Everydayness

Nighthawks (1942) - Edward Hopper
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A conversion at a Edward Hopper Exhibit:

Docent: I have seen you before. You like Edward Hopper.

Young Man: Yes. I do.

Docent: I hope you are not thinking of doing 'A Thomas Crown' on the Hopper exihibit.

Young Man: I beg you pardon?

Docent: Sorry. A bad joke.

Docent (inclining his head towards 'Nighthawks'): What do you like about it?

Young Man: By the way, I am Binx Bolling. I like to hear what you have to say first.

Docent (shaking Bolling's hand): Glad to meet you, sir. I am Soren Regeneré.

First of all, Mr. Bolling, Hopper has another name for this 1942 oil on canvas. He also called it The Wanderers.

The most authoritative voice on Hopper and his art is his wife, Josephine. Jo, for short, to the artist community. Hopper described this work as a painting of "three characters." The man behind the counter, though imprisoned in the triangle, is in fact free. He has a job, a home, he can come and go; he can look at the customers with a half-smile. It is the customers who are the nighthawks. The lost wanderers, if you will. Let me write this down. You can read more about Nighthawks and others in Sister Wendy's American Masterpieces.

Young Man: I keep coming back to this painting to look for something. That's it. The word you just said. Imprisoned. That is what escapes me.

Docent (chuckling): What you just said is ironic, whether or not you realize it. Are you a painter, Mr. Bolling? No? Then, what positives and negatives do you see in Nighthawks?

Young Man (pursing his lips): Let's see. The positives: Life, place of rest and refreshment, lots of lights. The negatives: a deserted city, dark street, empty street, isolation, loneliness, no door, no entry, tense atmosphere, to hunch one’s shoulders, not talking, characters crying to speak out but can't. What's the word for all these...?

Docent: Despair.

Young Man (nodding his head and squinting his eyes at 'Nighthawks'): Yes...

Docent: What Harper captured in Nighthawks is everydayness. His characters, with the exception of the waiter perhaps, are unaware of being in despair. Accepting and existing in everydayness is despair, Mr. Bolling. It's not living a purposeful life. Put it in another way, the everydayness is exisitng inside a sealed glass bottle; and the boat inside goes nowhere. Happiness costs little, too. In Nighthawks, it is a cup of coffee at a familiar surrounding.

No amount of light casts over these characters will jolt them out of their rut. The weary dark shadows of alienation tenaciously abide. For them, living outside of everydayness comes only when illness, disaster, or death is laid at their feet. In that transient moment, life is real and they live outside the bottle.

Young Man: I like the word everydayness. May I use it?

Docent (smiling): Life can be harsh, Mr. Bolling. It beats down and tramples the soul. Art, such as the Hopper collection, reminds you and I have one. It is God given. May I speak something off the record and personally, Mr. Bolling? Thank you.

Moreover and utmost important, God is given man a soul. Our chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever. He can free us from our imprisoned and everydayness existence. If we let Christ in, He knows where the door to our heart and soul is. Now, let's go back to Hopper.

There are three other Hopper's American Realism pieces on exihibit that tie in with Nighthawks. Go have a look at Night Shawdows, Approaching City, and Sunday.

Young Man (looking at his watch): I have a movie I want to see. I will be back to look at the other Hopper paintings. You have just given me my 2005 resolution. Happy new year, Soren. Thanks for everything.

Docent: Goodbye, Mr. Bolling. A happy new year to you also.

Behind the Oysters is the Landscape

This book review is titled: "Behind the Oysters is the Landscape"
My Amazon nom de plume is: Gussie Fink-Nottle.

This review has been posted to Amazon. The Amazon link to this book is embedded below.

My reveiw of this book is as follows:

The opening line of this book is:
"WHAT YOU NOTICE in the month of May is the tiles, like roof tiles but white, stacked by thousands at one point after another along the shore."

The last line on page 203 is:
"BENEFICIENT Oyster, good to taste, good for the stomach and the soul, grant us the blessing of your further mystery."

In between these 200 pages concerning oysters, Eleanor Clark wrote a definitive classic on the amalgamation of geography, human history, ecology, and commerce. One reads much of the mystery or the character of this mollusk at this Breton coast. It expresses itself through the human being just as it does through its own.

These oysters of Locmariaquer can be appreciated or thought of in two ways. How they are farmed in this northwestern Breton Coast can be thought of as being incidental. The important thing, some argues, this is a place of scenary, good oyster eating, and tourism. Or one can see with an understanding eye, as the author wants the reader to see, at the landscape. This Locmariaquer landscape, with the oysters, is repleted with the rich voice of its ancestors, myths, history, and human foibles.

Equipped with this behind the scene knowledge, the mystery of the Locmariquer mollusk is revealed. Now we can trippingly roll off our tongue why these Breton oysters are dear to the gourmet. Put on a few more dozens of these oysters on the barbie, won't you? No, not on the doll.

*Note: This book was published in 1964. In the 1970s, some if not all of the oyster varieties named in the book had been devastated by parasites. Today, the region is cultivating the hardier Japanese oyster, the Japanese naissain (the Gigas) variety, to sustain the industry and a way of life.

In Times Like These

As another year draws to a close, apropos our generation and the world events - wars, famine, and catastrophes - the following words of supplication are recalled. These words are the last two stanzas of a narrative poem 'Dear Lord and Father of Mankind'. John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) wrote these lines in 1872.

Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of Thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm.

Hey, Nonny Nonnie

I have just finished commenting on a comment on my blog. My comment was on the nature of blogging commentaries. It sounds convoluted already in my trying to explained what I wrote. Enough.

Anyway, a flash of brilliance equivalent to a 4-watt night light came to me ensuing my commentary on my commentary. I am dim-witted, please indulge me for a little while. The following is an imaginary, if not silly, blog and response.

Setting: a blogger met someone at a gathering. He left her his blog site address, with the hope she might pay a visit. In this blog, he described how she looked to him at the party. Only she would know how she looked at the party, perhaps not the same way the blogger saw her.

Blogger to his l'objet d'amour:
You seemed all brown and soft, just like a linnet,
Your errant hair had shadowed sunbeams in it,
And there shone April in your face.

Alas, in stumbled L'Envoi Budinsky to his blog. L'Evnoi can be a pain sometimes to his peers. He never let a literary moment went to naught. Very uncouth was he. With not even a forethought of apologies extended to Emily Dickinson, he submitted and signed this comment.

L'Envoi Budinsky:
Beneath the blessed moon-lapped smile
On waters hushed at nights wild
Our passions quivered full to swoon
One soul one heart our eternal tune

I will leave it to the fertile mind of the reader as to how the blogger would react to this unwelcome intrusion.

A Time and a Place

Today is the last day of my Christmas break before returning to the bowels of crime and punishment. The winter face is showing its colors, "where, outside, rain and wind combine with a furtive ear, if I strive to speak, with a hostile eye... a malice that marks each word, each sign..."* Maybe that's the reason I prefer blogging to speaking.

I was writing a new blog when Raymond, whom I met in ou sont les neiges d'antan?, brought over a Christmas gift. A surprise but not an unwelcome visit. The time and the place were right.

After Raymond's visit, a writer's block ensued. The blog on an Edward Hopper painting and the approaching new year will not be written this afternoon.


*Robert Browning - "Never the Time and the Place"

Iris dévoilée (Iris unveiled)

This Iris plants are an important in the myth, art, and cultivation in many societies. The Chinese composer, Qigang Chen (or Chen Qigang), has rendered a musical portrait of the female sex likened to the fragile and beautiful Iris flower.

This 2003 Iris dévoilée (Iris unveiled) recording is a much acclaimed piece of artistry. In his arranged marriage of the East and West musical ware, Chen has exotically woven a tapestry of sensual harmonics and vocalises (Beijing operatic and Western) depicting the eternal feminine mystique.* The musical metaphors of the female personae are intrinsically Chinese. There are five additional tracks on the CD. Each invokes an element of the five core progenitors that which gave rise to the physical world known to the Chinese.

This, however, is not the CD one wishes to complement the delicacies of the conversation, nor when solitude is desired.

* The nine mica panels of female attributes portraited in this tone poem are:

1. Ingenious
2. Chaste
3. Libertine
4. Sensitive
5. Tender
6. Jealous
7. Melancholic
8. Hysterical
9. Voluptuous

An Honest Thought of Christmas

A foreign student studying in England wrote unprententiously in this blog about Christmas:

What is Christmas to me? Apart from Christmas presents & Christmas sale shopping, nothing much I guess. As I don't believe in God, neither Jesus.

I do eat turkey + gravy, I love Christmas crackers the most, I collect little toys inside, I like to wear the paper crown. I never try mince pie though, maybe next year.

The last time I was ill on Christmas Day... was something like 13 years ago... I remember I did not eat any food on that day while all my relatives were around my house having a party & feast, & I was dying on the bed. This year, I am ill again, I down the whole bottle of medicine & waiting for miracle to come.

I left the following remarks on this person's journal:

With regard to Jesus and His birth, you have a trilemma. Only one of the following three alternative is true. The trilemma is this:

1. Jesus was a liar

2. Jesus was a lunatic

3. Jesus was and is God

I suppose I am not being fair by making you think when you are ill...

Epiphany

She asked.
The reply: "As long as you have memories, there will be roses in the dead of winter."

She asked again.
The reply: "As long as you have hope, tomorrow awaits you."

She asked.
The reply: "Friendship itself is of no particular value. It's of value only when your life allows it."

She whispered to her soul:"As long as I have friends, life is worth the living."
The reply: "This is the desired epiphany."

She inclined her head and smiled.

What Child is This?

He is the Word.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

Merry Christmas to one and all!

There is an Exit

I have on occasions frequented this existenial poet's blog. I am the only visitor thus far who has commented on the journal. The following is my response to this poet's latest blog entitled "Le Mythe de sysphe", which the author borrowed from Albert Camus, the noted French existentialist. This blogger's lament is that science explains nothing of life and the universe.

My comments are as follows. There are puns and double-entrendres regarding Camus (sorry about that).

You intrigue me.

You are not what you are at any given moment
You are what you are not
You are your future which is not yet
And your past which is no longer

I have just distilled the existentialistic you in four lines. Is this why you called yourself "Zero"?

There is no exit with Camus. Camus is dead. Existentialism is the pseudo-intellectual thief who robs you of your youth and years. It is a Sisyphean task to find the meaning of life via Camus or in any philosophical pursuit. Don't let it.

The vast heavens are telling, the smallest neutrinos are telling - there is a divine order in the universe. Cosmology can only get it down to three seconds before the Big Bang. The mathematically deduced explanation of how the universe is formed is still missing three seconds.

God is not a mathematical formula. Neither is He anything we can postulate.

You are obviously a very educated, talented, and prolific writer. Thus far, your existential prose reveals only the pessimistic ephemeral "Zero." Is there an extrovert, an exuberant, a solidly grounded side of you?

Anyway, all that philosophical stuff aside, let me be the first one to extend you the warmest of Christmas wish on this day.

Où sont les neiges d'antan?

"If we think of space as that which allows movement, then place is pause; each pause in movement makes it possible for location to be transformed into place." -- Yi-Fu Tuan, a geographer and a notable explorer of the notion of place

These United States is a land of dislocation and discontinuity. Our forefathers suffered the original form of nostaliga. A geographic disease. A literal home sickness. They would call the new land after their places of origin. Names such New York, Delhi, Richmond Hill, or New Orleans.

Our 21st century generation no longer has a sense of physical or geographic place. The important of place and distance has eroded over the years, overtaken by consciousness of time. One aireline ad suggests, we are free to "move about the country" while airborne. Even on terra firma, instead of referring traveling by car from Modesto to San Francisco the distance about 90 miles, we now say the trip takes about an hour and 45 minutes.

For us Americans, nostalgia has now shifted to a feeling of sentimentality. We yearn for the bucolic and pastoral "good ol' days." But we don't have much a clue what those days were. In our sentimentality we call our surburbs and townships "Oakdale", "Maple Ridge", or "Quail Lake" just so to assuage our rootless angst. For those of us Modestans who live in the vicinity of the "Sherwood Forest", we might feel warm and fuzzy about the subdivision and its name. The truth is, we don't live in a forest. There are houses, street lights, asphalt pavement, curbside mailboxes, a gas station, and a park named Sherwood.

Like many mobile Americans, I don't really know the space on which I now pause. The place I now sleep with a roof over my head is home. The city where my home is located I call hometown. And yet, I know very little of the Central Valley landscape upon which the city Modesto is built. As I see it, the landscape breathes life into a place. It is the voice of ancestors, the living, the myth, and history.

François Villon, in his work, "Ballade des dames du temp jadis", asks this question: "Où sont les neiges d'antan?" (Where are the snows of yesteryear?) His longing question implies that the snows have been moved somewhere else, a place one might, with luck, find. Not a tranquil thought or prospect anyway one looks at it.

Christmas is marked by a metamorphosis in space and time 2000 years or so ago. A visitation by God upon humanity forever transformed the direction of history. A minor and less seismic transformation is needed at where I now paused.

The residents in the neighborhood are mostly strangers to me. Each of us lives in a regulated existence cocooned in his comfort zone. For the past several Christmas seaons, it has been my ritual to visit others living in the nearby streets. The last several days I brought with me either poinsettias or a pasta baskets to the families nearby. Two days ago I met a new neighbor whose native tongoue is Spanish. The family keeps an immaculate house and yard. To the contiguous neighbors I rekindled the spirit of community . Today I visited two familes, one of which was the elderly widow Mrs. Hoffman. She and I spent hours regaled each others with antics. There is one more family to see tomorrow. A widower and his two late teen children.

Slowly, I am learning where on earth I stand. The snows of yesteryears I will leave with Villon.

Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Tread

I wrote the following text on a subject today:

'Love's function is to fabricate unknownness. That known is being wishless, but love, is all of wishing.' She wishes. He wishes.

To seperate the wheat from the chaff, the female in wish of a "good" husband could start by asking the suitors three riddles as follows:

1. What phantom dies each dawn but each night is reborn in the heart?

2. What blazes up when you think of great deeds, is hot in love, and grows cold when you die?

3. What is the ice that sets you on fire?

If there are males wanting to take on riddles such as these, then at the very least, they possess a much wished but often lacking mental faculty in a man-woman relationship. Imagination.

To love and to sustain love, it requires imagination.

Just in Time

This past October I went to Best Buy and brought some computer supplies. At the check-out counter the clerk handed me a "Scratch and Score" card. I obligingly scratched the card, and voila! I won One Million Points or $330.00 worth of store coupons. The store employees in the vicinity of my aurora were excited. Phone calls were made to the manager. Assistants (the one who wore black ties and shirtsleeves) were looking over the details of the award on the back of the card. As it turned out, there were only 80 such scratch-and-play prize cards available throughout the Best Buy chain. I had won one of them. To claim the reward I needed to mail in the card along with some personal information.

This was the biggest store promotion ever from anywhere I'd won. I didn't get too worked up over the prize though. There had to be a catch somewhere. When I got home I read the fine prints several times. No conditions. Hmm. So, I did win something without requirements afterall. For the price of a 37-cent stamp, I could receive $330.00 worth of stuff. So I stapled the winning card on a 3x5 card with my personal data and sent it to the Best Buy HQ somewhere in the U.S. That was two months ago.

I have almost forgotten about the award until a special UPS delivery early this morning. The $330.00 coupons arrived. The reward nothwitstanding, I was running out of excuses procrastinating over shopping for Christmas presents. Since I am on a long weekend holiday beginning today, I set my internal navigational system on a beeline course to the Best Buy store.

The Christmas shopping is done. There will be some happy friends and relatives this Christmas. They are a resourceful bunch, mind you. For this reason, what I bought them for this year's presents will not be disclosed on this blog.

It Was Simple, But Not Easy

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, I walked in the Immanual Christian Reformed Church with my dog-eared copy of Schirmer's Handel's "Messiah" Oratorio. I eagerly anticipated a sing-a-long with other aficionados of this beloved masterpiece. After a few Christmas of singing beside the Otto Klemperer's Handel:Messiah recording, I thought it was time to sing in a live setting. I should be able to hold my own among the lay public. Simple enough. I would have my 15 minutes of fame.

With the pleasantries dispensed, I was directed to the tenor section toward the front of the church. Immediately I knew something had gone amiss on the stage. Excepting the four chairs for the soloists set facing the audience, no standing platforms for the choir were erected behind the chairs. Then it hit me. We, the ones with music in hand up front, were the choir. Oops.

The local oratorio society has had a long history of inviting the public to Handel's Messiah Sing-A-Long. Each Christmas season its invitation beckoned my spirit and set my soul adrift. By thought I embraced every invitation. On this one Sunday, I heeded the call. With wings of mind I sallied forth. I had a rendezvous with a "must sing." Tripping the light fantastic I went.

A small taste of arts had led to over confidence in one's talent. Once the Overture began, the die was cast. From the opening tenor recitative "Comfort Ye My People" to the final chorus "Worthy is the Lamb That Was Slain!", all went by in a blur. When the concert concluded, I left the church drenched in perspiration.

It was not an easy excercise for me to sing "The Messiah." I was blessed nonetheless. Because worthy is He.

In song and praise, on that very special day I beheld "the Lamb of God who came to take away the sin of the world" (John 1:29)

The Lord is My Shepherd

I sent "Irish" a copy of George Thalben-Ball and the Temple Church Choir's recording and text of the hynm "The Lord is My Shepherd". This is my favorite hymn of all time. It is Psalm 23 put to music by Jessie Seymoure Irvine in 1872.

My prayer is that Irish will find Christ in his heart this Christmas, and that the green leaves of hope and joy will blossom for him this day onward.

The 23rd Psalm (King James Version)

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Regression Analysis

Regression analysis is one many quantitative applications I use in my work. It and a host of statistical tools fall in the category known as forecasting methodologies. Well, a skill I possess is a in state of disgrace. I don't need regression analysis to extrapolate a prediction. This skill of my is trending toward the abyss. There is no positive correlation between expectation and outcome in this case. No amount of tweaking can nudge it back up the chasm toward the positive direction of the trendline. It has regressed beyond redemption. I am talking about my handwriting skills.

I had penmanship classes in junior high school. Writing continues-stroke style in a manner akin to chancery cursive was taugh to every student. I was very good at cursive writing. Throughout high school my handwriting was better than decent. For a while it was an esoteric pursuit in which I'd indulged. Perhaps I'd wanted to emulate the hand of my grandfather.

One of the things I remember well of my deceased maternal grandfather was he had a very beautiful cursive hand. His handwriting was very similar to the style I was taught. To this day, I regreted I did not ask how a Lance Corporal in the US Marine Corps could write cursive letters like he.

The wonder years became the university and the professional years. The once proudly possessed artful hand has given way to expediency. Fast scribbles of trade acronyms, notes, and symbolisms have become my communicative norms. If there were anything substantive to be written, it is done on the utilitarian wordprocesor. Utility has won over art.

I could no longer write connectively and flowingly the way I once did. It took me over an hour this morning to write six Christmas cards. Including the salutation, the body, and closing, the total word count of each card was about 20. It was not the Christmas message which hindered me. I was struggling with who I was and who I have become. I didn't want to just scrawl a Christmas greeting, and yet, the cursive letters could not be written the way they should. That was the rub.

The Persian poet, Omar Khayyam, in his classic poem, The Rubaiyat, writes: "The moving finger writes; and having writ moves on. Nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it."

So it was and so it shall be. The insidious transformation from Jekyll to Hyde is complete. Goodbye, cursive handwriting. I knew thee well.

The Prometheus of Music

There are about 48 miniutes left on this man's birthday.

He is the Thor - the Thunderer. He is power, passion, and pride. He is Ludwig van Beethoven. He is an immortal in classical music.

Total Recall

This morning I returned the borrowed iPAQ to Denisse, our Oracle/UNIX systems guru, with the accompanied remark, "Your iPAQ doesn't switch on for some season."

She gave me this "oh well" look, and accepted the PDA. She turned it over a couple times, poked it here and there, and nonchalantly laid it down on the desk. Denisse is like that. She is very good at what she does. When it comes to computers and electronic gismos, she just dosen't get excited about them.

Following the command staff meeting this afternoon, I decided it was time to put this turkey to rest. After consulting the user's manual on the truth and consequences of doing a hard reset, I flatlined the iPAQ with out fanfare. Then with great expectations I resurrected the unit.

The iPAQ is now returned to the original factory settings. I WLAN linked the unit at home this evening. The total recall did nothing. Nada. Zilch. Goose egg. No Internet.

There are no more usual suspects to round up. The bad boy has to be the router.

The 66_2/3 % Solution

I finally got my hand on the second of three HP-iPAQ 5500 in existence within our department. The other user was very gracious when she lent it to me this afteroon. I needed a second wireless iPAQ to isolate where my home based WLAN is having the problem.

The Problem Restated: My iPAQ has abruptly stopped its wireless access feature to the Internet, nothwithstanding the access point/router is recognized and connected. The router works fine with two other desktop computers. To add it twist to this problem, the iPAQ connects fine to the Internet when an outside access point was used.

The Test: Determine if the failure of my iPAQ to connect to the home based WLAN internet was caused by a corrupted file. This hypothetical file or files could reside in either the Linksys router or inside the iPAQ itself. A second iPAQ with no known WLAN faults would be the candidate to determine which of the two stated suspects is to blame.

My hope to do this test was dashed this evening. The borrowed iPAQ after receving a full recharge, failed to turn on. The on-off button did nothing. So much for the 66.66% solution.

I might resort to do a hard reset on the iPAQ back to the factory defaults. The reset should restore the PDA back to its out-of-the-box condition. This means I should be able to the test as stated. I was hoping I didn't have to come to this step.

I have not decided if a total recall is to be performed on the "faulty" iPAQ.

A Road Not Taken

While doing some on-line research, I read a blog that got me shaking my head.

This person of twentysomething has a college degree in Criminal Justice. For whatever reason, he is doing sales work at a clothing store and snowbroading in his free time. He, however, wants to move to southern California in the next few years.

I had to say something to him about getting a grip on reality and not to squander time and life. I also gave him some further career possibilities in CJ, if he would apply himself.

Gift Paper and Ribbons Not Required

There was just too much to pen with regard to this evening's Christmas gathering. I provide the setting, the reader, if he does not mind, supplies the imagination of sight, sound, and smell.

Weather: Cool, 50s F, Clear Night

Location: Modesto, California. A quite neighborhood ornated with Christmas lights and decorations.

Cast: 40+ adults.

Scene and Activity Inside House #1: Warm Christmas motif interior, snacks, soups, hot cider and cranberry drink. Christmas music, getting to know who's who, and who brought what to go with the soup. A warm and appreciative time were had by all.

Time Spent in House #1: ~ 2 hours.

Fade Out house #1.

Desserts in hand, all walked and sang carols on way to House #2 next street over.

Scene and Activity Inside House #2: Warm Christmas motif interior, lots of desserts, coffee and refreshments. More warm moments of Christmas hearts shared and friendships woven.

Time Spent in House #2: ~1 hour.

Fade Out House #2.

God bless one and all. Goodnight.

~ * ~
Surely, tonight in this little corner of God's creation, His gift of Christmas has replenished the fire of hospitality with the genial flame of giving not wrapped in gift paper and ribbons.
~ * ~

KDFC

Once upon a time there were two FM classical radio stations in the San Francisco Bay Area. KKHI was the predominant larger San Franciscio station, whose broadcasts I'd listend to the most. On the hand, KDFC was the Palo Alto - Stanford (south of San Francisco) station. Its classical selections, as I recall, had always been more obscured and eclectic. Whenever I tuned in, it either played Renaissance or Baroque period music. Boring.

There are no classical music stations in Modesto to this day. Before Comcast cable acquired our local cable company,there was a short-lived attempt for an AM station to broadcast some Boston Pops-like light classical music. That didn't work because the station also aired major leagues sports.

The residents had two choices to reliablity receive classical music broadcasts. One was to listen to KKHI on the radio band of the TV cable signal piped in to the house. This required the splitting of the TV cable into two. One connected the television and the other (if one knew how) connected to a radio or radio amplifier. The other choice was to listen to 3-hour segments of NPR classical music aired from the University of the Pacific (the alma mater of Dave Brubeck) Monday through Friday.

When KKHI went off the air several years ago, the local ATT cable company piped in KDFC in its stead. When Comcast bought out ATT, it substituted canned music programs. No more live connection to any radio stations. And the university station went to all talk shows to compete with the likes of Rush Limbaugh. It didn't last.

Enough of history.

KDFC has a makeover. Less stuffy and more varieties. NPR now also has KXPR from out of Sacramento State University (80 miles north of Modesto) as its 24-hour classical station.

Now the really good news: Since the first week of December 2004, both radio stations are streaming audio contents on the Internet.

My station of choice is KDFC.

Reading E.M. Forster

Today I started to read my Palm version of "A Room with a View." I have several books I am alreading reading. (I use a PDA database to keep track of the books I have read, days spent on reading a book, rating, and comments.)

One of these open-ended books is "The Oysters of Locmariaquer" by Eleanor Clark. It's been over two years since I started the book, and I am only half way through it. I'd like to finish this book and write a review before the new year arrives.

As far as my reading plan for "A Room" goes, that is another story.

The Messiah's Invitation To The People

Over the internet today, I shared this thought with a person of Irish ancestry. At the young age of 24, vicissitude has etched much pain and disappointment on the soul and spirit of this person.

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30 KJV)

These words of Christ are sung as a soprano Air (No. 20 aria 2) from Handel's "Messiah." It is not only beautiful music, but it's true in its message. If you have not heard it, listen to this Handel oratorio, if you can, this Christmas season.

From the cockles of my heart, I am sharing this thought with the hope and prayer that you (and ___) will find Jesus in your heart this Christmas. :)

As the Irish would say: "Rath Dé ort" (The grace of God be with you.)

Let the Rest of the World Go By

I got into my first Christmas shopping traffic jam after work today. Modesto is the shopping mecca for those who live within 30 miles radius of it. The Vintage Faire Mall and acres of other shops and eats like Best Buy, Target, Applebees are built parallel to the state route. The off ramp to the shopping area is also where I exit.

Like many others commuters and shoppers, I had to inch along toward the Beckwith exit on State Route 99 South. It took me about half an hour crawling along the highway shoulder before I could get on the off ramp. It tested the patience for all who shared the same fate. Especially for someone such as I who drove a stick-shift truck. Cluctch-and-go, Clutch-and-stop. Amazingly, everyone in the queue seemed to accept or resign to the madess. Far from the maddening crowd we weren't.

While lurching along the road, my mind was disjointed and out of frame with the rousing Saint-Saen's Second Symphony spiriting from the classical music airwave. I was humming an old 1919 tune - "Let the Rest of the World Go By." It assuaged the stress of being stuck in traffic on an already darken sky.

I like this song. I hope you will too. Redford and Streep danced to this tune in the 1985 film "Out of Africa." Here are the words and the MIDI I've prepared for your singing and listening pleasure. J. Keirn Brennan and Ernest R. Ball wrote the words and music to this old standard.

Click on the song title link below to play or download the music.

Let The Rest of the World Go By

With someone like you, a pal good and true
I'd like to leave it all behind and go and find
Some place that's known to God alone
Just a spot to call our own
We'll find perfect peace, where joys never cease
Out there beneath a kindly sky
We'll build a sweet little nest somewhere in the west
And let the rest of the world go by

With someone like you, a pal good and true
I'd like to leave it all behind and go and find
Some place that's known to God alone
Just a spot to call our own
We'll find perfect peace, where joys never cease
Out there beneath a kindly sky
We'll build a sweet little nest somewhere in the west
And let the rest of the world go by

The Perimeter Is Mocha Secured (Maybe)

The kitty ultrasonic repellent is now in operation. It's battery operated with an IR detection range of 20 feet. The protection range is 330 square feet. This niffty gizmo is positioned in the Alysum flower bed, pointing towards Mocha's lair next door.

An invisble line is drawn in the grass. The next move is up to Mocha. Ha Ha.

What's plan B you ask?

There is no plan B per se. Cats do as they well please.

It Was Great Fun

My agency has issued me a new high-end biometric security featured HP iPAQ 5500 Pocket PC. This six-plus-ounce little marvel has been put through its pace. It has served me well on and off work. Last evening, something caused the system to disconnect from the Internet service.

My applying the standard rescue measures failed to revive the Internet connection from the iPAQ. The IT Helpdesk I talked with this morning were clueless also. I couldn't fault them, really. There are several flavors of PDAs being used in the department. Held hand PDA maintenance is not the tech support's forté. Only three iPAQ 5500 issued to selected staff to date. I am the only heavy iPAQ 5500 user among these fortunate few. If any one knows how this thing works, it is I. For the moment, wireless Internet usage with this iPAQ is out of the question.

I am with Cole Porter on this one. It was great fun, but it was just one of those things.

AC or DC, That is the Question

A follow-up to the Perpetual Kitten blog.

For years we have placed chicken wire on various parts of the yardscape where cats would most likely go to do their business. They have worked effectively as a deterrent and are very durable to this day.

Ironically, the largest area where we didn't have problems before was the lawn. Now, that's changed. One section of the front lawn has become the favorite hangout to which our neighbor's cat or likes to frequent.

As a short term tactical ward, we have implemented a two tier defence against Le Moka la Reine de Poop (Mocha the Poop Queen). A layer of chicken wire has been placed over the hot spots. Then later in the evening, the lawn sprinkler system will activate for a few minutes to wet the grass. In any case, the chicken wire would have to be removed on the day the grass is mowed. A long term proactive and more aesthetic solution is needed.

Some high tech pet motion detection and deterrent devices are now being considered. Which to get, AC or DC powered? How about one of each?

Wouldn't it be nice if there were an AC/DC glowworm ala the Mills Brothers song we could deploy against Le Moka?

Till then (another Mills Brothers song),
to sleep, perchance to dream of a good pet motion detection gizmo; ay, there is the rub.

The saga continues.

SA Red Kettle Fund Drive. Part II - Alvin

The Raley's Supermarket (not the one where I blogged about the VFW Buddy Poppies) at the Century Plaza is practically situated next to Gottchalks . In front of the market's main entrance, there was an elderly black man ringing the bells for the red kettle Christmas fund drive. So, it was a surprise for us to see two Salvation Army red kettles only steps away from each other. Since our appointed assignment was at Gottchalks, that's where we went. But we were still curious with whom or what organization this fellow associated.

After driving Martha home I came back to Gottchalks. I wanted to find out who that bell ringer was. Besides, we needed some cleaning sponges. I took a bulging coin purse with me and went to Raley's.

I couldn't find the utility sponges (translation: this guy didn't know where to look) so I decided I would have better luck with this other bell ringer person. I emptied several dollars of changes into the kettle while chatted with the man. He called himself Alvin.

Alvin worked alone from 9 to 6. He came from Lodi (45+miles north of Modesto). He earned $6.75 an hour.

I went back to Irene with the good news and the bad news. The good news was I found out Alvin was a seasonal worker hired by Salvation Army to do the fund drive. The bad news was I couldn't find the type of kitchen sponges Irene wanted.

I beckoned Irene to go look for the sponges. This was the time a woman got to to do a woman got to do. To buffer my embrassment at the failed task , I thought it would be nice if she could say hello to Alvin.

After our shift was over, we went to Raley's for the sponges. I handed Alvin enough money for a dinner that evening. He was surprised. He thanked and then hugged me.

Alvin and us exchanged the "C" word in our goodbyes. Yes, Christmas is the reason for the season - always.

SA Red Kettle Fund Drive. Part I - Martha

It had stopped raining when we arrived at the Century Plaza. The autmnal sun was playing hide-and-seek with the cumulus clouds. Scattered leaves were blown about by a chilly wind. They swirled and eddied round the parking lot. An elderly lady from our church had the solo watch of the red kettle at Gottchalks from 11 to 1. Her name was Martha. Although we go the same church, we had not met before until this past Saturday.

Ten minutes went by since we donned our red aprons and started our bell ringing duty. Martha still had not left. She stood aside and waited. I had to ask.

"My daughter is going pick me up. We are going to a wedding." She said.
"When is the wedding?" I inquired.
"Two O'Clock." She casually replied.

Martha was not attired to attend a wedding while she did her two-hour stint bell ringing at the Gottchalk. That much was certain. I was piqued as to why she didn't seem perturb at the possiblity of missing the wedding ceremony.

"I think you had better call your daughter." I offered Martha my cell phone.
"She is still not readied." She concluded after talking with her daughter.
"Could I drive you to the wedding instead?" I was getting a bit anxious for her.
"Actually, I don't want to go to the wedding. I want to go home." Martha explained.

As it turned out, Martha was not acquainted with the bride and groom, much less received an invitation to attend the wedding. They were her daughter's friends. She depended on her daughter to take her home after the red kettle Christmas fund drive. The latter was Martha's transportation home. The plan was for Martha to go to the wedding first, then home.

I offered to drive Martha home, while Irene continued her duties at the red kettle. Martha was relieved that I would drive her home. She didn't want to go to a wedding not invited.

During the 10-mile one way jaunt to her home out in the country on Paradise Road, I came to know more of Martha and her family. They have lived and worked in Modesto since the 1950s. Both she and her daughter are widowed. They and a granddaughter now live in the same house.

The round-trip back to the shopping center took about an hour. It was a blessing for us to come to know Martha this day. We'll give Martha her red kettle bell ringer picture next time we meet.

God has a purpose for everything.

Bach and Vivaldi and Scarlatti, Oh My!

It's almost midnight. I thought some on-line classical music would help set the mood to pen an account of an eventful day. (To pen something using a wordprocessor is an oxymoron in today's Internet speak. Sigh.)

Alas, my favorite Winamp station has been playing continuously a string (pun) of "bouncy" Bach partitas, Vivaldi concerti, and Scalatti's quartets. Enough already.

I suppose it's too much to hope at this late hour for John Rutter's choral piece "What Sweeter Music." It's taken from the original title A Christmas Carol Sung to the King in the Presence at Whitehall by Robert Herrick (1591-1674).

Chorus: What sweeter music can we bring,
than a carol for to sing
the birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! awake the string!
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything
awake! the while the active finger
runs division with the singer.

Now, that's a piece to reflect upon and to pen by.

I am going to call it a night.

Off to Salvation Army Bell Ringing

It's raining at this moment.

Three care packages mailed out this morning to the Any Soldier recipients.

Having a quick lunch now and will be heading out to Gottchalks at the Century Plaza to do a two-hour shift of red kettle bell ringing.

The Perpetual Kitten

Le Chat Qui A Joué Fauré

Mocha, the new neighbor's cat, thinks my front lawn is her prized litter box. She prowls about my property constantly. I suppose the grass is greener on this side of the fence. There are no other usual suspects within Mocha's whisker or whiskers. Every now and then I espy a Cheshire Cat grin from you know what. Perpetual and circumstantial evidence lays it all out on the grass. It is guilty as charged.

Yet there is more than one way to sleuth a cat. I have just the title and jacket cover for the next Lilian Jackson Braun thriller, "Le Chat Qui A Joué Fauré"* (The Cat Who Played Fauré). It suits nicely as the sequel to "The Cat Who Played Brahms." I should have my people call her people to do a Kit Kat bar power munch and hash out a contract.

There is always someone like Rindawriter who loves cats and speaks to them the Dr. Doolittle way, however.

To each his own meow.

* Fauré: Complete Works for Cello

Shopping for the Troops

We are on a mission. Shopping for the troops. It's a jungle out there on this after Thanksgiving day. Off to Costco we go.

In the meantime, if you are reading this, go to the sidebar and link the Any Soldier site for details. We have been sending care packages, admittedly not often enough, to our troops in the Middle East and Bosnia since Gulf War I.

If you haven't already, why not make this Any Soldier care packaging to the troops your personal or neighborhood project this holiday season and beyond. They need more than lip service and car decals. After all, it is they who gave their todays for our tomorrows.

On Thanksgiving

Izaak Walton Hotel, Essex, MT. 08-24-04


God has two dwellings: one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart.
--Izaak Walton (1593-1683)


Read President Abraham Lincoln's 1863 Thanksgiving Proclamation here.

Some Enchanted Evening

Elegance is something more than ease--more than a freedom from awkwardness and restraint. It implies a precision, a polish, and a sparkling which is spirited, yet delicate.

--William Hazlitt (1778 - 1830)

Next to the Word of God, the noble art of music is His greatest gift to humanity. This is once more affirmed in last evening's Marie-Andreé Ostiguy piano concert. Her artistry is elegance epitomized.

Log the Walk

This blog is written on the iPAQ 5500 and sent to my weblog site using a WLAN connection.

I have a pedometer that can be called a classic, if the same age criterion accorded to a 20-year-old Honda is applied.

I bought this plastic molded instrument back in the days when "green stamps" redemption stores were in vogue. One such store in my neighborhood is now doing Sherwin-Williams home decors.

This unprentious pre-digital era counter is a simple two-control operation. Unlike today's consumer electronics, there are no modes nor settings in this meter. It has one lever on the side to set the stride length in inches. On top, there is a reset button for a four-cylinder display (000.0) of miles walked.

This thing does what it designed to do. But I have reset it accidentally in too many times than I care to count. As they say, all were user induced errors. After taking it with us on this past summer vacation to the American Rockies, the countdown for a replacement began.

Today, I have added a digital pedometer to a list of growing battery-dependent home and personal "appliances." The thought of buying Duracell stocks is becoming more attractive each step of the way.

How Will I Serve Mine?

This blog is written on the iPAQ 5500 and sent to my weblog site using a WLAN connection.

Last evening, our small group concluded its six-week study of Rick Warren's "The Purpose Driven Life." Except for Phil & Mary, the facilitators, Irene and I did not know who others were in the group.

We were the youngest two in the group. The others five couples were grandparents or in retirement. What faults, thoughts, inspirations, and hopes we shared in these past weeks transcended demographic identities. More important, our collective experience brought each of us a closer understanding of God's purpose for our being.

We have started as distant cousins in God's family. We are now a band of brothers and sisters. "In Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." Romans 12:5 (NIV).

Surely, the many Biblical principles expounded in this purpose driven life book will be revisited. Having this book in a digital PDA format facilitates the reviews and evaluations of my life according to His purpose for me.

"For David ... had served the purpose of God in his own generation." Acts 13:36 (NASB). How will I serve mine?

Got Purpose?

The 2004 post-election political commentaries that ensue from the media are familiar echoes of a Shakespearean line uttered on stage few hundred years earlier:

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries

Julius Caesar

Act IV, Scene 3

With the election results settled, the political pundits are now dispensing the "render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's" advices for governance. Some are even contriving a social-political agenda on "render unto God the things that are God's." The latter prospect is promulgated by the minority political party for its failing to anticipate the rising tide of the so-called "moral values" gathered at the exit polls. Whether the perceived moral values had contributed to one party's election victory and another's defeat are still being debated.

One ought to be so careful when considering a religion makeover for the purpose of political expediency. God is not mocked (Galatians 6:7).

Faith, hope, and charity are and because of God (1 Corithians 13:13; James 1:27). They can not be grafted on by political motivations nor attained by looking to self-help gurus.

Lest one cirlces or drifts aimlessly, faith and charity are a two-oar endeavor to one rowing in the river of life. They are borne of a contrite heart, with faith and hope placed in God (Psalm 51; 1 Peter 1:19-23). The direction to row comes from an abiding heart in response to Christ's love. All because it was He who loved us first (1 John 4:19).

We see a heart of service poured out from this faith-based poem, “I Shall Not Pass This Way Again.” This poem is an eloquent expression of a Christian woman who seeks and finds a life with purpose. A comfortable and idyllic existence is preferred but not purposeful. The Canadian poet and composer, Eva Rose York (1858 - post-1935), writes in these excerpted passages:

O God, forgive

That now I live

As if I might, sometime, return

To bless the weary ones that yearn

For help and comfort every day,-

For there be such along the way.

O God, forgive that I have seen

The beauty only, have not been

Awake to sorrow such as this;

That I have drunk the cup of bliss

Remembering not that those there be

Who drink the dregs of misery.

I love the beauty of the scene,

Would roam again o'er fields so green;

But since I may not, let me spend

My strength for others to the end,-

For those who tread on rock and stone,

And bear their burdens all alone,

Who loiter not in leafy bowers,

Nor hear the birds nor pluck the flowers,

A larger kindness give to me,

A deeper love and sympathy;

Then, O, one day

May someone say-

Remembering a lessened pain-

"Would she could pass this way again."

To read the complete poem:

I Shall Not Pass This Way Again

Autumn in Modesto, CA 2004

A View from Woodrow Park - E. Rumble Road


Taking advantage of a respite from the rain on this Veteran's Day, I went to Woodrow Park and took some digital photos of the fall color.

This park is a stone's throw from our house. In fact, Woodrow Park is one of three large public parks in our neigborhood. It's rare these days for a neighborhood to be situated within a radius of less than a mile from large parks such as these (pictures not shown).

War and Remembrance - Part II

Arlington National Cemetery, October 2003

Tell them of us and say,

For their tomorrow,

We gave our today.

~John Maxwell Edmonds (1875-1958)~

War and Remembrance - Part I

Red Corn Poppies/Flanders Poppy (Papaver rhoeas)

Next to the entrance at the Raley's supermarket on Tully, an elderly man sat quitely next to a table with a sign draping over the front which read "VFW...". Over the white table cloth laid a number of delicately hand-made red poppies. A stack of pamphlets. Near the edge of the table stood a 5-lb coffee container donation canister.

I pressed a bill into the canister and greeted the veteran. The soft spoken man who donned his service cap smiled, and handed me a poppy. He was borne in 1938. He asked if I were a veteran. I said I was a baby-boomer. We touched upon the wars of the past and present.

Many today, he said, didn't see war and remembrance like the "old ways." Before we parted, he asked if I were married. Then he gave me a second flower and a VFW pamphlet explaining the "Buddy" poppy. *

This soft spoken senior I met two Saturdays past was once a young soldier who fought in a war. Many years from now, how would our veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars talk about their "old ways"?

I lost one of the two poppies inside the store. The other one I tied it inside my truck behind the rear view mirror.

Today is the US Marine Corp's 229th birthday. Semper fi!

Suggested readings:

In Flanders Field - John McCrae
A Reply to "In Flanders Field"

In remembrance of a Modesto friend's brother, Justin Wood, along with others, gave their lives for duty, honor, and country on June 25, 1996, Dhahran, Saudi Arabia.

-----------------
*VFW poppies are assembled by disabled, needy and aging veterans in VA hospital, state veteran's homes and domiciliaries across the country. The majority of proceeds derived from each campaign conducted by VFW Posts and their Ladies Auxiliaries is retained locally to provide for veteran services and welfare.

Buddy Poppy proceeds represent no profit to any VFW unit. The money contributed by the public for Buddy Poppies is used primarily in the cause of veterans welfare, or for the well-being of their needy dependents and the orphans of veterans.

The U.S. Congress by Joint Resolution in Many 20, 2004, honoring past and current members of the Armed Forces and encouraging Americans to wear red poppies on Memorial Day.

Autumn at Monticello, 2003

Monticello, Fall Foliage, October 2003

This picture was taken on a warm October month at the Thomas Jefferson's world renown Monticello in 2003. As I recall, the temperture at Charlottesville, VA, was in the sunny 70's.

We have our Central Valley Fall Color.

If the weather permits (rain is in the forecast), I hope to get a few photos along the tree-lined Rumble Road near our neighborhood.

The Providential Election

There is a plethora of postmortems why Senator Kerry did not win the 2004 presidential elections. They are all very similar in diagnosis. I like to entertain heretofore an unexplored explanation. Senator Kerry was not destined to win this presidential election. Only God could have written, produced, and directed the implausible screen plays for George W. Bush's winning the two presidential elections.

Our United States, once founded upon Judeo-Christian principals, is now drowning in a sea of discontent and ever angry secularism from within. It now also facing the rising tides of post 9-11 Islamofascism from abroad. The country is treading precariously in a roiling sea of hate.

Christianity always seems like one generation away from extinction. Yet God never fails His own. He has a way of passing the baton to the next chosen one to race ahead of Satan in this pre-ordained contest. I am inclined to think George W. Bush has walked and is walking in the light of God's countenance (Psalm 89:15-18). His presidency is an act of Providence. His faith and moral clarity could be viewed as a beacon of hope, purpose, and anchor for the world's last and strongest bastion of Christianity.

In Ephesian 1, verse 10, Paul speaks of how God is a good steward with the history of His creation, which includes man. He manages this world well, not only as it relates to people in general, but most important, how it relates to our salvation. God has a plan for this president (and all believers). Perhaps God's purpose for this president is to take on a pivotal role in the on-going spiritual warfare with evil (Ephesians 6:12), thus ensuring the message of salvation goes forth still.

Suggested readings:

On Secularism in US Politics:
Read Here

On the Isalimzation of Europe:
Read Here

On Islamofascism Rising in Holland:
Read Here 1 of 2
Read Here 2 of 2

Fair and Balanced on PBS

I suppose PBS has discovered by doing "fair and balanced" news commentaries other than showcasing Bill Moyer and his ilk could improve its image and rating. The syndicate is now featuring the editorial board of The Wall Street Journal to a weekly 30 minutes roundtable news discussion as The Wall Street Journal Editorial Report.

This group is the braintrust of the Wall Street conservatives. I am not going to look at this gift-horse in the mouth. I welcome the program while it lasts.

Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

Last evening was a hectic time. I ran my own election decision desk for the states Ohio and Florida. Brit Hume et. al at Fox News Channel were biding their time in calling these two states for incumbent President George W. Bush. The ghost of the year 2000 Florida state election mess still haunted the networks. Notwithstanding the lesson of the Florida electoral projection debacle then, I thought it’s time to crunch my own election return numbers for these two swing states.

My election decision desk consisted of a Window XP PC, a television tuned to Fox News. I had several IE browsers windows opened and multi-tasked the following sites: The Drudge Report, The Fox News on-line electoral count, the Florida State on-line return tabulation, the Ohio State on-line return tabulation, and the Republican Red State blog.

I called both races for President Bush by 9:30 PM PST (12:30 AM EST). Nevertheless, I hovered about the television set waited for the validation of my projections. The confirmation finally came from Brit Hume near or at about mid-night (3:00 AM EST).

My able assistant, Irene, had provided this learned observation of the popular vote. The nearly four million popular votes President Bush received over Senator Kerry could very well have been cast by voters with strong religious and moral beliefs. (Note: The Republican top strategist, Karl Rove, estimated in the 2000 election, four million Christians did not vote.)

From under the vitriolic mud-slinging and accusations, the President had endured and won the election for a second term in office. The fringe Democratic Party elements are so despondent and outraged that the fortunate-son, President George W. Bush, has won - again. The President's resounding victory gives rise to a new meaning of the oft quoted phase, “Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune.”*

*Wiliam Shakespeare - "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark" Act III, Scene 1.

Vote!

Consider King David's last words when you vote.

Thanks to Richard and Ginger Colla for this Randall Thompson's inspirational chorale piece at Sunday's service.

The text for "The Last Words of David" is based on verses taken from the Book of Second Samuel:

"He who rules over men righteously, Who rules in the fear of God, Is as the light of the morning when the sun rises, A morning without clouds, When the tender grass springs out of the earth, Through sunshine after rain" -- II Samuel 23:3-4 NASB)

Listen to Randall Thompson's "The Last Words of David"

Presidential Election Predictions

Frank: Bush 56; Kerry 44

Irene: Bush 53; Kerry 47

A Cactus Does A Bouquet Make

It took me awhile to compose a message to go with the flowers we'd planned to send to Laurie Switzer. The 40 Days of Purpose study on the purpose of 'Fellowship' has hasten the will. Pleased with my short and marginally creative note, I showed it to Irene. With her tacit approval I went to the nearest florist.

The Brothers floral shop on Coffee Road does not deliver flowers on weekends. Not wanting to seek out other florists and holding out high hopes one of them would deliver flowers on this Saturday, my on the spot plan B was to go home and order the flowers via the Internet.

“Why order the flowers through the Internet? We could get her a cactus.” Irene gave me a matter-of-fact look after my less than triumphant return.

Inclined my head, our almost out-of-sight and out-of-mind cacti outside the house loomed in mind. “How would a cactus translate into a bouquet?”

“I don’t see why not. A cactus is still a bouquet.” She retorted.

I humphed and reminded her of the message: “The Son shines for trees and flowers for all the world to enjoy. A bouquet of His workmanship for your love and fellowship.”

"We are talking flowers here." I held her gaze.

"Cacti have blooms too." She looked resolute.

Then I pounced on her with the patented challenge in times of literary discord, “Look up bouquet in your Funk and Wagnalls.” (We have no literary references by these authors in our library, by the way)

Pity. She cleverly parried the dare, while not admitting to anything. “I will take care of the flowers for Laurie.” She folded the draft message and put it away.

The better part of valour is discretion. I knew then I'd better leave well enough alone.

Riverside City

I have a colleague who is from the Phillippenes. She has a very friendly disposition and works well with all of us. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, I would teach her some American colloquialism and idoms.

This morning we encountered some technical problems with one of her programs. So I went to see her and prefaced our discussion with the opening, "There is trouble in River City." I proceeded to explain what that phrase meant. While I was still in her office, she decided to test her newly acquired idomatic expression.

She called another colleague about the computer problems and started off by saying, "Pete, there is trouble in Riverside City."

Our agency will switch over to a new generation of law enforcement programs on 31 October. This is a light-hearted notation marking the last frentic working day before the change over. Our friend and colleague will be on-hand that day to oversee the transition.

Last Red Kettles at Target Modesto, CA

Standing next to the ubiquitous red kettle, Bruno was heartily ringing the hand bell when the next two volunteers arrived at 2 pm to assume the next two-hour shift. The kettle at the entrance to the McHenry Avenue Target Store was almost filled to the brim with bills and coins when the new shift began.

For the next two hours, Irene and I greeted many young and old faces. The kettle was filled to capacity by the time the next shift from our church arrived. We found a discarded clothe hanger to push in the new donations. We advised the new couple to do the same before we went on our way.

In today's Modesto Bee, we learned the Target Corporation has banned all manners of solicitation on its store premises. Henceforth, The Salvation Army kettle fund drives at the two Target stores in Modesto this year will only be a memory of Christmases past.

The Salvation Army was founded on the squalid streets of 19th-century London. The founder, William Booth, prescribed an enduring Christian principle which guides the organization to this day. The motto is "Soup, Soap, and Salvation." The Salvation Army Report 2004.

For those who took part in the red kettle fund drives last Christmas season in Modesto, it was a special day. Especially for the Target Stores' red kettle crew. Indeed, for Irene and I, that eventful day was Saturday, 13 December, 2003.

The Mother-of-all Questions and Stem Cell Research

Dellann asked this morning about my opinion on the bioethics of stem cell research. (Go to this NIH link for Stem Cell Basics.)

This question has to do with the meaning of life. In fact, any questions on the meaning of life really comes down to this mother-of-all questions through the ages. Is man a contingent-being? If God created man, then the latter is a contingent-being. Man could not come into being by himself unless some other divine Being, God, made him. I am one who subscribes to the school that God created man. He breathed life and spirit into him. In terms of cosmological significance, man is made only lower than God Himself (Psalm 8:5).

In this respect, God made each individual in his mother's womb before he was born and set apart for a special work (Jeremiah 1:5) . We are His workmanship created in Jesus Christ for good works (Ephesians 2:10). Therefore, each human embryo (via in vitro or in vivo fertilization) is precious to God, and He has a purpose for that person's life. No other human should temper (clone) and manipulate (research) on the being (embryo) of another promised life.

On the politics of stem cell research, I disagree with the Kerry's presidential campaign promises. If elected president, John Kerry will expand embryonic stem cell research with more federal tax dollars, and to nullify the Bush administration's bioethical concerns. Kerry has pledged to the electorates, under his new adminstration, the lame shall leap with joy, and the blind shall see. If that should be the case, the farmers in the heartland had better tie down the pigs.

My lunch hour is about over. We'll follow this thread another time.

The Election Pollsters - American Oracle of Delphi

Nine days to go for the U.S. general election. This year's presidential race is a horse race between incumbent President George W. Bush (R) and the democratic challgenger Sen. John Kerry (D). Internet savvy political partisians are keeping tabs on their candidate's polling scorecards, religiously from dawn to dusk. Each nuance and abberation of the polls are assimilated, dissected, and divined many times each day.

The omphalos where the polling oracles gathered is Real Clear Politics. Methodologies and interpretations of conflicting oracles (polls) are not uncommon at this cyber-shrine. In ancient Greece, the Delphi oracle was always happy to give another prophecy if more gold were provided. I wonder if the pollsters are not behaving as such.

Back to a Past War - A Relevant Discourse on the Iraqi War

"Love must be regarded as the final flower and fruit of justice. When it is substituted for justice it degenerates into sentimentality and may become the accomplice of tyranny. Looking at the tragic contemporary scene within this frame of reference, we feel that American Christianity is all too prone to disavow its responsibilities for the preservation of our civilization against the perils of totalitarian aggression. We are well aware of the sins of all the nations, including our own, which have contributed to the chaos of our era. We know to what degree totalitarianism represents false answers to our own unsolved problems — political, economic, spiritual. Yet we believe the task of defending the rich inheritance of our civilization to be an imperative one, however much we might desire that our social system were more worthy of defense. We believe that the possibility of correcting its faults and extending its gains may be annulled for centuries if this external peril is not resolutely faced." - Reinhold Niebuhr (1872-1971), February 10, 1941, on World War II.

For a biographical look on the works of this American Christian theologian, you might want to visit Reinhold Niebuhr Biography.

Joining the Blogosphere

Today I begin my web journaling. This journey could very well be one of discovery with vast possibilities to unpathed waters and undreamed shores.

I chose Kipling's L'Envoi (to the seven seas) as the title for this blog because it appropriately carries the message God has placed timeline to the creation extant. Who and what we are will accompany us to one of the two destinies awaits us in the other side of eternity.

L'en`voi´ (län`vwä´)
n.
1.
One or more detached verses at the end of a literary composition, serving to convey the moral, or to address the poem to a particular person; - orig. employed in old French poetry.
2.
A conclusion; a result.