my mood
I'm offended by buzzwords
Like "awesome" and "dude"
I look like a train wreck
I feel like a …….SLOB
‘Til you get to know me
You may think I'm a snob
But I'm closer to heaven
Than I've ever been
I don't eat sushi
I don't smoke grass
I don't wear pajamas
I don't drive fast
I hate idle gossip
And tasseled shoes
Slick politicians
They give me the blues
I don't ride in limos
I don't play golf
I don't own a rifle
That would blow your head off
But I'm closer to heaven
Than I've ever been
I'm riding that way
From cradle to grave
I'm learing to feel my hands on the wheel
I love my friends
I love my wife
Four little Babies
Are the light of my life
I love Sissy Spacek
I love Guy Clark
All the biscuits and gravey
I can eat with a fork
I don’t want to be famous
Who gives a damn?
I just want to be happy
Whoever I am
And I'm closer to heaven
Than I’ve ever been.
I'm closer to heaven
Than I’ve ever been.
http://youtu.be/s2o6WBTXQ30
I don't like humus
I hate long lines
Nosy neighbors
And Venetian blinds
Chirpy news anchors
Alter my mood
I'm offended by buzzwords
Like "awesome" and "dude"
I look like a train wreck
I feel like a …….SLOB
‘Til you get to know me
You may think I'm a snob
But I'm closer to heaven
Than I've ever been
I don't eat sushi
I don't smoke grass
I don't wear pajamas
I don't drive fast
I hate idle gossip
And tasseled shoes
Slick politicians
They give me the blues
I don't ride in limos
I don't play golf
I don't own a rifle
That would blow your head off
But I'm closer to heaven
Than I've ever been
I'm riding that way
From cradle to grave
I'm learing to feel my hands on the wheel
I love my friends
I love my wife
Four little Babies
Are the light of my life
I love Sissy Spacek
I love Guy Clark
All the biscuits and gravey
I can eat with a fork
I don’t want to be famous
Who gives a damn?
I just want to be happy
Whoever I am
And I'm closer to heaven
Than I’ve ever been.
I'm closer to heaven
Than I’ve ever been.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Not Forgotten
by Sheila Packa
I learned to ride
the two wheel bicycle
with my father.
He oiled the chain
clothes-pinned playing cards
to the spokes, put on the basket
to carry my lunch.
By his side, I learned balance
and took on speed
centered behind the wide
handlebars, my hands
on the white grips
my feet pedaling.
One moment he was
holding me up
and the next moment
although I didn't know it
he had let go.
When I wobbled, suddenly
afraid, he yelled keep going—
keep going!
Beneath the trees in the driveway
the distance increasing between us
I eventually rode until he was out of sight.
I counted on him.
That he could hold me was a given
that he could release me was a gift.
I learned to ride
the two wheel bicycle
with my father.
He oiled the chain
clothes-pinned playing cards
to the spokes, put on the basket
to carry my lunch.
By his side, I learned balance
and took on speed
centered behind the wide
handlebars, my hands
on the white grips
my feet pedaling.
One moment he was
holding me up
and the next moment
although I didn't know it
he had let go.
When I wobbled, suddenly
afraid, he yelled keep going—
keep going!
Beneath the trees in the driveway
the distance increasing between us
I eventually rode until he was out of sight.
I counted on him.
That he could hold me was a given
that he could release me was a gift.
Quote of the Day
"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection."
- Sigmund Freud
- Sigmund Freud
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Oh, Snap . . . Part 2
I think I have circled the emotional wagons on this latest episode but I won't lie - I think about it ALL DAY LONG . . . I'm just not lashing out at people and God as much this week.
We should hear by the end of next week when Annie's evaluation will be - we may have to institute a GO ANNABELLE day for this one - I will keep you posted.
I took Annie to a PT appointment yesterday and was sharing with the therapist that someone in our medical "team" had used the "A" word. She got very quiet and said, "Well, it's not a diagnosis yet and there are infinite levels of autism". I told her I was having a really hard time dealing with it and she looked at me as one who has talked with many parents before me and said, "I'm so sorry".
Of course, that's when Annie got frustrated with her exercises and started slapping her own forehead in frustration. "Whoa!", exclaimed the therapist and she looked at me and we were both thinking the same thing damned thing. If Annie had done this last week in therapy, we would have thought, "Huh, that's weird". But now that the "a" word has been spoken, the response has changed from "Huh . . " to "Whoa!".
Of Course . . .
- Annie is still the bright beautiful wee-one we have always known her to be
- We love and adore her as much as ever
- We don't have a diagnosis so we shouldn't get carried away imagining boogy-men
However . . .
Being a dad trying to keep perspective on all this feels like trying to hold back the tide with a spoon . . . and it ain't as easy as it looks . . .
Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.
We should hear by the end of next week when Annie's evaluation will be - we may have to institute a GO ANNABELLE day for this one - I will keep you posted.
I took Annie to a PT appointment yesterday and was sharing with the therapist that someone in our medical "team" had used the "A" word. She got very quiet and said, "Well, it's not a diagnosis yet and there are infinite levels of autism". I told her I was having a really hard time dealing with it and she looked at me as one who has talked with many parents before me and said, "I'm so sorry".
Of course, that's when Annie got frustrated with her exercises and started slapping her own forehead in frustration. "Whoa!", exclaimed the therapist and she looked at me and we were both thinking the same thing damned thing. If Annie had done this last week in therapy, we would have thought, "Huh, that's weird". But now that the "a" word has been spoken, the response has changed from "Huh . . " to "Whoa!".
Of Course . . .
- Annie is still the bright beautiful wee-one we have always known her to be
- We love and adore her as much as ever
- We don't have a diagnosis so we shouldn't get carried away imagining boogy-men
However . . .
Being a dad trying to keep perspective on all this feels like trying to hold back the tide with a spoon . . . and it ain't as easy as it looks . . .
Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.
Oh, Snap . . . Part 1
Yeah, I snapped. I snapped in a way that I have not snapped in over two years.
While the wife has her own thoughts and feelings I will let her speak for herself. For my part, I am just sick and tired of having life pull the rug out from under me. It feels like the past 4 years have been harder in that regard than the 37 preceding them combined.
Like many fathers, I spend a fair amount of time wondering what the future holds for Annie; will she do well in school? Will she make decent friends? Play sports? Be interested in music? Date? What college will she go to? What major will she choose? What career? Will she marry?
Then you throw "wheelchair" into the equation and all your hope and dreams for your daughter have to be rearranged. No sooner do you finally make peace with your rearranged plans than someone calls and says "autism". And you start to become afraid to dream anymore . . .
I snapped. I didn't want to talk with well-meaning friends or family because none of them really understand (although they really do try). I didn't want to talk with friends in the SB community as even they have not had someone gob-smack them with the "A" word.
The wife and I were having discussions about what should be shared on the blog and to what degree of emotional honesty and then I logged onto Facebook . . . In my pain and anger I wanted to FLAME every posting there that talked about a recipe or a vacation or how someone didn't get enough sleep the night before . . . and on and on . . .
I shut it all down and walked away for a few days . . . I turned off my Facebook account, killed my Twitter account and turned off the blog.
I think everything is back up and running now - thank you to those who have called and e-mailed with concerns. I will get back to you as soon as I am able.
While the wife has her own thoughts and feelings I will let her speak for herself. For my part, I am just sick and tired of having life pull the rug out from under me. It feels like the past 4 years have been harder in that regard than the 37 preceding them combined.
Like many fathers, I spend a fair amount of time wondering what the future holds for Annie; will she do well in school? Will she make decent friends? Play sports? Be interested in music? Date? What college will she go to? What major will she choose? What career? Will she marry?
Then you throw "wheelchair" into the equation and all your hope and dreams for your daughter have to be rearranged. No sooner do you finally make peace with your rearranged plans than someone calls and says "autism". And you start to become afraid to dream anymore . . .
I snapped. I didn't want to talk with well-meaning friends or family because none of them really understand (although they really do try). I didn't want to talk with friends in the SB community as even they have not had someone gob-smack them with the "A" word.
The wife and I were having discussions about what should be shared on the blog and to what degree of emotional honesty and then I logged onto Facebook . . . In my pain and anger I wanted to FLAME every posting there that talked about a recipe or a vacation or how someone didn't get enough sleep the night before . . . and on and on . . .
I shut it all down and walked away for a few days . . . I turned off my Facebook account, killed my Twitter account and turned off the blog.
I think everything is back up and running now - thank you to those who have called and e-mailed with concerns. I will get back to you as soon as I am able.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
God Bless America
An interesting article.
Teaser:
But by historical standards, the average American is actually ahead of his or her ancestors. Today’s average Americans are smarter, more sophisticated, better educated, less racist and more tolerant than ever before. Immigrants face less prejudice in the United States than ever before in our history. Religious, ethnic and sexual minorities are more free to live their own lives more openly with less fear than ever before. There is more respect for science and learning, more openness to the arts and more interest in the viewpoints of other countries and cultures among Americans at large than in any past generation.
The American people aren’t perfect yet and never will be — but by the standards that matter to the Establishment, this is the best prepared, most open minded and most socially liberal generation in history. Unsatisfactory as the American people may be from the standpoints of Georgetown and Manhattan, this is as good as it gets. Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt and Harry Truman could only dream of the kind of sophisticated and cosmopolitan understanding that folks in Peoria have now compared to the old days.
The American people are less prejudiced, more globally aware and more willing to meet other cultures and societies halfway than ever before. Minorities today are better protected in law and more fairly treated by the public than ever in our history. No previous generation has been as determined to give women a fair chance in life, or to attack the foul legacy of racism. The American people have never been as religiously tolerant as they are today, as concerned about the environment, or more willing to make sacrifices around the world to promote the peace and well being of humanity as a whole.
By contrast, we have never had an Establishment that was so ill-equipped to lead. It is the Establishment, not the people, that is falling down on the job.
Teaser:
But by historical standards, the average American is actually ahead of his or her ancestors. Today’s average Americans are smarter, more sophisticated, better educated, less racist and more tolerant than ever before. Immigrants face less prejudice in the United States than ever before in our history. Religious, ethnic and sexual minorities are more free to live their own lives more openly with less fear than ever before. There is more respect for science and learning, more openness to the arts and more interest in the viewpoints of other countries and cultures among Americans at large than in any past generation.
The American people aren’t perfect yet and never will be — but by the standards that matter to the Establishment, this is the best prepared, most open minded and most socially liberal generation in history. Unsatisfactory as the American people may be from the standpoints of Georgetown and Manhattan, this is as good as it gets. Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt and Harry Truman could only dream of the kind of sophisticated and cosmopolitan understanding that folks in Peoria have now compared to the old days.
The American people are less prejudiced, more globally aware and more willing to meet other cultures and societies halfway than ever before. Minorities today are better protected in law and more fairly treated by the public than ever in our history. No previous generation has been as determined to give women a fair chance in life, or to attack the foul legacy of racism. The American people have never been as religiously tolerant as they are today, as concerned about the environment, or more willing to make sacrifices around the world to promote the peace and well being of humanity as a whole.
By contrast, we have never had an Establishment that was so ill-equipped to lead. It is the Establishment, not the people, that is falling down on the job.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Recently Read
[A = a theoretical God-become Man]
We need not expect that A, like some religious reformers of history, will go about denouncing men as “miserable sinners.” Indeed there would be no need of that. Insincerity always feels uncomfortable in the presence of sincerity, unreality in the presence of reality and selfishness in the presence of Love. We may expect then that in the presence of a morally complete man, a good deal of spiritual discomfort will be spontaneously aroused, sometimes dully and sometimes acutely. Some men would be stimulated to an intense hunger for wholeness, but some would be angered and resentful and determined either to get out of range of the cause of their discomfort or to get rid of it.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
We need not expect that A, like some religious reformers of history, will go about denouncing men as “miserable sinners.” Indeed there would be no need of that. Insincerity always feels uncomfortable in the presence of sincerity, unreality in the presence of reality and selfishness in the presence of Love. We may expect then that in the presence of a morally complete man, a good deal of spiritual discomfort will be spontaneously aroused, sometimes dully and sometimes acutely. Some men would be stimulated to an intense hunger for wholeness, but some would be angered and resentful and determined either to get out of range of the cause of their discomfort or to get rid of it.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
Friday, May 13, 2011
Recently Read
Back in Lux’s pool, I honestly couldn’t think of anything to be grateful for. I told Lux something like I was glad I still had all my limbs. That’s what I mean about how my mind didn’t take in reality before I began to practice some regular devotions. I couldn’t register the privilege of holding my blond and ringleted boy, who chortled and bubbled and splashed on my lap. . .
Say thanks for the sky, Lux said, say it to the floorboards. This isn’t hard, Mare. At some point, I also said to him, What kind of god would permit the Holocaust? To which Lux said, You’re not in the Holocaust. In other words, what is the Holocaust my business? . . .
I started following his advice by mouthing rote thank-you’s to the air, and right off, I discovered something. There was an entire aspect to my life that I had been blind to—the small, good things that came in abundance. A friend had once told me regarding his own faith, “I’ve memorized the bad news.” So it seemed to me that my über-realistic worldview (we die, worms eat us, there is no God), to which I’d clung so desperately for its rationality, was never chosen for its basis in truth, nor for its efficacy in running my life. It was just a focal point around which my own tortured inwardness could twist.
- Mary Karr in Sinners Welcome: Poems
Say thanks for the sky, Lux said, say it to the floorboards. This isn’t hard, Mare. At some point, I also said to him, What kind of god would permit the Holocaust? To which Lux said, You’re not in the Holocaust. In other words, what is the Holocaust my business? . . .
I started following his advice by mouthing rote thank-you’s to the air, and right off, I discovered something. There was an entire aspect to my life that I had been blind to—the small, good things that came in abundance. A friend had once told me regarding his own faith, “I’ve memorized the bad news.” So it seemed to me that my über-realistic worldview (we die, worms eat us, there is no God), to which I’d clung so desperately for its rationality, was never chosen for its basis in truth, nor for its efficacy in running my life. It was just a focal point around which my own tortured inwardness could twist.
- Mary Karr in Sinners Welcome: Poems
'A Blessing from My Sixteen Years' Son'
By Mary Karr: Sinners Welcome: Poems
I have this son who assembled inside me
during Hurricane Gloria. In a flash, he appeared,
in a tiny blaze. Outside, pines toppled.
Phone lines snapped and hissed like cobras.
Inside, he was a raw pearl: microscopic, luminous.
Look at the muscled obelisk of him now
pawing through the icebox for more grapes.
Sixteen years and not a bone broken,
nor single stitch. By his age,
I was marked more ways, and small.
He’s a slouching six-foot, three,
with implausible blue eyes, which settle
on the pages of Emerson’s “Self-Reliance”
with profound belligerence.
A girl with a navel ring
could make his cell phone go buzz,
or an Afro-ed boy leaning on a mop at Taco Bell--
creatures strange to me as dragons or eels.
Balanced on a kitchen stool, each gives counsel
arcane as any oracle’s. Rodney claims school
is harshing my mellow. Case longs to date
a tattooed girl, because he wants a woman
willing to do stuff she’ll regret.
They’ve come to lead my son
into his broadening spiral.
Someday soon, the tether
will snap. I birthed my own mom
into oblivion. The night my son smashed
the car fender then rode home
in the rain-streaked cop car, he asked, Did you
and Dad screw up so much?
He’d let me tuck him in,
my grandmother’s wedding quilt
from 1912 drawn to his goateed chin. Don’t
blame us, I said. You’re your own
idiot now. At which he grinned.
The cop said the girl in the crimped Chevy
took it hard. He’d found my son
awkwardly holding her in the canted headlights,
where he’d draped his own coat
over her shaking shoulders. My fault,
he’d confessed right off.
Nice kid, said the cop.
I have this son who assembled inside me
during Hurricane Gloria. In a flash, he appeared,
in a tiny blaze. Outside, pines toppled.
Phone lines snapped and hissed like cobras.
Inside, he was a raw pearl: microscopic, luminous.
Look at the muscled obelisk of him now
pawing through the icebox for more grapes.
Sixteen years and not a bone broken,
nor single stitch. By his age,
I was marked more ways, and small.
He’s a slouching six-foot, three,
with implausible blue eyes, which settle
on the pages of Emerson’s “Self-Reliance”
with profound belligerence.
A girl with a navel ring
could make his cell phone go buzz,
or an Afro-ed boy leaning on a mop at Taco Bell--
creatures strange to me as dragons or eels.
Balanced on a kitchen stool, each gives counsel
arcane as any oracle’s. Rodney claims school
is harshing my mellow. Case longs to date
a tattooed girl, because he wants a woman
willing to do stuff she’ll regret.
They’ve come to lead my son
into his broadening spiral.
Someday soon, the tether
will snap. I birthed my own mom
into oblivion. The night my son smashed
the car fender then rode home
in the rain-streaked cop car, he asked, Did you
and Dad screw up so much?
He’d let me tuck him in,
my grandmother’s wedding quilt
from 1912 drawn to his goateed chin. Don’t
blame us, I said. You’re your own
idiot now. At which he grinned.
The cop said the girl in the crimped Chevy
took it hard. He’d found my son
awkwardly holding her in the canted headlights,
where he’d draped his own coat
over her shaking shoulders. My fault,
he’d confessed right off.
Nice kid, said the cop.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
My Grace is Gone
By Dave Matthews
Excuse me please, one more drink
Could you make it strong
Cause I don't need to think
She broke my heart
My grace is gone
One more drink and I'll move on
One more drink and I'll be gone
One more drink my grace is gone
http://youtu.be/rmC3kpM3C_k
Excuse me please, one more drink
Could you make it strong
Cause I don't need to think
She broke my heart
My grace is gone
One more drink and I'll move on
One more drink and I'll be gone
One more drink my grace is gone
http://youtu.be/rmC3kpM3C_k
Medical Update: Speech Therapy: Part 3: Thoughts and Feelings
Here is what we know:
- Annie is delayed in communication.
- Annie is 33 months old.
- We are going to get Annie the help she needs and I don't see any reason why this might impact her schooling. When she is 22 and graduating from college, no one is going to give a crap that she needed speech therapy at 2 years of age.
- Annie shows some symptoms that, with a typical child, would raise concerns concerning autism
- Annie is not a typical child which throws the autistic symptoms into question
- We are in the process of having Annie fully evaluated in terms of her cognitive abilities
Here is how I feel about it:
I have not watched every episode of Lost but I have seen a couple of seasons. On the island, there is a black smoke that wisps around. Weird, huh? Smoke is just smoke. As the saying goes, "Where there is smoke, there is fire" but in medicine,smoke symptoms do not necessarily tell you what type of fire condition is present. More testing is necessary.
Until that smoke KICKS YOUR ASS a few times. Smoke is no longer just smoke - smoke becomes a thing to be feared - it's not just a wisp to be waved away - it's a THING that has and can rock your world.
I am angry. I am angry at God. I know we don't have a diagnosis and I am trying very hard not to let a concern become a condition in my head - but it is hard.
At last count, we have had over two hundred doctor's appointment in the last three years and we have come into contact with all sorts of children with all sorts of conditions. The wife and I have often said, "mental disability would be harder than physical disability".
I believe it was Reynolds Price in his book A Whole New Life: An Illness and a Healing
that asked God "How much more suffering must I go through?" God's answer?: "More".
Well right now, God can suck it.
And that's coming from someone who has to teach a class at church this coming Sunday morning . . .
- Annie is delayed in communication.
- Annie is 33 months old.
- We are going to get Annie the help she needs and I don't see any reason why this might impact her schooling. When she is 22 and graduating from college, no one is going to give a crap that she needed speech therapy at 2 years of age.
- Annie shows some symptoms that, with a typical child, would raise concerns concerning autism
- Annie is not a typical child which throws the autistic symptoms into question
- We are in the process of having Annie fully evaluated in terms of her cognitive abilities
Here is how I feel about it:
I have not watched every episode of Lost but I have seen a couple of seasons. On the island, there is a black smoke that wisps around. Weird, huh? Smoke is just smoke. As the saying goes, "Where there is smoke, there is fire" but in medicine,
Until that smoke KICKS YOUR ASS a few times. Smoke is no longer just smoke - smoke becomes a thing to be feared - it's not just a wisp to be waved away - it's a THING that has and can rock your world.
I am angry. I am angry at God. I know we don't have a diagnosis and I am trying very hard not to let a concern become a condition in my head - but it is hard.
At last count, we have had over two hundred doctor's appointment in the last three years and we have come into contact with all sorts of children with all sorts of conditions. The wife and I have often said, "mental disability would be harder than physical disability".
I believe it was Reynolds Price in his book A Whole New Life: An Illness and a Healing
that asked God "How much more suffering must I go through?" God's answer?: "More".Well right now, God can suck it.
And that's coming from someone who has to teach a class at church this coming Sunday morning . . .
Medical Update: Speech Therapy: Part 2
So after we got home from our speech therapy appointment, I received a call from one of Annabelle's therapy coordinators. She said there was something in one of the therapists reports that troubled her. The therapist made note of the fact that Annie does not seem to notice / care when someone leaves the room. For instance, if I leave the room and the therapist says "Where's daddy going? Bye daddy!" Annie could not care less.
We have always chalked this up to the fact that Annie has her own things to do and just doesn't stress about who's coming and going. Apparently, this is a "major red flag" for autism. So, yeaaahh . . .
The coordinator wants a full cognitive evaluation done on Annie right away. Fortunately, we had discussed this option with the Speech Therapist that morning and it is already in the works.
Of course, once I got off the phone, I googled "Autism Early Symptoms" and came across this page.. Raise your hand if you have ever googled a medical condition and come away relieved . . . anyone? . . . anyone? . . . Bueller? . . .
So there is cause for concern. Just to give you an example: When Annie was about a year old, we were hanging out with friends who had a 10-month old. I remarked to the dad that Annie often flaps her hands when she gets excited - he remarked that his son often kicks his feet when he is excited and it looked like Annie's hand-flapping was her version of feet-kicking. This made total sense. Naturally, hand flapping is a possible sign of autism . . . IN A TYPICAL CHILD. So what does hand-flapping mean in a child who cannot kick?
It's like going to the eye doctor, having him smear Vaseline on your glasses and asking you to read the chart . . .
Under TYPICAL circumstances A + B = C but under YOUR circumstances, A + B could equal X . . . we just don't know yet . . . .
We should find out when the evaluation will be in about two weeks - we will keep you posted.
Your prayers are appreciated.
We have always chalked this up to the fact that Annie has her own things to do and just doesn't stress about who's coming and going. Apparently, this is a "major red flag" for autism. So, yeaaahh . . .
The coordinator wants a full cognitive evaluation done on Annie right away. Fortunately, we had discussed this option with the Speech Therapist that morning and it is already in the works.
Of course, once I got off the phone, I googled "Autism Early Symptoms" and came across this page.. Raise your hand if you have ever googled a medical condition and come away relieved . . . anyone? . . . anyone? . . . Bueller? . . .
So there is cause for concern. Just to give you an example: When Annie was about a year old, we were hanging out with friends who had a 10-month old. I remarked to the dad that Annie often flaps her hands when she gets excited - he remarked that his son often kicks his feet when he is excited and it looked like Annie's hand-flapping was her version of feet-kicking. This made total sense. Naturally, hand flapping is a possible sign of autism . . . IN A TYPICAL CHILD. So what does hand-flapping mean in a child who cannot kick?
It's like going to the eye doctor, having him smear Vaseline on your glasses and asking you to read the chart . . .
Under TYPICAL circumstances A + B = C but under YOUR circumstances, A + B could equal X . . . we just don't know yet . . . .
We should find out when the evaluation will be in about two weeks - we will keep you posted.
Your prayers are appreciated.
Medical Update: Speech Therapy: Part 1
Although every child is of course unique, children with SB tend to excel at language and arts more than math and science. That being said, all sorts of delays come into play with a child who has some physical disabilities to overcome. Over time, it has become clear to us and Annabelle's therapists that she is delayed in terms of communication.
Yesterday, we had an appointment with a speech therapist who interviewed us and evaluated Annie. She agreed that Annie is speech-delayed. The official "submit-to-the-insurance-company-diagnosis" is "severe receptive and expressive language impairment". Nobody likes the word "severe" concerning anything - and we are no different.
So the plan is to have Annie attend one individual speech therapy session and one group session each week once all the insurance machinery clicks into place. So for those of you keeping track, that means 2 Physical therapy appts each week and 2 Speech therapy appts each week. Of course, we are gladly committed to doing anything we can to help the wee-one but ask yourself what 4 doctors appts every week would do to your schedule . . .
So that's the news from yesterday morning - yesterday afternoon was another matter altogether . . . to be continued . . .
Yesterday, we had an appointment with a speech therapist who interviewed us and evaluated Annie. She agreed that Annie is speech-delayed. The official "submit-to-the-insurance-company-diagnosis" is "severe receptive and expressive language impairment". Nobody likes the word "severe" concerning anything - and we are no different.
So the plan is to have Annie attend one individual speech therapy session and one group session each week once all the insurance machinery clicks into place. So for those of you keeping track, that means 2 Physical therapy appts each week and 2 Speech therapy appts each week. Of course, we are gladly committed to doing anything we can to help the wee-one but ask yourself what 4 doctors appts every week would do to your schedule . . .
So that's the news from yesterday morning - yesterday afternoon was another matter altogether . . . to be continued . . .
Mother's Day Picnic #1
For Mother's Day we drove to Temecula for a picnic and to go wine tasting. This is at the Frangipani (sp?) winery were we popped open a couple bottles, played a little bocce, and ate with friends.
Entering the Kingdom
by Mary Karr in Sinners Welcome: Poems
As the boys bones lengthened,
and his head and heart enlarged,
his mother one day failed
to see herself in him.
He was a man then, radiating
the innate loneliness of men.
His expression was ever after
beyond her. When near sleep
his features eased towards childhood,
it was brief.
She could only squeeze
his broad shoulder. What could
she teach him
of loss, who now inflicted it
by entering the kingdom
of his own will?
As the boys bones lengthened,
and his head and heart enlarged,
his mother one day failed
to see herself in him.
He was a man then, radiating
the innate loneliness of men.
His expression was ever after
beyond her. When near sleep
his features eased towards childhood,
it was brief.
She could only squeeze
his broad shoulder. What could
she teach him
of loss, who now inflicted it
by entering the kingdom
of his own will?
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Who The Meek Are Not
by Mary Karr in Sinners Welcome: Poems
Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent
under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep
in the rice-paddy muck,
nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles
make the wheat fall in waves
they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan
nun says we misread
that word meek in the Bible verse that blesses them.
To understand the meek
(she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop
in a meadow, who—
at his master's voice—seizes up to a stunned
but instant halt.
So with the strain of holding that great power
in check, the muscles
along the arched neck keep eddying,
and only the velvet ears
prick forward, awaiting the next order.
Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent
under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep
in the rice-paddy muck,
nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles
make the wheat fall in waves
they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan
nun says we misread
that word meek in the Bible verse that blesses them.
To understand the meek
(she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop
in a meadow, who—
at his master's voice—seizes up to a stunned
but instant halt.
So with the strain of holding that great power
in check, the muscles
along the arched neck keep eddying,
and only the velvet ears
prick forward, awaiting the next order.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Recently Read
There is always a danger of imagining a God with moral qualities like our own, vastly magnified and purified of course, and WITH THE SAME BLIND SPOTS. Thus the god whom we imagine may have his face set against drunkenness (an evil which, though it does not tempt us, fills us with horror and indignation), may turn a blind eye to our business methods because he feels, as we do, that “business is business”! Obviously, unless the conception of God is something higher than a Magnification of our own Good Qualities, our service and worship will be no more and no less than the service and worship of ourselves.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Recently Read
God will inevitably appear to disappoint the man who is attempting to use Him as a convenience, a prop, or a comfort, for his own plans. . .
The people who feel that God is a Disappointment have not understood the terms on which we inhabit this planet. They are wanting a world in which good is rewarded and evil is punished—as in a well run kindergarten. They want to see the good man prosper invariably, and the evil man suffer invariably, here and now. There is, of course, nothing wrong with their sense of justice. But they misunderstand the conditions of this present temporary life in which God withholds His Hand, in order, so to speak, to allow room for His plan of free will to work itself out. Justice will be fully vindicated when the curtain falls on the present stage, the house lights go on, and we go out into the Real World.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
The people who feel that God is a Disappointment have not understood the terms on which we inhabit this planet. They are wanting a world in which good is rewarded and evil is punished—as in a well run kindergarten. They want to see the good man prosper invariably, and the evil man suffer invariably, here and now. There is, of course, nothing wrong with their sense of justice. But they misunderstand the conditions of this present temporary life in which God withholds His Hand, in order, so to speak, to allow room for His plan of free will to work itself out. Justice will be fully vindicated when the curtain falls on the present stage, the house lights go on, and we go out into the Real World.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Recently Read
Whatever a man’s reaction may be to the idea of the terrific “size” of God, the point to note is that his comment is this: “I CANNOT IMAGINE such a tremendous God being interested in me,” and so on. He “cannot imagine”: which means simply that his mind is incapable of retaining the ideas of terrifying vastness and of minute attention to microscopic detail at the same time. But it in no way proves that God is incapable of fulfilling both ideas (and a great many more). . .
Man may be made in the image of God; but it is not sufficient to conceive God as nothing more than an infinitely magnified man.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
Man may be made in the image of God; but it is not sufficient to conceive God as nothing more than an infinitely magnified man.
- Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
Friday, May 6, 2011
Quote of the Day
We humans follow base and pedestrian needs. We need narratives for our lives, and we look to the speechmakers, the prisoners of conscience, to write them for us. These narratives render our desires into abstract phrases. Freedom. Self-determination. Democracy. All of which are means to an end. For us humans, the end is almost always just a house and some quiet to raise our daughters. Some friends, and a measure of something fermented. Someone to love. Enough soap to rinse off the coal dust. A fruit stand.
- Brendan Greeley
- Brendan Greeley
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Recently Read
Oswald Chambers once asserted that “the Christian has no right to lurk in the bosom of Jesus because his thinking gives him a headache”—which sums up this aspect of the matter very neatly. . .
The man who is outside all organized Christianity may have, and often does have, a certain reverence for God, and a certain genuine respect for Jesus Christ (though he has probably rarely considered Him and His claims with his adult mind). But what sticks in his throat about the Christianity of the Churches is not merely their differences in denomination, but the spirit of “churchiness” which seems to pervade them all. They seem to him to have captured and tamed and trained to their own liking Something that is really far too big ever to be forced into little man-made boxes with neat labels upon them. He may never think of putting it into words, but this is what he thinks and feels. “If,” the Churches appear to be saying to him, “you will jump through our particular hoop or sign on our particular dotted line, then we will introduce you to God. But if not, then there’s no God for you.” This seems to him to be nonsense, and nasty arrogant nonsense at that. “If there’s a God at all,” he feels rather angrily, “then He’s here in the home and in the street, here in the pub and in the workshop. And if it’s true that He’s interested in me and wants me to love and serve Him, then He’s available for me and every other Tom, Dick, or Harry, who wants Him, without any interference from the professionals. If God is God, He’s BIG, and generous and magnificent, and I can’t see that anybody can say they’ve made a ‘corner’ in God, or shut Him up in their particular box.” . . .
if the Churches give the outsider the impression that God works almost exclusively through the machinery they have erected and, what is worse, damns all other machinery which does not bear their label, then they cannot be surprised if he finds their version of God cramped and inadequate and refuses to “join their union.”
Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
The man who is outside all organized Christianity may have, and often does have, a certain reverence for God, and a certain genuine respect for Jesus Christ (though he has probably rarely considered Him and His claims with his adult mind). But what sticks in his throat about the Christianity of the Churches is not merely their differences in denomination, but the spirit of “churchiness” which seems to pervade them all. They seem to him to have captured and tamed and trained to their own liking Something that is really far too big ever to be forced into little man-made boxes with neat labels upon them. He may never think of putting it into words, but this is what he thinks and feels. “If,” the Churches appear to be saying to him, “you will jump through our particular hoop or sign on our particular dotted line, then we will introduce you to God. But if not, then there’s no God for you.” This seems to him to be nonsense, and nasty arrogant nonsense at that. “If there’s a God at all,” he feels rather angrily, “then He’s here in the home and in the street, here in the pub and in the workshop. And if it’s true that He’s interested in me and wants me to love and serve Him, then He’s available for me and every other Tom, Dick, or Harry, who wants Him, without any interference from the professionals. If God is God, He’s BIG, and generous and magnificent, and I can’t see that anybody can say they’ve made a ‘corner’ in God, or shut Him up in their particular box.” . . .
if the Churches give the outsider the impression that God works almost exclusively through the machinery they have erected and, what is worse, damns all other machinery which does not bear their label, then they cannot be surprised if he finds their version of God cramped and inadequate and refuses to “join their union.”
Your God Is Too Small: A Guide for Believers and Skeptics Alike
Your God is Too Small
I recently re-read this one and once again,it did not disappoint. We are all (at least vaguely) familiar with stories of Greek Mythology. The stories can be interesting but we all agree that, as a workable theological worldview, Greek mythology is silly. What makes it silly is that the Greeks simply took all the foolishness of human beings, magnified them and called them gods. What we don't realize is that we ALL (believer and non-believer alike) do the same with the God of the Bible as well. We project our personalities, our experiences, worldviews, and our politics onto our concept of the creator and come away with more mythology than understanding. JB Phillips helps to dismantle our mythologies.The first half of the book is about identifying how our concepts of God are lacking. The second half is Christian apologetics. I would characterize Phillips' writing as a half-step dryer than CS Lewis in Mere Christianity. This is a logical (sometimes psychological) study of our concept of God so although the book is tiny (2nd smallest book on my shelf), it is weighty and not for everyone.
I don't see how anyone can read this book and not come away changed. I distinctly remember the first time I read this book 20 years ago and the power of its ideas have not diminished. It feels like stepping into a theological boxing ring with Muhammed Ali and getting your keister handed to you. In fact, when I rule the world, churches will have to teach this book once every 10 years just to get their heads screwed back on straight (after all, we could all use a theological kick in the hind-parts now and again).
I will post a quote or two from the book in the coming days so you can decide if it is something for you.
I definitely recommend it (if you have the guts sucka!) ;-)
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Birthday Gratitude
Things I am thankful for on my birthday:
- Annie slept through the night last night (she had a cold last week)
- Annie slept in until 6:15am (believe me, that is sleeping in)
- Annie woke in a quietly happy mood and stayed that way (quietly happy) all morning
- I discovered I lost two pounds
- I celebrated losing two pounds with a breakfast of bacon benedict, coffee and cranberry juice (AY! It's my birthday!)
- My lovely wife and daughter
- Annie got her hair braided for the first time today
- All the wonderful facebook and email wishes from friends and family
- Listening to James Taylor on the way to the zoo
http://youtu.be/E_D0i7UC9UY
- A relaxing lunch at Albert's at the best table in the park (right next to the waterfall)
- A delightful stroll around the zoo during which we saw two monkeys DOING IT which caused my wife to bust into the chorus of "Afternoon Delight"
http://youtu.be/eplbDbp6XJQ
- A cold shower once we got home (because it's 81 degrees INSIDE our house - not because we saw two monkeys DOING IT at the zoo)
- The only two decisions left today are 1) when I should throw the steaks on the grill
and 2) when I should pop the new movie in the DVD player (wife bought me Adam Sandler's "Big Daddy" as a semi-gag gift and I am stoked about it)
http://youtu.be/J_l5fMb1oxg
Thank you!
- Annie slept through the night last night (she had a cold last week)
- Annie slept in until 6:15am (believe me, that is sleeping in)
- Annie woke in a quietly happy mood and stayed that way (quietly happy) all morning
- I discovered I lost two pounds
- I celebrated losing two pounds with a breakfast of bacon benedict, coffee and cranberry juice (AY! It's my birthday!)
- My lovely wife and daughter
- Annie got her hair braided for the first time today
- All the wonderful facebook and email wishes from friends and family
- Listening to James Taylor on the way to the zoo
http://youtu.be/E_D0i7UC9UY
- A relaxing lunch at Albert's at the best table in the park (right next to the waterfall)
- A delightful stroll around the zoo during which we saw two monkeys DOING IT which caused my wife to bust into the chorus of "Afternoon Delight"
http://youtu.be/eplbDbp6XJQ
- A cold shower once we got home (because it's 81 degrees INSIDE our house - not because we saw two monkeys DOING IT at the zoo)
(This is not one of the monkeys that was DOING IT - this is a Gorilla)
- The only two decisions left today are 1) when I should throw the steaks on the grill
and 2) when I should pop the new movie in the DVD player (wife bought me Adam Sandler's "Big Daddy" as a semi-gag gift and I am stoked about it)
http://youtu.be/J_l5fMb1oxg
Thank you!
A Good Day for America
The best part is the ending
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/4b3afc5c2f/president-bush-reacts-to-osama-bin-laden-s-death-with-will-ferrell?rel=player
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/4b3afc5c2f/president-bush-reacts-to-osama-bin-laden-s-death-with-will-ferrell?rel=player
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
I Love OBL
We were finishing up a lovely candle-lit dinner party in the back yard Sunday night when I checked my e-mail and announced, "Osama Bin Laden is Dead". Like many, we settled in to scan the television and Internet for more information. The opinion in our house was unanimous: "Good riddance" and yet, as we tuned in to see the thronging jubilant crowds in DC and NY, I couldn't help but think, "Is this us? Is this how we celebrate a death?"
Quickly enough, I reminded myself that I didn't actually personally know anyone who died on 9/11 or in the 10 years of fighting hence. Although the celebration in our house Sunday night was limited to my wife offering me a high-five, who am I to begrudge people closer to ground zero their celebration?
There has been some Christianized "love thy enemy" talk floating around the web and I think that is good - even though I think it is simplistically misplaced.
The fact is, OBL CHOOSE to mastermind:
9/11
The subway bombings in London
The embassy bombings in Africa
The Cole bombing in Yemen
amongst others . . .
I wish he had chosen differently.
Even after all these atrocities (and they are ATROCITIES) he could have chosen to repent, and turn himself in. Does any reasonable person really believe that if he had made one of his many videos repenting and offering to turn himself in that he would not have gone through an international war crimes tribunal? The truth is, he was not repentant.
I wish he had chosen differently.
Even as elite Navy Seals stormed his compound (ask yourself what crimes you would have to commit to have navy seals from another country storm your house) , he could have laid spread-eagle on the ground and been taken into custody. He chose to fight to the bitter end - committing suicide by Navy Seal.
I wish he had chosen differently.
I believe that God loves Osama Bin Laden - just the same as he loves allsinners people. that doesn't mean that some people don't go to hell. I believe that as Christians, we are called to love OBL the way God loves him - all the way to hell.
At the end of it all, the choices were his.
I wish he had chosen differently.
Quickly enough, I reminded myself that I didn't actually personally know anyone who died on 9/11 or in the 10 years of fighting hence. Although the celebration in our house Sunday night was limited to my wife offering me a high-five, who am I to begrudge people closer to ground zero their celebration?
There has been some Christianized "love thy enemy" talk floating around the web and I think that is good - even though I think it is simplistically misplaced.
The fact is, OBL CHOOSE to mastermind:
9/11
The subway bombings in London
The embassy bombings in Africa
The Cole bombing in Yemen
amongst others . . .
I wish he had chosen differently.
Even after all these atrocities (and they are ATROCITIES) he could have chosen to repent, and turn himself in. Does any reasonable person really believe that if he had made one of his many videos repenting and offering to turn himself in that he would not have gone through an international war crimes tribunal? The truth is, he was not repentant.
I wish he had chosen differently.
Even as elite Navy Seals stormed his compound (ask yourself what crimes you would have to commit to have navy seals from another country storm your house) , he could have laid spread-eagle on the ground and been taken into custody. He chose to fight to the bitter end - committing suicide by Navy Seal.
I wish he had chosen differently.
I believe that God loves Osama Bin Laden - just the same as he loves all
At the end of it all, the choices were his.
I wish he had chosen differently.
Quote of the Day
"A religion that takes no account of practical affairs and does not help to solve them is no religion."
- Gandhi
- Gandhi
Monday, May 2, 2011
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