Thursday, March 15, 2018

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Throw Back Post: Quick Sherman, to the WayBack machine...

Specialists and knowledgeable folks agree that olfactory stimulation can promote the most evocative memories. I am here to tell ya...

I opened a package of Archer Farms Apricot 100% real fruit strip (Target house brand) ... took a bite... and was transported to my grandmother's apricot orchard outside Hollister California.

There is nothing closer to God, nothing more dear, than walking down through the orchard early in the morning and picking a ripe plump apricot from the tree. God points out the one you should choose by highlighting it with a glistening drop of dew. Turning it gently, breaking it along the seam, laying open the halves. Then that first glorious bite into the soft succulent flesh. Ah, ambrosia!

When the fruit is just-so ripe, as only Grampa Ray can tell then it is harvest time. He will go off to Tres Pinas and hire a crew of migrant workers to come in and pick. Then the cutters begin to drift in. One older couple have come down every season for the last 12 years to cut apricots. They say it is good retirement money and besides it is a chance to get out and do something they love.

So we stand around 3'x10' foot wooden trays with a lug of fresh picked apricots at our side and we cut. And we chat. And we cut. Grandma always gets a couple boxes of those fruit knives. Some with the small pointy blades, some with the longer squarish ends. Just depends on which one you favor.

And you cut. Starting at the stem hole, following the seam down one side and back up the other side. Gently split the apricot apart, flick the pit loose into a coffee can and then lay the halves face up on the drying tray. Repeat. Again...and again...and again.

But it is all good.

After 7 or 8 feet of stacked trays of cut fruit are assembled they are wheeled into the sulfur house. Grampa Ray carefully sets the the measured pile of sulfur alight and then seals up the tar paper 'house'. The next morning the house is opened and the trays are taken out. All of the fruit is still round and wobbly. Grampa drives them slowly to the lower end of the orchard and lays them out on the ground in the direct sunlight. When I peak there are trays covering every open patch of ground as far as the eye can see.

Good bye Stephen W. Hawking

Stephen W. Hawking died today.

The cosmos will be a little smaller today.

Our lives are so much greater today.

No matter what you thought, saw or believed Stephen W. Hawking challenged you.  Whether it was the very simple acknowledgement of a brilliant mind held in the antithesis of the David male form.  Or the multidimensional perspectives that Mr. Hawking saw so clearly.  His vision of our reality brought us to new frontiers.

The cosmos has lost a true pioneer.

Good bye Stephen W. Hawking.

Monday, March 12, 2018

55 Hours of Shakespeare - Open Culture

Open Culture is one of the most engaging sites of our times.

Here is a great example: 55 Hours of Shakespeare

Note: I used to post these links on Fazebook - time to wean myself off digital crack.

Saturday, March 10, 2018

The Quieting of America

It is paradoxical that I should suggest that America becomes quiet while writing a blog posting.

Thoughtful, conscientious, concerned, caring Americans need to pause.  Take a slow deep breath and promote silence.  In their thinking, in their hearts and most importantly in their voices.

Corruption, deceit and deception flourishes in the reverberating echo chamber of our collective psyche.  Our "leaders" rely on this audio earthquake to keep us in a constant state of reactivity.

In our quiet, non-reactive state, we can clearly see the manipulation.  In our quiet we can begin to center on the real values of our lives. 

Friday, February 16, 2018

Trump, Guns and Money = More Prison/Schools

My initial response to learning that Donnie was going to speak at Parkland; it must be on the way to the golf course.

Schools are not the sacred hallowed halls that they should be because... parents have failed to raise their children with a sense of personal self worth, compassion, imagination, intellect, curiosity, understanding, and most lacking, a desire to learn.

Instead they have shirked that responsibility.  "Oh, its too hard, let's leave it to the professionals."

America's teachers are among the lowest paid (in our economy).  They are poorly resourced - what other job has employees bringing supplies from home at their own expense?  Teachers are expected to manage and control large groups of unruly young people without any recourse but to take the forthcoming abuse.  Abuse that the un-parented students know they can impart with impunity.  (Reads: They know they can get away with sh*tty behavior and not be punished.)

So what are America's answers?  Let's start by turning already minimum security prisons Schools into medium security prisons Schools.  Let's add more prison School guards.  Let's make sure the guards are equipped armed to "manage" any perceived threat circumstances.  Let's borrow from the existing penal system and practice "Lockdowns" as a way to "protect" our precious children.

Let's take all the same precautions that as a society we take to protect ourselves from criminals.

Why does this resonate so completely with today's horrific news?

Because we, as parents, have allowed our children to behave like the criminals we insist on putting in prisons.

My apologies to

Warren Zevon - Lawyers, Guns and Money - YouTube

Unfortunately the premise of this song is exactly why we face out current problem.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

An Open Perspective: Folk Theosophy


This one word is a complete sentence in the English language.  "God" is both a noun and a verb.  As a noun the word "God" requires no modifier or descriptor.  There is no way to embellish or add to the meaning of the word "God".  In the same way the verb "God" requires no conditional reference.  God is unconditional.  God is incontrovertible.

As reverently as I utter the word "God" I have done God a disservice.  The fault stems from my desire to communicate something that I can know of but cannot fully quantify, truly understand or in the vernacular, "really know".  I cannot say how big God is.  I cannot say what gender God is.  Even my use of the word "God" limits my ability to express the concept of God.


In the same way that God is, faith is.  Faith in an unconditional God is unconditional.  Faith in a God that I can know of but not "really know" is faith that cannot be defined or limited.  Faith is simply the belief that God is.  To have faith is to accept everything about an unconditional, unknowable God.

... an orphan left at the doorstep of the universe.

The Blank Page

I knew it would be here waiting patiently for me.  Virginal, white in its vast emptiness.  The mirror that offers no reflection.  I have felt its allure now for days.  Its siren calling.  I've caught glimpses of it, out of the corner of my eye, when I was daydreaming about something else.  I've felt its pull.

Perhaps it is a painter's canvas, drawn tight, gesso'ed white.  I am told the picture paints itself, the artist merely holds the brush.  Colors call out to be stroked, chiseled, fanned and blurred.

Cord Cutting - so 15 min. ago.

Yeah, I know, cord cutting is sooooo 15 minutes ago.  OMG!

Here is a subtle little American-ism slithering through the rank&file psyche - without regularly scheduled social "TV" events to stand as milestone or markers - the cord cutter's days are bereft of "what did you do" moments".

The other Saturday I found myself in the middle of the afternoon wondering just what it was that I should be doing.  Upon reflection I realized that I didn't have "The Game" to tune into.  I didn't have the pivotal match-up to reference so that I would have the appropriate Watercoolr ® highlights.

In fact I began to realize that I didn't have any of the "media markers" to matrix my life around.  I don't have the "Morning Shows" (Mourning?), I don't have the midday talk/gossip programs, I don't have the "Evening News".  Hell, I don't even have the late shows.

I have managed to shipwreck myself on this barren media-less island.  All I have to look forward to are the birds, at the feeders, outside in the snow, through the kitchen window.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

"Honor is not ..."

The following quote attributed to Herbert Hoover popped up on my IFTTT email feed of daily quotes.  My initial read offered an underlying sense of discord.  Why is it that what he said and what he most likely meant are like two trains on the same track running in opposite directions.

"Honor is not the exclusive property of any political party."

My assumption is that Mr. Hoover most likely meant that any [one] political party did not have Honor exclusively.  Unfortunately Mr. Hoover's use of a seeming Orwellian twist of phrase leaves rise to a much more sinister result.  He suggests that Honor is not the only property of any political party.  As we have seen in current politics each party, not being held exclusively by the property of Honor, has taken the liberty to use any and all nefarious tricks available to them to reach their desired ends.

Herbert Clark Hoover (August 10, 1874 – October 20, 1964) was an American politician who served as the 31st President of the United States from 1929 to 1933 during the Great Depression. ( Herbert Hoover - Wikipedia )

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