My dear Joon...

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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Tue Jun 06, 2017 11:40 am

It's monsoon season in the valley...

I didn't think yesterday was going to ever end. We managed to miss the rain throughout the day - the mall, the cleaning ladies, Chop Suey, Feast of Nur, two separate trips to the grocery because ours (which is closing for good on Wednesday), only had bread and milk of the stuff I needed, and then we were home for good and all. That's when the rain started.

And the Kix Cereal-sized hail, and the tropical-strength horizontal winds until just after six o'clock. Which is when the power went out, everywhere. The Honey said let's go out for ice cream - meaning these little McDonald's sundaes that don't spike my BS. I said okay, and took the road of least traffic lights. There were still two intersections with them, going out, but as I drove I could see everything was either already closed or soon to be. Everything was dark; the Mickey-D's even had a sign in the window saying Power Out, in red magic marker.

So, we're soon back home. I unplug the weather radio and drain the battery, listening to the Reds cream the Cardinals, while Duane tries to read about the good old days of 1848 - with a flashlight. Personally, I favor the Indians, but it was either that, AM Talk Radio (OMG! Really?), or John Cage's Greatest Hits. I also had to keep the husband out of the fridge, to try and save the food I went to two stores to procure. Anyway, by 11:30, just as I was dozing off, the electric came back on and I got up long enough to adjust the clocks.

I shouldn't be up now. My eyes are closing on their own...


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Jun 07, 2017 12:09 am

I know I keep changing my mind. But, I wasn't thinking about moving away from here at the end of March...

The Honey is concerned about the steps, and I am, too. The thing is, I only go up and down them once a day, on average - unless it's like today, when I needed to wash seven loads. This Wednesday was sheets day, but nobody had taken over the room, so I decided to do my comforter as well, hence the seven. We were supposed to mall walk, but come 10:25, he was still sleeping; I tried, I did to wake him, but then I thought, why not? Besides, we're meeting with the trustee again tomorrow, and I would like to sleep late. So I dug in, and by noon, he was ready for lunch (hot dog day - easy peasy.) It was 4 o'clock when I was putting away the last fragrant bit of it.

*sigh* Oh, I want my own machines so bad. It's always been the one thing that's eluded me. After I moved out of the house, I brought my stuff back home; my mom's appliances were very kind to my uniforms. My favorite job was the newborn nursery, maternity and postpartum recovery. It was all in one building, set in three separate floors, and there I wore scrubs. All I bought were shoes, and I was there for three years. I only left to marry the Honey, who was living in Texas back then. So, I managed. There was a call I placed to my upstairs neighbor to help me :) . I didn't hear back, so I carried on. It's okay, it's all done for now and that's what matters. In Texas, we had separate laundry buildings, and it wasn't until we got back here, that we had them inside the buildings where we lived. Most people don't remember this, but most rental places could deny children. No kids, no pets - seriously. President Reagan wrote into law, before he left office, that you can't discriminate against children in housing anymore. There's a complex that has up to three bedrooms, and they told us no when we were trying to find a place to have Michael - until they were reminded that we knew the law.

Anyway, I've started looking in a little bedroom town just north of us. They have a LSA there; Nan has been saying, on and off, for years that she wished we'd move out there. The last time I spoke to the Auxiliary Board, it was suggested that we skip this county all together. Trouble is there are precious few condominiums. But the trustee is besotted with them, and right now, I've found four - three of which have second floors. See, that's the problem. Having a second floor inside the home itself is the issue; some of these units have as many as twenty steps - I know, I counted from the photos. But there's a lot that can happen in two in a half years. I may die, or the king may die, or the horse may talk. Would you like to hear the tale? Well, you'd better because I'm putting it in here...

Once there was a king, who had a very loyal noble in his court. They had been friends from childhood, and the sovereign doted on him as he would a favored pet. But, the gentleman was thoughtless on one occasion, so much so that it raised his master's ire. (I have no idea what he did, I'm just telling the story, alright?) Whereupon the king summoned his subject to his presence, and condemned him to death.

The vassal fell to his knees, and in tears, begged his prince to spare him. "If you do, my liege, I shall - in one year's time - teach your horse to speak." Now, the king marveled at this, and, without inquiring as to the man's own mount, whether it could perform such a feat, relented. "You have your year," said the king. "Now go!"

Skipping from the throne room in the utmost glee, the lord hurried to the royal stable, where he was met by the king's groom. "What have you done?" said the groom, bringing his majesty's horse from its stall. "How can such a thing ever be?"

"Fear not, Geoffrey," said the gent, with a smile. "Much may happen in one year. I may die, or the king may die. Or, the horse may talk."


Or, there may be more condos where I'm looking. After all, I've got more time than the king's unfortunate friend, and I don't have to impress anybody :D .

Well, good night, my joons. Sleep tight.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Jun 09, 2017 1:41 am

We're not going to the reunion.

Bev said that she hasn't heard anymore about it from the cousins, and besides, my brother-in-law, Don, is going under the knife again next month :roll:. This is Don, of the famous garlic/olive oil yams recipe, and his heart is just not behaving itself. He's had stents, and by-passes, and plaque removals; he was even taken by helicopter to the hospital from the front yard to the hospital once. *sigh* Anyway, thanks to the trustee, I was able to repay her the loan she'd made to me, in full. I called her to let know, and to keep an eye out for the check. He's been one of the best things my sister brought to our family, and I am so worried about him.

It's not fair - I know life isn't, I know it sucks, I'm living proof of that. But, sometimes people get an unfair slap for no reason, and it makes no sense. Fortunately, I've got friends who just let me spout without patronization (I got rid of the rest *mwwwhhhhaha* - naw, just dumped the buttheads), and that is so comforting...

We met with the trustee, and are in the process of creating another trust. It is strictly the Honey's, and if things were different, it would be Michael's after him. But, Mike's autism prevents that - mainly because we don't have anyone that we could turn to manage it for him, and because the government would end the programs that have helped him. Now, he'd get them back once he'd spent down, but he will have lost his home and everything meaningful to him until that happened. The odds of him regaining the house that's been his home for the past 8 years, the agency and services that have cared for him are nil. Living in this post-Obama Era, where some people seem to assume that they can simply rub out the accomplishments of the past eight years, it's difficult to know how stuff is going to end up. Like the rich man comforting his wailing wife, "Don't cry, darling, I will wish for all the riches in the world...only keep stuck to that saddle - that's a dear."

Another story coming on: http://fanzone50.com/Tales/RichManPoorMan.html This is a particular favorite of mine.

Anyway, I should say good night. It's early, but, I am truly tuckered out.


'night
sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Jun 11, 2017 2:51 pm

Well, I've been to the new grocery store...

It is huge. Not as big as the one near Barb, the one that has a clothing section. And why would you do that? Why clothes surrounded by food? At least it's not near the deli, so that you'd end up smelling like fried chicken - they excel at fried chicken there. But, I don't get why so damn big.

There's a Costco, about a home run hit from this place, and I remembered thinking, thank God it's way over there. That's when the rumors started. That my Kroger - my Kroger of nearly thirty years - would be closing. But not to worry. There will be a new one. Right next to the Costco. And now, it's here. A bulk-food, live-lobster, fresh sushi (and, of course, you wouldn't want it not to be), mini-clinic, Starbuck-touting, where in the hell is the peanut butter?, open from 5AM to 1AM (why bother closing?) monstrosity.

Each and every handicapped spot was taken. So, there I am - when I first get there, Duane in the back seat, napping to Beethoven - where I can find a place to park. A man gives me his used cart when I ask for it (he says, 'there's plenty inside the store', and I say, 'yeah, but I need one to get me there.') All I could think when I walked through the doors was, "Glad I'm not agoraphobic."

It was loud. That was the first thing I noticed; the very thing that drove me, virtually screaming from Meijer, another ginormous box. But I did okay. And the other first thing I noticed was where were all the P.o.C.? Oh, there were some, but they work there. The lovely diversity of the little store was gone, because the apartments that surrounded it, are still here, where I live. Those apartments, filled with not only African-Americans (most of them naturalized citizens, who were actually born in Africa), but Middle-Eastern families, Mexican, Central and South American folks. That musical blend of accents and sometimes dress, are gone from here. Some don't drive, and you can't push a cart that far. There's bus service, but there's nothing like being able to have your kid safe in the cart, once you've crossed the street.

I saw three familiar faces - one of them, I sadly had to inform, that some creep had locked the handicapped stall from the inside in the women's restroom (you have to use the Starbucks one now, instead of the one back by the stockrooms.) I'm assuming that this wasn't done by the woman who thinks that it's okay to leave literature with the Name of God on it, on a wet public sink where It can be fouled with soap and reduced to the consistency of mulch (I rescued it from that fate.)

Dystany helped me find the peanut butter, and Shawn was by my side as I hunted down the Toyota (I couldn't remember which door I went in - only that I came out the wrong one.) He was cute.

"If your husband's in the car, you can call him."
"We don't have a cell phone."
"Oh - well, you can use mine."
"There-there-there is no phone. None."
"Oh. What about your key fob?"
"It's attached to the ignition key."
"O-kay. So what color is it?"
"White."
"White? How many white cars are there?"
"A bunch, I can see that. But, we can narrow it down to four-door sedans, with a Human Rights sticker on the right fender, and a 25:4 Isaiah & Constitution, on the trunk..."

We wandered from Costco towards the East, the sun at our backs, my friend Shawn and I, contemplating how we came to this, when I finally spotted Girlfriend's tiny behind, tucked between a yellow Hummer, and a long-bed red pickup. I don't know how she does it. Everywhere I go, she ends up with these bad boys from monster truck shows. If she was my daughter, I'd have to ground her.

Anyway, we're home now, and I'm baking pizza for lunch. And we're watching the Season Finale for Gotham; it's On Demand, which we don't like, but we missed it the night the power went out. *sigh* Well, I'd best pre-heat the stove.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Jun 16, 2017 3:21 am

It is terribly hot and miserable here...

So you could hardly blame me for wanting to get out and get home before the humidity really set in. It was 9:35, the Honey was still asleep when I grabbed the phone and called Linda, my upstairs neighbor. After a few minutes, she and I talked herself into going grocery shopping, and she even agreed to go to that dangerous, bad side of town to browse the thrift shop.

I have been trying to get her there, just once, and she kept telling me that somebody said it was bad. Like how bad? I ask. Like your car gets jacked, you get grabbed, and they tattoo "PROPERTY OF THE LOWER EAST SIDE" on your butt?

"They do that?"
"No, Linda - hell, I don't know. I'm just trying to find out where you came by this."
"Somebody told me."
"What somebody?"
"My sisters."

I know LInda's sisters, and they seem to be a pretty plucky lot. I can't imagine them trying to scare her. The place is just outside downtown - maybe 8-10 blocks - and in addition to the thrift shop, there's a food pantry. You can get looked at in their clinic, but only when they're open. Now this is a Catholic-run place, and I will never understand where they get the idea that needs and sufferings can keep on hold. The pantry was closed. It was 10:30 in the morning, and the door was locked and barred. Btw, when I was working, I took a gaggle of special needs kids on the bus to make up the shelter's bed rolls. The kids weren't the most interested in doing this, and I made about thirty of these on my own - before they stopped me. It was a blanket, sheets, pillowcase, toothbrush, travel toothpaste, washcloth and towel. You placed everything on the table in order of bigness (so blanket on the bottom), and then fold it over, rolling it up into a nice package. Well, I got yelled at because I wasn't making the kids work. My argument was the kids don't want to, I do, and I want to make sure that whomever needs these, gets the best of what there is to offer. Some of the bedclothes were badly stained, some towels were shredded, blankets had holes, and I was digging through the piles trying to find the best pieces. That took too much time, they told me, ignoring the piles of already made up stacks that I wouldn't offer to a bedbug.

I think that was really when I was being looked at for dismissal. But, I couldn't do otherwise. I mean, what if the person I loved most in the world was down on his luck and that bedroll was the only good thing about that day. Or week. Month, maybe. I know people sometimes say, "What if it were Jesus?" Well, they're all Jesus. Every person who isn't you is Jesus - in need of a shower, a hot meal, a clean safe place to toilet. Yeah, He did that too - and so did the Twelve. But I digress.

So we got in my car, went to the store - yep, the new one - and we shopped. We got back home and I took in my stuff - the Honey was well awake and he helped. I asked if he'd mind if we went to a thrift store, and he said 'okay'.

It was very run down. Not at all like I remembered. She couldn't find anything - she usually looks at clothes and jewelry. I didn't think I was going to buy anything until I saw this

Image

It's the hen, on the left. Right now it's sitting between my arms as I type. I must admit I was surprised that there would be one of each - the cashiers were cackling themselves when I put it on the counter. 89 cents. It weighs about 2 lbs., and its 6 inches from grape to banana, 10 inches from the top of the comb, passed the strawberries, to the very tip of the longest claw. I love it. It's mainly fruit - in fact, there's an ear of corn on each side to make the wings - but otherwise, it's fruit. It's a shame that I don't have a shelf deep enough in the kitchen to accommodate it, but I'll work something out. If I were really desperate to sit it where I want, I could remove the legs, but what's chicken without drumsticks?

I'm glad we did this. Linda's spirits got better and better as we got around and she kept thanking me. I needed this too. And on the way home, I bought subs for lunch (no steamy kitchen today!), and that was just perfect...

Well, it's after 11 and I've not taken my meds again. I'm off to do just that, brush the teeth, and watch the rest of 'The 11th Hour'. Good night, you joons of mine.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Jun 18, 2017 12:13 am

I got a birthday card returned today.

The apartment number wasn't on the envelope, which is my fault. So, I called the recipient - well, the person who was supposed to get it - and left a message on his phone. I feel so bad. He just moved, his health is poor, and I really wanted to get it to him. *sigh* There's the profession cards, too, and I've already mailed a couple of those.

Profession is when you've done all of your study and courses for three years, and are accepted as a Secular Franciscan. There's the day that you receive the acknowledgement of the community, a Tau cross, and Formation Book. You get cake, too. Now, I've begun the initiative for becoming a Secular Franciscan Associate.

What I didn't realize was that I was supposed to send a letter to the minister of the council, requesting affiliation. I missed that completely. It was noted inside the first page of the orientation plan, but it took the formation instructor to mention it to me. Oh, I'm so embarrassed :paperbag: . It's not like it was buried in the middle of a paragraph or anything - it's right at the top of the page, with a star drawn on top of the bullet point. Anyway, I wrote up an email, addressed it to the local minister and a member of the council.

It's more because it's something that they want to do. They're happy that I'm interested, and I'm all "oh, shucks" about it myself. But the real reasons for my interest are the nerve Saint Francis showed in approaching the Sultan of the Muslim Empire, and Pope Francis's 2014 missive, about inviting Muslims into the Eccumenical Movement. Actually, he was only asking that church leaders perform this task, and not the laity, but since none of that applies to me, I thought, "Why not?"

Islam is - how do I put this - it's precious to me. Of all the faiths, it is the most misunderstood, by both its followers and the West; you'd think that would be a unifying point, but you'd be wrong. Among Muslims themselves, and I think I can say this without fear of contradiction, the point of unity would be that there is no God, but God and Muhammad is His Prophet. After that, anything goes.
And you could be forgiven for thinking that. The spectrum runs all the way from ISIL militants to just the sweetest, loveliest people you'd ever want to meet...

I don't know what is expected of me, as far as the Franciscans go. I like them, very much. They are compassionate, thoughtful, humble - I can't tell you how many times I've almost signed off from a phone call with 'Allah'u'Abha!', just as though they were fellow Baha'is. They worry about offending me, and I don't get that; somebody needs to explain it to me. Today, talking to the formation tutor, I can feel a little bit of their confusion. I know so much - they've told me - about the Bible; Catholics aren't encouraged to read the Gospels beyond what's presented on Sundays - that goes for the Epistles, too. So, when I brought up that Jesus had abrogated the laws of work on the Sabbath, divorce, and the death penalty for sexual digressions, there were a lot of looks around the room, and finally one lady asked me, "Where did you get that from?"

The Book Clubbers and the Crafters are regular 'cradle-to-grave' believers. They go to church, they go to confession, they take communion, they make sure the family says grace for Sunday dinner, and they always serve fish on Fridays during lent. But the Franciscans are observant; it's a lifestyle. They see each other as equals; they have rules, and there's an openness - to a point. But it's a much further point than any other group of Catholics I've spent time with. But, there's always this undercurrent wonder - if you know so much, why aren't you Catholic?

How do I explain that that would mean giving up Muhammad, and The Bab, and Baha'u'llah? I can't live without Them, and the Franciscans can't imagine why They matter. The last time I attended mass was Mercy Sunday, the Sunday after Easter, and two of them kept handing me the liturgy. I'm in the middle of a prayer, and I have to stop because the priest is saying something, or doing something, and the rest of the place is on its feet and reading a text that has no charms for me. I'm in love with the Words of the Manifestations, and those of Great Souls, like the Virgin Mary; it's as if it were food, literally nutrition for the soul, and, God forgive me, but those rote sayings and repetitions are just so many empty calories...

Anyway, I finally gave in and bought two handmade wearable icons of Mary Magdalene. Apostle to the Apostles, she's called, and the one name, it is said, that always brought a smile to the face of Baha'u'llah. I fought it, I fought it for months. The seller said she'll mail them on Monday. They're both pendants, but I think I'll turn the one into a brooch - I'll have to see them in person first. Here they are

Image Image

Well, this is all I've got. My Michael's coming tomorrow, and I'd better get in the kitchen and make up his casserole to bake in the morning. Have a good evening.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Thu Jun 22, 2017 11:11 am

I re-mailed the birthday card.

It took a sheet of typing paper that I folded and pasted on the pertinent edges, to make a new envelope. But then I didn't trust it, so I carried it into the post office for hand-stamping. While I was in line, I felt the presence of the lady behind me, and we started to chat. I don't remember now how we got to where we were in the conversation - oh! the weather! We'd said hi, she commented on the heat, and I agreed, how humid and rainy it's been. She said she missed it because they were out of the country. I asked where she'd gone; they flew into Paris, then went to Amsterdam and finished up in London.

Oh...So you were there this past weekend.
No. We'd just left, but we were in that neighborhood just the day before. Such a lovely place, very nice people. And they'd been hit just two weeks earlier, in that same area.


She and I continued to talk, about the seemingly 'entrepreneurial spirit' of the terrorists, and other criminals, for that matter. If such can get up, be attentive, follow directions and be so motivated as to carry out their horrendous deeds, what might they have accomplished by now for good...

It was my turn at the counter, and I ended up paying an additional 44 cents for the card - besides the forever stamp. See? I thought those cards were heavy. Yesterday evening, I went through the file and I'm returning all of those to Mary that I know I'll never send. Like, As You await the Birth of Your Baby, and Happy Birthday, Grandma! Talk about either end of the spectrum, sheesh.

Anyway, I'm glad I did that. Mr. Mike deserves to get his card - it just took me a bit to figure out how to do it. This weekend, I'm getting together with the tutor and we'll cover Saints Francis and Clare. I've been coming to the Franciscan meetings, ever since Lent in 2014, so the thought is that I've put in all of the time requirements, which is three years. So, this is just a formality. Actually, what I thought were Associates at the All Franciscan Day gatherings, are Catholics who, for whatever reason, are not Secular Franciscans. So I'm going to be something that nobody else has :lol: - a non-Catholic who wants to belong to the Fraternity.

Wouldn't you know it, though? Last Sunday, I was asked how is this initiation will impact on my being a Baha'i? Oh, for the love of coconuts! Can't you figure this out for yourself? Didn't Baha'u'llah say, to consort with the people of all religions in a spirit of friendliness and fellowship? Can you explain to me why Catholics are always left out of the loop?

Well, to be honest, I've noticed that they don't - as a rule - associate with members of other faiths. I've seen that since I was a kid. The very first inter-religious conference I attended had no Catholics, but did boast a nice assortment of Protestants, including Quakers. And I confess, they are a much tougher nut to crack, when it comes to just accepting that others can believe in God and be just as happy & content in their belief. That, you can lay right at the feet of the priesthood; hell, even the Brothers who are part of our bunch, are far more open. And it'd be just a smidge hypocritical not to be, especially when the guy whose name heads your organization, went all the way to the Muslim Sultan, to spread the Word.

That's the thing that gets me. Pope Francis is regarded with such caution; I've heard it more than once, from those outside the Fraternity. He's too friendly, he's too accepting, he's not judgmental enough - The Protestant Pope, he's been called, and that's not a compliment, though I think it is. My feeling is, that if you know what you believe - and I think those who fear others are not well-grounded; that's why they're scared - you should be able to enjoy the company of any belief. Even pagans. Why not? If you love Nature, if you revel in the same creation as Saint Francis, that's a foundation right there. That's a point of connection right there, between the monotheist and the poly.

I could go on - and I will - if I don't stop right now and get something to eat. I'm running on fumes, and I'm in desperate need of a nosh.
My Mary Magdalenes are due to arrive today. I look forward to them :) .


Be good!
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Jun 23, 2017 2:40 pm

Another crazy rainy day...

I begged off on going to the mall, and since we usually eat out on Friday, I ordered pizza. The Honey's good with that - God bless him. We have Feast at 2 PM, and the thought of all that driving before then was just too much. I'm bouncing like a rubber ball; my left pinkie has joined in, so each time I want caps, it dances on the key instead of just holding it down.

My Mary Magdalenes' aren't here. They made it all the way to my post office, where they were promptly put back on the truck and sent south. So, having been through this once before - FOR WEEKS! - I called USPS and threw myself on their mercy. It appears that the problem is priority mail. It's to be delivered in five days - the 22cd was the fifth day. I was a mere two-three hours from having my preciouses in my hot little hands, when they were suddenly snatched away and headed toward the land of "The Yellow Rose..."

I let the seller know; she said she's been through that, too. She would like to know when this is settled, and I will definitely do that. So far it looks like they're scheduled to arrived today - which is not as good as yesterday, BECAUSE I WAS WAITING FOR THEM AND I MIGHT NOT BE HOME! Still, it might work out, and I hope very much that is the case.

I do have some good news :D . I tried to use the self-checkout at the new store, and apparently three - or was it four? items didn't get rung up. Even though I ran them over the scanner, and it dinged, it doesn't seem as though they registered. Well, I was having a day very much on par with this one, and I get home, I look at the receipt and it's about half what I should have paid. So, I'm in a panic - I earned it, I deserve it, and nobody is going to deprive me of it - when I call Customer Service. They reviewed the tape. They filmed my blimpie self in action, and could see the things run up. Walnuts, Boost Glucose, and Liquid Plumr were not registered. After a bit, I was told to just keep them - I didn't have to come back.

That was so nice :cry: . I'm a wreck, in case you hadn't noticed. I can't stand what's going on. I'm terrified for Mikey and all the people who rely on Medicaid. At least we don't have to worry about Philip anymore. I just received paperwork from his county that shows he's covered for another set of years - Michael, that is - and I don't remember how many this goes for, but at least he's safe for now. That doesn't help all those who aren't as lucky. I'm appalled that it's being said to these folks, "You can't always get what you want", while the Powers-That-Be are silent when asked about this enormous, and I mean ENORMOUS, tax cut for the wealthy.

For years, I've heard some people say, "This isn't my country any more," - the past eight years in fact. Now, I don't recognize it. It's being reduced to a whites-only, English-only, 1950's shadow of its former self. I've often wondered what it was like to live in 1930's Europe; I don't anymore. We're getting there. I know that the judicial branch and the Press are still able to stand up against this - and if I haven't said it before, those guys in 1776 were good! Yeah, they were wealthy, white landowners, with slaves, who didn't want to pay taxes to the king, and didn't trust the Bubbas. Those very same Bubbas, who voted this Yahoo into office, so that they could go back into the ground for coal, the descendants of the indentured Bubbas to the colonists, the Bubbas that we - and I know I've said it before - that we have never treated with respect because they sold themselves for seven to ten years labor, in order to have a better life than what lay ahead for them in the slums of London.

My grandfather spilled blood on the coal; he was 47, when he left a widow with five kids in Smock. You can find him buried not far from Andy Warhol. Anton Papesh - that was his name. His photo is under glass on his tombstone. Mining's a dirty, filthy, dangerous job, and if the coal dust doesn't take you with Black Lung, you've got plenty of opportunities for the tunnels to fail. Yes, the guys make more money now - a whole lot more, than Grandpa did. But the land is razed, the earth is laced with underground roads, and the lakes and streams are soiled with tar. Thank God, those jobs are gone. Thank God. They are gone and they will never come back, BUT, this is the last hurrah of the Scotch-Irish, who never had an even break; the immigrant Eastern Europeans enticed by tales of gold-paved streets, and escaping the rising armies of Peter I

And they threw in their lot, with a lying apricot,
Who dwells on golf greens and Trump Tower.
Who loves to be heard -
Who out-twits the birds,
And lays waste to time by the hour.




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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon Jun 26, 2017 10:25 am

My Magdalenes came!

Gosh, they're pretty. And they appear 3D, which you didn't get from the site. They didn't come with chains or any necklace bits, so I took apart the silver and black ones, that I had extra cords on, and made them some. So, these two new pendants are on what used to be my Richard III Sanglier blanc and fused glass purple; they look far better with two apiece of the silver than those others did. That left me with five black cords, and I gave the white boar, and the glass purple two each, and that left one for my caged tourmaline. I gave the spare tourmaline to Kelly, who told me that every time she wears it, people compliment it. But the more I think about it, the more I want to donate the glass purple. I've never worn it, and I think it could use some appreciation.

Saturday morning I went to my first formation meeting. I was in class with a young guy who is going full on professed, so this is probably the only one we'll have together. What was helpful was this seven bullet point list of what was expected of a Secular Franciscan. I can't adhere to top and bottom ones, which are devotion to the eucharist and obedience to the church. The middle five are fraternal communion/mutual equality, simplicity, love of poverty, humility and a genuine sense of seeking to serve (not to be served.) I can do that - that's quite Baha'i, actually. There's a beautiful piece by Baha'u'llah that came immediately to mind

Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity. Be worthy of the trust of thy neighbor, and look upon him with a bright and friendly face. Be a treasure to the poor, an admonisher to the rich, an answerer of the cry of the needy, a preserver of the sanctity of thy pledge. Be fair in thy judgment, and guarded in thy speech. Be unjust to no man, and show all meekness to all men. Be as a lamp unto them that walk in darkness, a joy to the sorrowful, a sea for the thirsty, a haven for the distressed, an upholder and defender of the victim of oppression. Let integrity and uprightness distinguish all thine acts. Be a home for the stranger, a balm to the suffering, a tower of strength for the fugitive. Be eyes to the blind, and a guiding light unto the feet of the erring. Be an ornament to the countenance of truth, a crown to the brow of fidelity, a pillar of the temple of righteousness, a breath of life to the body of mankind, an ensign of the hosts of justice, a luminary above the horizon of virtue, a dew to the soil of the human heart, an ark on the ocean of knowledge, a sun in the heaven of bounty, a gem on the diadem of wisdom, a shining light in the firmament of thy generation, a fruit upon the tree of humility.


Tall order, but anything worth doing is worth doing well.

Then yesterday, I went over to Saint Leonard's for the Stations of the Cross. Hadn't done those since just before my first communion. It's a lovely chapel. I took the liberty of buying two votives and lighting them for Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan - hey, it can't hurt. Not a lot of churches have these any more. It was fifty cents a candle, more than I expected, but you had your choice of Saint Joseph, the Sacred Heart, the Virgin and Saint Francis. I went with the Lady. Oh, I know, it's not kosher, but like I said, it can't hurt.

Lynda's back from Rome. She brought us a dozen rosaries, blessed by the Pope, and I got one. It's a regular five decade, made of red wood beads and infused with rose scent. When I brought it home and showed the Honey, he thought it very nice and smiled his approval. See. He was raised Quaker, he's been a Baha'i since he was 19, and he thought getting a rosary blessed by the Pope was great - what a man I married *just about to burst, I'm so happy :D* The fragrance is really strong, so I'm keeping it inside its plastic case. Rose essence is made from hundreds and hundreds of rose petals squashed into jelly, and it smells horrible - trust me, I had a tiny vial of it once and it was pretty rank. But, the tiniest bit of it, is sheer heaven. At this point, the further away you are from these beads, the better, but over time, it'll calm down. It's nice to have something from the presence of this guy; Lynda was so thoughtful to do this, and these will be treasured. It's not everyday the Church has a Franciscan Pope.

Anyway we went to dinner after, and since it was crowded at our table, two ladies from across the way invited me to join them :lol: .

They were in a booth and had plenty of room; the table we were at should only have seated four, not six. So I went over, and they were so nice. Ida and Ann. Ida who was 93 and didn't look it (I would have said 78, and I told her; she was pleased) was Danish by birth and had been here for fifty years. Ann was 78, and had flown up from Florida to visit. They're both widows. They used to work together at Walmart and had been friends for a long time. Ida didn't like her balsamic chicken, and kept insisting I help her eat it; I did. I ate half. I told her that when my tacos came, she needed to take at least one, but she wriggled out of it. I hope I'm that cool when I'm 93 - hell, I don't know if I'm even going to make 65, so whatever I can get.

It's now 6:26 AM EST, and I need breakfast. Tootles...


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Jun 28, 2017 12:53 am

I decided that I needed more cordage and went out to the craft palace to get some.

The Magdalenes - I've kept them both as pendants - could do with white necklaces, since I'd prefer the silver stay with the boar and the purple glass. I'm keeping that, too, the glass; I like it, even if I've never worn it. The black is with the pair of Wiccans, gold with the Baha'i, and brown with the Tau crosses.

Last evening I had a couple of hours on the phone with Liz. She pointed out a quote from Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah,
pages 287-289
, as we'd been discussing terrorism and some solution to it. I couldn't get it out of my mind, all day long I was thinking about it, so I called her back, leaving a message and asking her where it was from. Inside of an hour, I got an email from her

The Purpose of the one true God, exalted be His glory, in revealing Himself unto men is to lay bare those gems that lie hidden within the mine of their true and inmost selves. That the divers communions of the earth, and the manifold systems of religious belief, should never be allowed to foster the feelings of animosity among men, is, in this Day, of the essence of the Faith of God and His Religion. These principles and laws, these firmly established and mighty systems, have proceeded from one Source, and are the rays of one Light. That they differ one from another is to be attributed to the varying requirements of the ages in which they were promulgated.

Gird up the loins of your endeavor, O people of Bahá, that haply the tumult of religious dissension and strife that agitateth the peoples of the earth may be stilled, that every trace of it may be completely obliterated. For the love of God, and them that serve Him, arise to aid this most sublime and momentous Revelation. Religious fanaticism and hatred are a world-devouring fire, whose violence none can quench. The Hand of Divine power can, alone, deliver mankind from this desolating affliction.…

The utterance of God is a lamp, whose light is these words: Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch. Deal ye one with another with the utmost love and harmony, with friendliness and fellowship. He Who is the Daystar of Truth beareth Me witness! So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the whole earth. The one true God, He Who knoweth all things, Himself testifieth to the truth of these words.

Exert yourselves that ye may attain this transcendent and most sublime station, the station that can ensure the protection and security of all mankind. This goal excelleth every other goal, and this aspiration is the monarch of all aspirations. So long, however, as the thick clouds of oppression, which obscure the daystar of justice, remain undispelled, it would be difficult for the glory of this station to be unveiled to men’s eyes.…

Consort with all men, O people of Bahá, in a spirit of friendliness and fellowship. If ye be aware of a certain truth, if ye possess a jewel, of which others are deprived, share it with them in a language of utmost kindliness and goodwill. If it be accepted, if it fulfill its purpose, your object is attained. If anyone should refuse it, leave him unto himself, and beseech God to guide him. Beware lest ye deal unkindly with him. A kindly tongue is the lodestone of the hearts of men. It is the bread of the spirit, it clotheth the words with meaning, it is the fountain of the light of wisdom and understanding.…


You know how it is when you've read something ages ago and it never sank in because you were too young and dumb to absorb it? Well, that's this chapter. There are whole sections of it that I remember, but not the one that's placed in bold. Religious fanaticism and hatred are a world-devouring fire, whose violence none can quench. The Hand of Divine power can, alone, deliver mankind from this desolating affliction.…

I don't think that means God all by Himself. If it did, I think it'd already be done, don't you? No, it must mean all of us doing our best to love one another - despite ourselves.

When we were kids, my siblings and I, I remember going to the drive-in. There'd be a family movie, then one for the grownups (since we'd all be asleep by then), but I saw bits of some of them. Like The Lion in Winter, and the great Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine. As I was putting up that last bit, this came to mind

Prince John: A knife! He's got a knife!

Eleanor: Of course he has a knife, he always has a knife, we all have knives! It's 1183 and we're barbarians! How clear we make it. Oh, my piglets, we are the origins of war: not history's forces, nor the times, nor justice, nor the lack of it, nor causes, nor religions, nor ideas, nor kinds of government, nor any other thing. We are the killers. We breed wars. We carry it like syphilis inside. Dead bodies rot in field and stream because the living ones are rotten. For the love of God, can't we love one another just a little - that's how peace begins. We have so much to love each other for. We have such possibilities, my children. We could change the world.


Aye. We could. We can. I can't let this stop here, not with me, not any more. It doesn't matter if the rest of the world doesn't want to come along. For the love of God, can't we love one another just a little...


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Thu Jun 29, 2017 12:30 am

Well, at least I know where I'm going to be staying when I'm dead...

The Honey and I went to the sister memorial garden to the one that my in-laws are buried in, and made arrangements. So, right now, we've got three graves, three vaults, three coffins, and three openings and closings. We made a downpayment and came home giggling. It reminds me of when we bought this place. I felt hysterical for days.

I know most people probably don't think like this, that you're going to live somewhere for thirty years and pay off a mortgage in that time.
But we did, in fact we're almost there - twenty-six years this past April. And since we're not moving for at least another two and half, why not just skip to the end? Seriously, it'd been on our minds since Phil died. We were blindsided by the fact that nothing had been arranged, beyond the fact that he was going to be with Mom, Dad and Lloyd. As for us, all we didn't get today was the marker, and that will cost what the three burials combined does (the open/close).

Right now, it comes down to 10,000 dollars a person - paid off at 4.9% over 5 years. There is one nice offer in this. If my Duane should die before I turn 65, I will be refunded $5,000.00. Now, that will be in force, in one year and a day from now. August is the first payment; we put down 10% today on the credit card to hold it. Should be interesting *wheeze, cough*.

What the hell have we done?

But, you know, if I should die first, then Duane doesn't have to worry about this. We don't have a funeral home picked out, but there's just that, and, of course, buying the shrouds - he won't be overwhelmed and the Friends will help him with the rest, like they did with Phil. Couldn't have done it without them, actually. And Michael will be in the middle, like when he was a baby and couldn't sleep and I'd put him in bed with us. The only thing we did talk about with the headstone, was that we wanted one with all three names - Duane, Mikey, and me.

It's so funny. I'm still not into moving away from here, even after what happened this morning. Wednesdays are my usual wash days, and right around 4:25 AM was when I got the first basket upstairs. I was greeted with an empty washer and a full dryer. There was no way to know how long the clothes had been there, but I figured I would wash my stuff first. Thirty-five minutes later, the dryer was still occupied so I took a deep breath and stacked all the stuff on top of it. It wasn't until 6:30 that the neighbor came to get her things and gave me an earful.

If you're a woman, you work. Work, nowadays, has come to mean getting paid for it, and not necessarily what it's worth. But I don't know anybody of the female sex, who doesn't work - whether it's for the family, a boss or both. And if you're a mother, chances are you've provided, through the magic of your own body, even more people to work for - crazy as that seems. So, I have worked, and studied, and taken care of business, largely at gratis. My social security will come from my husband, because I didn't have a paying employer for most of my adult life. There's nothing this young woman could say to me that I didn't know, though it must have made her feel better to tear into me. But there are rules governing the laundry room - keep the doors locked whenever you aren't physically in the room, don't leave your detergent/softener behind (if you value it), monitor your loads, don't leave loads unattended or overnight, and nobody gets a pass on this, unless somebody chooses to give it to you. And I have, more than once, but if you're upset that you've been through this fifteen times already, clearly somebody else has not. This was the first time, in years, that I couldn't wait, not knowing when this stuff would be collected, and took matters into mine own hands.

Obviously, she didn't know any of this, and her landlord didn't tell her - just like he didn't tell the kids that lived there before her, not to soak their used paint rollers in the washer. As it is, all of these doors have been keyed for one, so now you can wash in any other building in the complex - an idea that is simply fraught with possibilities for a fight. These are the simple joys of condo living, where a dozen units get to make do with one washer and one dryer. Before we left for the cemetery, I called the complex office. They said they would see to it, that owners with tenants are apprised of how things are done, in order to keep the peace.

Anyway, that's how things are today. Have a good night - should you be ever so lucky to be in my time zone - and a better tomorrow.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Thu Jun 29, 2017 6:01 pm

There are a few things that I've really made a decision on. Btw, the LOTR things are still here. I can't do it. It's too much to take on and besides, I love them. But, I am letting my hair grow out, and I've started walking again - in addition to tackling my blood sugar.

There's nothing like owning a grave to make one want to stay out of it, for as long as possible. Now, the big problem with my walking is the Honey. He's not as motivated as he was. For the last few weeks I've been after him to get up, and get to the mall. We've not gone as many days as we used to; in fact, we've been lucky to go once. So, I know I need to do this. I also know I don't need the mall to get'er done.

There's a shopping center that I can use when the weather's bad; it opens before 8 AM for walkers. Otherwise, I can tool around the complex. This morning it took me 15 minutes to do the big end of the place. I needed to sit for a few, and was glad of the rollator seat. I can do this everyday, and build on it until I have it at the time I want. The six meals business has been going well - I'm happy I went back to that. This one hiccup though is the hair.

Both of my men hate my short hair. I, on the other hand, hate my hair long. If you're a man who likes long hair on women, but won't help her- like, say, give it a brushing - then what's the attraction. I always fancied that as foreplay, but when I had hair down to my waist, he never showed the slightest interest in putting a hand on it, let alone a comb. So, I figure, it'll save some bucks, but it won't look good. I don't have the thick mane Mel does, or the glorious chestnut thatch of Liz. I am starting to grey, and it's nicely scattered from what I can see. All I know it that it will be thin; it's been thin and fine since the day I was born. I may get away with a bob, or what they used to call, a page boy. That would be above the shoulders, all of a length, but it'll take time to grow this. My driver's license needs renewing on my birthday - it'd be nice to change my weight, as well as have another look...

You see, I want to be like my dad's mom. I want to make it into my 80s, with all my sense and no worse off for the physical than I am now. There's stuff I want to do. Maybe the places I wanted to go are not ahead of me, but I don't know that. There's a chance - a good one - that the trust will cover this purchase we made yesterday. In fact I need to call them for an appointment. I'll wrap up here for now. Take care, joons.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Jul 02, 2017 1:22 pm

This is the second time in a week and I have had it.

This is what I didn't say about last Sunday, when the five of us went out to eat after the Stations of the Cross. There was one man with us. He's a sweetie, obviously developmentally delayed, so he can be difficult - like my brothers-in-law/husband, that kind of difficult. He'd bought his dinner with a credit card, and then couldn't stop worrying about his information being stolen. It was one of those places that insists on having these little computer monitors on the table; you can play games with them, pay your bill, summon your server, etc. Because the screen didn't go blank, or otherwise appear to be finished with his purchase (even though it said 'done'), he would not shut up. And so on and so on. It was like trying to pacify a toddler, and have an adult conversation with everybody else. Finally one of the waitstaff came over, ran a couple of fingers across the screen and made it go dark. I apologized to him; I'd taken the thing and hid it under the table a couple of times to no avail. I'm ashamed of that now.

And then yesterday, at study circle, my two friends were trying to talk to me, and Duane was clamoring to leave. He does this every single time we go anywhere. Well, there were two guys there - the husband of the host, and he can be like this, too - and mine. Nan and I were trying to finish up our conversation, and he got out of her car, went to ours and then got out complaining how hot it was. Why wouldn't he just put his key in the ignition and turn on the air? *sigh* We ended up leaving then, and I called her later at home. She told me how frustrated she was; that she would like so much to visit after our deepening, and we can't.

She has suggested, rather cautiously, that having to put up with this, brought about the tremor. I wouldn't be surprised that it did. All the neuro-people I've seen have told me that it's psychosomatic (hie thee to a psychiatrist, woman!), and frankly, I have. I've been on a whole host of drugs, I've done therapy, and I've had recommendations of everything from finding another religion (got that from some faith-based counselors, when money was tight), to divorce. He just doesn't see why people need to talk.

It's always been this way. I need companionship, preferably of like-minded individuals, and not simply noises to let me know that there's somebody else in the house. When Mike was little and still living here, I had plenty of interaction - most of it having to do with his autism. But I wasn't lonely. Duane doesn't get it. My mother used to say that I could teach him to like the company of others; so did my mother-in-law, who wasn't all that into social interaction herself. It's not going to change, ladies. After 35 years, I can attest to that.

Anyway, speaking of my beloved-offspring, he's due here today, and I am still in my jammies. Be good, be careful, and leave the fireworks to the professionals. Just do it. I said so.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon Jul 03, 2017 7:24 pm

Finally ran into my BFFC, Renee, from the grocer's.

It's so inconvenient to get to, this new store. It's difficult to drive into; there's some spots that are one-way, and then there's medians all over. The one exit sloops at 60 degrees, and since I plant my goods on the backseat (the trunk being filled with rollator), they tend to tumble to the floor, and scatter. Last week, after mall walking, I needed buns for lunch. In the old days, I would be going right past the store. I'd pull in, I'd park, bread/rolls/etc. in aisle one, and I'm gone - unless I start shootin' the breeze with somebody. It makes no sense to drive out of my way for these, so I stop at Target, right next to Sears, to get our gluten-fix.

The today we wanted soda. But again, I'd have to cross the Pike to get there. So I tell the Honey, I'm hittin' Meijer. It's on our right as we go home from our Chinese place of 40 years, and he comes in to help me load the cart with 2 liters. Then popcorn, hot dogs (2 packages of 8 for 4 bucks! :D - I bought six of these and they rang up at 89 cents apiece :/ ), more buns (just for tonight and tomorrow lunch), and a couple of mustards for me. It's simply easier, and at least for today, cheaper. All of these places around us are groceries AND more. You can get your car fixed, your eyes checked, your teeth cleaned, you hair styled, your toes curled, get pierced, go banking until your money's gone, and do all these things while sipping on the most expensive coffee known to man - with or without biscotti. Should I mention a whole menu of immunizations from the Little Clinic?

Doesn't it bother anybody that there's a food desert now, where the old store used to be? It's just a shell. I asked Renee what she thought of the new place. It's boring, she said. Not enough to do. No diversity, no old people to chew the fat with or help with their debit cards. Now Meijers had that - ladies in hijab, accented English, no English. One man with a very big mustache and a very small child, hurtled past as I surveyed the nitrated meats. He was singing excuse me, outta-my-way in broken Daytonese, while the baby giggled in the cart. I almost wept for joy beside the scouse and kielbasa (but I bought the kosher dogs.)

We don't need this grandeur. Not all this. These shops are within a few miles of each other, and you can bet your boots and wear them home, that they will be empty and abandoned. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But soon.

*sigh* I'm washing sheets. The timer just dinged.


sara

PS I did buy me a Yoda from the toy department, I must confess. He's 1-1/2" tall, with light saber at the ready, and protecting my Post-It notes.
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Tue Jul 04, 2017 2:56 am

Happy Birthday, America.

Actually, it's not America. America is whole hemisphere, composed of a North, a Central and a South. Some volcanic islands, bunches of countries - this only refers to the part of a specific continent that's carved up into forty-nine bits, those volcanic islands called Hawaii, and a really big segment, originally put forth as Seward's Folly. Only we know it as Alaska.

But, 241 years ago, it was thirteen colonies. Thirteen bits of land, their original inhabitants sent packing, and solidly resettled by English people. My mother-in-law's folks. Puritans. Mary True and Andrew Blood. They combined their surnames and the Trueblood's survived well into the 1800's. But by then, they were Quakers, named Perry, living in North Carolina - just in time to be accused of being Yankee spies for the Union. I've seen pictures of my husband's great-great grandparents, Restore and Mary (Bundy) Perry, right after the War of Northern Aggression (as their neighbors would call it.) It's never a good time to be a conscientious objector, but the Civil War, and this particular Quaker family, with its crop of strong, strapping lads, had it worse than most. A family photo taken in the late 1860's, makes them all look ridden hard and put away wet.

Taken during much better days, before the war, Duane's great-grandfather, Nathan, is standing in the back, second from the left. Nathan survived babyhood, because his life was saved by the slave woman of a neighbor. Mary Bundy had a fever after the birth, drying her milk. So, this lady - an African slave - was contracted to live with the family for six years, nursing the Perry son right along with her own child. But I digress.

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Those were scary times, the 1760's on. Who was a Loyalist, and who wasn't? Who could you trust? Did you know? Where we live, the township right next door, was founded in 1795. There is one house I drive by several times a week, that was built that year. There are other homes and buildings that date back to that time; an encampment of Tecumseh's has been immortalized with a motel. Directly across the street from it, a tiny cemetery, resting place of Olivia Kelsey, Knight of Baha'u'llah, was originally purchased for The Society of Friends. James Hart is buried there, and so is little Thornton Chase Gordon, who scarcely lived a day.

Sometimes, when it's quiet, and the air is heavy with remembrance, you can hear the ghosts. The spirits of First Nation Peoples and French trappers, Mad Anthony Wayne and Blue Jacket, the Boones Brothers and Crockett. It was vast, this valley, and you crossed it on foot, or on horse. The ancestors of the Wrights had yet to see the light of day; it would be many years before the first experimental aircraft, many before Kitty Hawk.

The ground here is sacred. It is infused with the blood of generations unknown, those whose names ring in the ears of God. Everywhere, you find small cemeteries, surrounded by houses whose very manufacture was sorcery to those now resting below the ground. And all who dwell in these homes, have adopted these stone markers and wrapped them in fencing. People, those poor bones have never known, now pull the weeds, mow the grass, plant the flags and lay the blooms. So these long gone are remembered, though the marble's much too weathered to read. These make me proud, my countrymen, the living and the dead.

So, a Happy Birthday, America. My home, sweet home...


sara
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'By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me! Engage!'
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