tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64130462024-03-12T21:04:37.585-05:00Pa^2 PatoisOpen Society and Culture ...a CGI ant carrying a digital grain of rice...William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.comBlogger2325125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-13068247334944925942024-02-04T09:17:00.000-06:002024-02-04T09:17:21.247-06:00"Flying Pig Ranch & Thistle Farm? What the hell is that all about???<p>Assuming my best Walter Brennan posture and adopting a curmudgeon tone, "Pigs I tell you! Flyin' pigs! All over my feeders. Flying pigs! They're just pigs!"</p><p></p><p>The first part, 'Flying Pig Ranch', is a reference to our fowl weather friends. ( That was a pun right there, just so you know. ) When the weather turns foul the Flying Pigs begin to flock to our feeders. Yeah, I talking about birds here.</p><p>Before ClimateChange/GlobalWarming/BeingCoalStupid turned Kentucky's winter into a near subtropical rain.all.d*mned.day mess we used to have a great 'Sounder' (A group of pigs. Yeah, I had to look it up.) of gold finches, house finches, three kinds of sparrows, blue jays, downy woodpeckers, yellow belly sap suckers, brown thrashers, mocking birds, morning doves, chickadees, tit mouses, cardinals, wrens, ...panting from exertion ... and the occasional red tail hawk, who comes to feast on the other little birdies. [My best run-on sentence evah.]</p><p>We got yer feeders here although not as many as my bird-lady Mom; sorta like cat-lady, which she is too. We got suet feeders, hanging feeders, seed feeders, thistle socks, a terracotta flowerpot 'dish', a hand-thrown groddy-needs-to-be-fired-again orphaned cup from one of Ken Shenstone's Anagama firings, and a cute little suction-cuppy type thing that sticks on the window next to B's chair. </p><p>We buy our feed stock at the local Rural King. Yup, that tractor supply store out by the tail end of the old by-pass around town. They built that new place back there behind the Kroger. Then the new Express Way came through and all but cut them right off. Luckily the locals have more use for the RK than that pork barrel pavement project. When the season is really cold it is a forty pound sack of Sunflower seeds and at least 5 5-lb bags of roasted <u>unsalted</u> peanuts in the shell per month.</p><p>They do like their Pig's Buffet. The cup is nestled in the corner of a post and railing. I try to only fill it two or maybe three times a day with peanuts. Mostly it's Jays. They can be so particular; pick one up, put it down, pick up another, put it down and take the first again before fleeing the scene of the snatch-n-grrab robbery. And greedy. A Jay will take a in-the-shell peanut and then try to pick up anther. The first peanut prevents the Jay from closing its beak and getting a grip on the second. Surprising how many times they will try for the second peanut before giving up.</p><p>In the real desparate times of winter food is so scarce that almost all the Pigs like the suet cages. The usual subjects, the woodpeckers, sap suckers, and brown thrashers are regular visitors, just ride the suet cages as the spin around. The rest of the pigs posture for grazing rights below, snapping up the morsels that rain down from the sloppy eaters above. As the suet cakes are consumed I will fill the cages with peanutes. The wood peckers really enjoy both. It makes the Jay crazy, trying to wrangle whole peanuts from between the bars of the of the cages. So, I gets my revenge where I can.</p><p>Better stop ranting here and go out on the porch, "Get off my feeders you Flying Pigs! Pigs I tell ya. You're just pigs!"</p><p><br /></p><p></p>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-78206222073631267502024-02-02T08:58:00.002-06:002024-02-02T09:02:32.284-06:00Two Voices: Amalgamated Dreams Haiku<p> </p><ul><div style="text-align: center;"><h2>Two Voices: Amalgamated Dreams <br />Haiku</h2></div><p align="center" style="break-after: auto; break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0in; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto;">
<img align="bottom" alt="Personal Chop: Three evergreens, 6 unbroken I Ching lines" border="0" height="132" name="image1.png" src="https://pa2.freeshell.org/pics/Two%20Voices_%20Amalgamated%20Dreams%20%5BHaiku%5D_html_7a534c1f5e612566.png" width="140" />
</p><hr align="center" width="50%" /><div style="text-align: center;"><h3>A volume of small poems by William B. Meloney VII</h3></div><hr align="center" width="30%" /><p>
It is with excitement and trepidation that I announce the free publication: <i>Two Voices: Amalgamated Dreams Haiku</i>.<br /><br />
These small poems are to be savored as individual sips of fine essences.
Please enjoy them one at a time. Let each one ferment in your
imagination.<br /><br />
</p><hr align="center" width="30%" /><div style="text-align: center;">For the full article please follow this link <a href="https://pa2.freeshell.org/TVADHaiku/TVADHaiku.html">Two Voices: Amalgamated Dreams Haiku</a></div><hr align="center" width="30%" /></ul>
William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-14421470563423645632023-12-29T14:37:00.000-06:002023-12-29T14:37:53.417-06:00Retirement Reflections - I didn't know where I was going ...<p><b>I didn't know where I was going but I was getting there too damned fast.</b></p><p></p><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I naively thought I was going to $WORK until I couldn't. The $COMPANY thought otherwise.</div> <p></p><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Initially I thought I needed to $WORK. My entire identity was comprised of my work. I am my job/profession.</div> <p></p><ul><li><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You don't work, you don't eat.</div> <p></p></li><li><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You don't work, you can't support your family.</div> <p></p></li><li><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">All I have ever done (mostly) is work. I don't know anything else.</div> <p></p></li><li><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I never planned on not working.</div> <p></p></li></ul><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Now before I go all off-on-myself I need to remember that the career that I settled oh so comfortably in was an extension of my <u>avocation</u> not my vocation. Years ago when I realized that I was not going to be able to "retire" from being an EMT I sought out a career path the included my hobby, my passion, my heart's desire; Personal Computers.</div> <p></p><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">After two additional years of college, paid for by grants, to achieve my Secondary Education Certificate (with a "minor" in Computer Science) I spent a year, grossly under paid and overworked, in Education. Again, I realized this was something that I could not "retire" from.</div> <p></p><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I applied for, and finally, received a position with a manufacturing concern as a PC Tech. I made more money the first week than I had made the last week of my 5-year EMT service. I was more fulfilled the first day as a PC Tech than I was the entire time I was in Education. This was a career that I might eventually retire from, that was clear.</div> <p></p><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I didn't have a job, I didn't $WORK, I just continued with my hobby, my passion, my heart's desire; Personal Computers. And they gave me money in return.</div> <p></p><p class="vue-component" data-node-view-wrapper="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: normal;"></p><div class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Fast forward to: The $COMPANY thought otherwise.</div><br />
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<div align="center" class="paragraph-content" data-node-view-content="" data-v-b95f24a4="" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">For the full article please follow this link <a href="https://pa2.freeshell.org/pa2/Retirement/Retirement.html" target="_blank">Retirement Reflections</a></div> <hr align="center" width="30%" />
<p></p><br />William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-1499458478527147392023-12-17T16:40:00.003-06:002023-12-17T16:51:54.531-06:00NEXTCLOUD - LOCAL INSTALLATION (Debian/Ubuntu)
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<div style="text-align: center;"><h3>NEXTCLOUD - LOCAL INSTALLATION (Debian/Ubuntu)</h3></div>
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<p>Nextcloud offers a great Administrator’s Manual which includes in-depth instructions for installations in many different iterations (e.g. stand-alone, container-ized, etc.) as well as OS’s. Being an old curmudgeonly SysAdmin (retired), who doesn’t like to RTFM, I needed a clean, clear, and concise recipe for doing Linux based bare-metal Nextcloud installations.
</p>
<p>Remember my Personal Rule #14 – It isn’t a good OS and/or Server install unless it has been (re)loaded at least 3 times.
</p>
<p>Caveat Emptor: This is not a perfect document. I have used this recipe more than 3 times and I have confidence in its functionality. All that and $4 will still only buy you a fancy cup of coffee (i. e. Your millage may vary.)
</p>
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<div style="text-align: center;">For the full article and complete instructions please follow this link <a href="https://pa2.freeshell.org/NC-Local-Install.html">Nextclould - Local Installation (Debian/Ubuntu)</a></div>
<hr align="center" width="30%" />William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-63780711056759900972023-12-09T12:01:00.012-06:002023-12-17T16:40:44.633-06:00 NEXTCLOUD – I want to own my own data.
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<div style="text-align: center;"><h3>“If you are not paying for a product, then you are the product.” - Tristan Harris</h3></div>
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<p>Each time I opened Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Flickr, Yahoo, MSN, or Google (i.e. “Silos”), the words of Tristan Harris, a former Google design ethicist echoed in my conscientiousness. I began to view ‘being the product’ as synonymous with ‘being held hostage’. Big Tech was threatening me with not only the loss of my friends and family but also with the loss of my digital possessions.</p>
<p>Almost from Day One I was a Google user. I would later say of myself that I was an early adopter of all things Google; I drank the Google kool-aid. I was right at home, emersed in the Google Eco-sphere.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">“If you are not paying for a product, then you are the product.” </div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">It is wonderfully ironic that this article is about Free and Open Source (FOSS) software.</div>
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<hr align="center" width="30%" />
<div style="text-align: center;">For the full article please follow this link <a href="https://pa2.freeshell.org/NC-IWTOMOD.html">Nextclould - I Want To Own My Own Data</a></div>
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William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0Kentucky, USA37.8393332 -84.27001799.5290993638211532 -119.4262679 66.149567036178837 -49.1137679tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-5480989676536785392023-03-31T16:28:00.001-05:002023-12-09T12:01:56.697-06:00Time Dilatation - Losing the Hustle<p>Losing the Hustle mentality takes time. Only after two years are the earmarks of my Hustle-loss beginning to manifest. Take for instance Pizza. In the Hustle days Pizza was "30 minutes or free". And you can bet your boots that those Pizza folks were all about Hustle. We played right along with them, challenging them to do the Hustle, hoping they would fail. After all, who doesn't like free Pizza. </p><p>Food, in the Hustle Culture, is only an means to an end. Big Corps realized this in the forms of well stocked break rooms, and gourmet chef prepared "free lunches" [TANSTAFL]. The coveted Expense Account covered thinly veiled meetings held under the auspices of "working" lunches and dinners. All food-based strategies to eek out a few more business minutes in an already taxed working environment.</p><p>Big projects are met with stacks of pizza boxes and cases of Red Bull and Mountain Dew. Pizza becomes the fast food of Hustle convenience. Then to add injury to insult, the fastest, most affordable, are the worst. Ironically though, we all have our favorite pies. The hand-tossed, fresh ingredient, baked just so with just the right tooth to the crust. Yet all too often we settle for mediocre or even bad pizza. All for the sake of the Hustle.</p><p>What does all the talk about Pizza have to do with Time Dilatation and Losing the Hustle?</p><p>Off and on over the years we have occasionally made our own pizzas. Truth be told, it was a long drawn out process that rendered thin tough crusted disks with a splattering of sauce, a handful of sliced mushrooms, a few slice black olives, circles of pepperoni and mounds of shredded Mozz. They ate well enough but ... it was just as easy to pick up a couple of pies on the way home from work.</p><p>Then I stopped going to work. I stopped doing the Hustle.</p><p>I started making Pizza, at home, by hand.. Working from a simple recipe (see below) from a dog-eared and tattered copy of <i>Betty Crocker's Cookbook</i> I found that I could turn out a great pie.</p><p>Curiously, I noticed time both sped up and slowed down while I made Pizza. Proofing the yeast takes a comfortable amount of time. Prepping veggies takes a short amount of time. Letting the dough rest takes a deliberate amount of time. Forming the crust takes a pliable amount of time. Dressing the pie is done at a sprightly waltz tempo. Baking takes almost forever. Cutting the Pizza takes just a slice of time. Waiting, so not to endure pizza mouth, takes an eternity.</p><p>In following the recipe, engaging in the process, it became clear that the Hustle was the cost-accounting, the measured bracketing of time and attention. The Hustle would be doing something "important" and allocating only a small specific slice of time for 'making pizza'. The Hustle mandated, expected, demanded, that Pizza could only take up so much time. If Pizza did not fit into it's appropriate time slot then its value was diminished. Hustle waits for no pizza Real Pizza, with a capital "P", without Hustle, happens in its own time.</p><p><i>Betty Crocker's Cookbook</i></p><p>Pizza Dough, yields 2 pizzas, 10 - 12 Inches. (With personal additions.)</p><p>Preheat oven to 425 F</p><p>In a 2 1/2 Quart mixing bowl add</p><p>1 Cup of warm water (95 - 105 F)</p><p>1 teaspoon of sugar</p><p>2 1/2 teaspoons (1 packet) instant yeast</p><p>Mix thoroughly, allow to proof</p><p>Add</p><p>2 1/2 Cups Flour</p><p>1 Teaspoon Salt</p><p>2 Tablespoons Oil</p><p>(Personal additions 1/2 Teaspoon Garlic Powder, 1/2 Teaspoon Onion Powder, 1 Teaspoon Origano) </p><p>Stir together briskly until dough comes away from the side of the bowl.</p><p>Turn out on a floured counter and knead for 1 - 2 minutes. Cut the dough in half and form into balls. Let them rest for 5 minutes.</p><p><br /></p>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-18236644081750803662022-11-28T15:02:00.056-06:002022-11-29T23:12:42.923-06:00Fowl Weather Friends<p>People tell me that the Thistle Farm part of FPR&TF is self explanatory but where in the heck did Flying Pig Ranch really come from...</p><p>Pigs!</p><p>PIGS, I tell ya! Right here on the ranch...</p><p>Flying Pigs! That's what they are, just flocks and hordes and swarms of flying pigs. I fill the bird feeders everyday and now they are out there complaining that I haven't put out more fare today.</p><p>There are three kinds of Friends.</p><p>1. ) The cliche "fair weather friend" connotes one who sticks with you in the best of times.</p><p>2.) Conversely, a "Foul weather friend" is one who sticks with you through the bad times as well.</p><p>3.) Our <i>Fowl Weather Friends</i></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><i>They w</i>ere scarcely seen in September and October but when the real winter of November returns so do the Flying Pigs. They couldn't be bothered to visit during the bounties of the fall harvest. With morning temps at right around freezing the pigs are now flocking to the feeders. Opportunists I tell you. Flying Pigs! Right here on the ranch ...</p></blockquote>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-90722327134299159742022-11-16T17:56:00.001-06:002022-11-16T17:56:29.586-06:00harvest feast buffet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Or rather, I have noticed the lack of such comforts having given up not just the habit of coffee but all caffeine. It was a simple comfort, a ritual. A steaming cup of hot liquid clutched on a cold morning. Warmth to off-set the chill.<div><br></div><div>Then I rediscovered Tea. Yeah, yeah, alright, Herb Tea. Specifically caffeine-free herbal brews. Those strange concoctions that my on-again-off-again vegan friend used to insist I try. Flowers and rose hips and Chamomile and ... I dutifully complied. There might have been one or perhaps two ulterior motives that turned me from the dark roast side, if only temporarily.</div><div><br></div><div>The flavors of those days return. The luxurious times. Soaking in the exuberance of youth. A time of innocence, warmth and comfort.</div><div><br></div><div>Warmth to off-set the chill.</div>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-90564319897081636992022-10-27T18:34:00.000-05:002022-10-27T18:34:08.173-05:00I lost a Charm<p>Charms and Talismans are empowered by our investment in them. We choose to, in turn, try to possess both the object and the empowerment we attribute to them.</p><p>I lost a Charm. It seems like a week ago, maybe longer. The power that I had given the charm was a small portion of my Joy. The little piece of Joy that I lost was akin to the feeling of surprise and elation that a small child has seeing "magic" for the first time. Two weeks earlier or so I lost a Talisman. I had empowered it as a symbol, a vessel that would hold the record of personal times. I thought of it as a snapshot of my personal history, just a few frames. Yet it was a physical symbol. And it was mine.</p><p>I had just gone through a sufficient amount of "Acceptance" - the last level of grief - to even consider writing the obituary for Thelonious "Chip" Munk. I would, of course, focus on the circle of life. The inevitability of death, following birth. I would also reminisce about being a small boy at the grand parent's cottage hand feeding peanuts to a chipmunk.</p><p>Knowing that small rodent-like creatures do not fare well in areas frequented by predators, it was easier to accept the loss of Thelonious. Losing, or perhaps just misplacing, the small black notebook that contained recipes, old Gin Rummy scores, future dreams, and a High School Nerd had-to-have; a circular slide rule in its own pocket protector. Even though I have not seen it longer than Thelonious I still insist on carrying it around with me. I am ever watchful out of the corner of my eye to spot the worn plastic seams the tiny 6-ring binder.</p><p>In each case I am still trying to possess the Charm and the Talisman. </p><p>So I didn't expect how wonderful ... and how very bittersweet ... it would be, after more than a week, to see Thelonious perched on the porch railing waiting for the peanut pile to be replenished. It was very enjoyable to see her/him alive. But it was contrary to <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> Acceptance (rationale) of <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> loss.</p><p>When I saw Thelonious on the rail I recognized <u><i>my</i></u> desire to possess <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> Charm.</p><p>I do not need to invest in Thelonious. I do not need to empower Thelonious. She/He is discreetly perfect in their own right.</p><p>When I saw Thelonious on the rail I recognized <u><i>my</i></u> desire to possess <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> Talisman. Then I recognized that <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> Talisman was possessing <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> desire. Why do I invest in any object that possesses <u><i>me</i></u>? Why do I empower any object? I recognize <u><i>my</i></u> desire to possess <u style="font-style: italic;">my</u> little black notebook. I recognize <u><i>my</i></u> little black notebook is possessing <u><i>my</i></u> desire.</p><p>let things be lost</p><p>let things be</p><p>things be</p><p>be</p><div>peace</div>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-20811291217339245022022-10-19T09:09:00.001-05:002022-10-19T09:09:27.664-05:00Buoyed by the river of life<p> Ancient wisdom: Stand on the banks of a river and watch the bodies of your enemies float by.</p><p>For Your Consideration</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><b><i>Buoyed by the river of life, celebrate each bank as it passes.</i></b></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p> This is not a panacea. This is the work of living. This is the living of life.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>Swimming in any river, however buoyant, is still a great deal of orientation. We have to find out where we are now. Then decide where we are headed. In what direction will our Journey, Walk, Steam, Retreat, et al take us. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>We quickly realize the importance of active navigation. If we rely only on Life's river we will be not so gently tumbled through rapids. We could easily be thrown against boulders. Yes, there are rapids and boulders in everyone's life yet we are empowered to make healthy and wise decisions. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>Making and then acting on our good decisions takes discipline. My working definition is: Personal Accountability demonstrated over a significant amount of time. We cannot just dip our big toe into the river and expect to have an epiphany. A second takes a second, a minute takes 60 seconds, etcetera. Time takes time. A significant amount of time takes a significant amount of time.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>In order to maintain a Stay-The-Course attitude it requires stamina. For me this means prolonged physical as well as mental/intellectual activity. The work I am doing right now, writing this. This is the work that each of us does everyday. This is the day-to-day living of our everyday lives. This is the ability to endure, to get up in the morning, make my bed and then move on with ... the work of everyday life.</p></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>I told you, 'This is not a panacea.' That was just the <i><b>Buoyed by the river of life</b></i> part. Now let's look at the <i><b>celebrate each bank as it passes</b></i> part ...</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>The wandering mendicant and his young acolyte.</p></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>In their journey the old man and the young man came to a river crossing. There they found a young girl standing patiently, looking at the far shore. Without hesitation the old man approached the girl and asked, "Do you wish to cross the river?"</p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>The girl said that she did. At once the old man picked her up and carried her across the river. Reaching the far shore he set the girl down gently and waited for the young man. The acolyte hastened to cross.</p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>After the men had traveled on some distance the younger man became vexed. He pointedly asked, "I thought we were not supposed to hold members of the opposite sex, particularly children?"</p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;">The elder countered gently, "Are you still carrying her?" He let out a long slow breath and continued, "I let go of her at the river bank."</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p> Even if the moment of the bank seems harsh we are called to celebrate its passing. We are asked to recognize the transient nature of events, on the bank, and then let go of them as we pass by ... Buoyed by the river of life.</p></blockquote></blockquote>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-26348455635885074522022-07-01T12:24:00.000-05:002022-07-01T12:24:01.157-05:00MEN, You are no longer allowed...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNg71cd6izWih_-lGXCMlVKwU0gxwLw1tl1nGKCkV0qtZ7Weh3t7oLerczSSG4_vDJ_0iZyaY1XXDDfphhkXp_c3R02H0rJIUETWRwpwmR8TIInefHFqcpNCvvAYnVX5sq6B_paRIwE95NwNJUNHKcTR4TfgzEum8H3sv8qYifu9DUEZudQA/s992/Quotes_Creator_com.ist.quotescreator_1656695991468.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="992" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNg71cd6izWih_-lGXCMlVKwU0gxwLw1tl1nGKCkV0qtZ7Weh3t7oLerczSSG4_vDJ_0iZyaY1XXDDfphhkXp_c3R02H0rJIUETWRwpwmR8TIInefHFqcpNCvvAYnVX5sq6B_paRIwE95NwNJUNHKcTR4TfgzEum8H3sv8qYifu9DUEZudQA/s320/Quotes_Creator_com.ist.quotescreator_1656695991468.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-3507831673595831742022-07-01T11:16:00.003-05:002022-07-01T11:16:46.977-05:00Bucket List #...1<p> View of the night sky from a no-ambient light setting.</p><p>I remember as a kid, yeah yeah, so it's true I was a kid - Thanks Rad Bradbury, staring up from a lush hay field and seeing only the night sky. The Milky Way was clear and distinct. Even the smallest items moving across the night sky flashed like diamonds.</p>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-85952575349246572822022-06-22T10:08:00.002-05:002022-06-22T11:04:09.844-05:00All science was ...<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">All science was once magic.</span> </p><p style="text-align: center;">- Anonymous</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-34277200113098064392022-06-20T21:00:00.002-05:002022-10-17T11:14:13.004-05:00... slaunters in *HIC* ...<p> Slaunters in *HIC* ... stumbles over in the corner shadows ... unfolds, refolds a flurry of the New York Times ,,, muttering where's the darn crossword section ... jugglinging paper cat kites ... patting himself down like a nico-addict lookin for that last ... gotta have something to write with somewhere abouts here.</p>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-90701366047995020062018-12-20T09:54:00.000-06:002018-12-20T09:54:05.022-06:00Shattered Hearts<br />
sorrow sleeps beside me<br />
tossing and turning<br />
stealing the comfort of my<br />
dreams<br />
<br />
shattered hearts strewn<br />
across the kitchen floor<br />
<br />
<br />William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-2546735447200058802018-07-30T09:54:00.002-05:002018-08-16T11:25:27.076-05:00a clear, unified vision<span style="background-color: white; color: #191919; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;">With the guidance of accomplished scholars Jay Garfield and Guy Newland, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;">you’ll come away with <a href="https://learn.wisdompubs.org/academy/courses/three-turnings/">a clear, unified vision</a> of Buddhist doctrine and a greater understanding of the texts, scholars, and practices that make up this expansive tradition.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;">Would that I might open my eyes on any given morning</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;">and see in first light the individual leaves of the maple.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">Might I sense the sparrow's flight first to catch the outstretched</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">limb of the Norwegian Spruce with its bottle brush needles.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">From the corner of my eye the glimpse of a 5-lined </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">Skink</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "garamond" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 18px;">skittering from a spot of sunlight to the harbor of the woodpile.</span>William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-4385530465553408092018-07-27T15:04:00.001-05:002018-07-27T15:04:39.787-05:00America and I are breaking up.After a nearly 65 year love affair America and I are breaking up.<br />
<br />
Sure, we've had our squabbles and tiffs. Many's the time we have not seen eye-to-eye. I have even taken to the street a time or two to express my contempt of America. But America always held out the promise. The promise of a better day. The promise of ...<br />
<br />
That was then. Now the proffered promises are like moldy bread. Sure, in the most dire of times even spoiled food will offer some small measure of nutrition. Echoing the old quote from Joseph de Maistre: Toute nation a le gouvernement qu’elle mérite—“every nation gets the government it deserves.”. So we are to stomach the rotting banquet before us. Hold our collective nose and let slide the ripe oyster of the day.<br />
<br />
If these are the promises of MAGA then I want a divorce.William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-13107877810354474592018-07-05T13:22:00.000-05:002018-07-05T13:24:33.063-05:00Stupidity PrideFULL DISCLOSURE: I too am proud of my stupidity.<br />
<br />
Without reservation I insist that my views are absolutely, unconditionally correct. Which in turn establishes a Me-vs.-The Rest of Y'all dynamic. It also legitimizes the inverse, "without reservation y'all's views are absolutely, unconditionally correct."<br />
<br />
There was a time when we, collectively, knew and understood that there was us and then there were really, really smart people. Yes, we made it through high school. Some of us even got that 2-year degree at the community college. A few went on to get that 4-year degree from university. And then there was the one or two people who were truly smart enough to continue in higher education to become Doctors or Lawyers or Engineers.<br />
<br />
Then came the New Egalitarian Society. Egalitarian was originally defined as, "relating to or believing in the principle that all people are equal and deserve equal rights and opportunities. (<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=egalitarian+definition">Google</a>) The equality cited here is the reason that the high school graduate's opinions and values are just as legitimate and valid as those of a Doctor or Lawyer. After all, we are all equal. Aren't we?<br />
<br />
So when everyone's opinions and values are equal then by the further equality of one-person-one-vote then the largest group of like-minded people get to make the decisions.<br />
<br />
Well, heck fire, everyone knows that book-learning is just a liberal conspiracy to subjugate folks that don't have enough money to go to college. I learnt everythin' I ever needed to know when I was in the third grade. 'Sides, what was good enough fer my Pa is good enough fer my kids. All's they need to know is how to work hard.<br />
<br />
Makin' 'Merica Great Again is exactly what its all about. Don't need no Constitutional scholar to tell us no different. Just wish all them other folks weren't so danged stoopid.William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6413046.post-22495524606480209382018-06-04T15:31:00.000-05:002018-06-04T15:31:10.253-05:00Wastin' away again in...a conch shell...with my ass in a lawn chair.Gawd how I loved Jimmy Buffett. I sank neck deep in the hot-tub of lost salt shakers and pirate dreams. I savored the literary lines of Quixotic adventures. I went to Paris, wearing a pencil thin moustache, ran in to a chum and ended up with one more tattoo.<br />
<br />
Then I heard Kenny. You might have hear of him, Kenny Chesney.<br />
<br />
Then...<br />
<br />
Then I heard Zac Brown.<br />
<br />
Then...<br />
<br />
Then it dawned on me.<br />
<br />
I had slipped into a dream. Having been to one of the "Rocks" in the Caribbean I knew a little about fast cars and tiki bars, bartenders kissed by the sun, clear blue ocean waters. I had experienced first hand the lure of white sand beaches and tall icy-fruity-rum drinks with little umbrellas. So I knew exactly how this dream would end.<br />
<br />
Yet the songs persisted. They demanded. They commanded ... me. They insisted that my entire existence wouldn't be worth an ol' pickup-dawg-ex-wife song if I didn't sell everything and buy a boat.<br />
<br />
Today is Monday. I was able to steal an extra 10 minutes to sit on the porch this morning before resuming my real world responsibilities. I suppose the dream is ok for celebrities who can afford to slink off to some tropical get away after a season of stadium shows. But those extra 10 minutes are worth more than any dream.William Meloneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10883000944415604097noreply@blogger.com0