Friday, January 30

Most Bloggers

I've noticed that most bloggers (Internet journalizers) at this site
are the much younger generation. The 'me' generation. Or better,
the 'ME!!!!!!!' generation. I don't recommend browsing their thoughts.
They are brash, profane, rude, horrible spellers, hopelessly lost in a world
of reactionary emotions, and willing to spill their guts about the most inane things.

They haven't seen enough beauty around them to be knocked off
their feet by the Beautician. They haven't seen how black they are
under their skin. They haven't learned to shut up and refocus.

Maybe no one is telling them to.

Saturday, January 24


Barbara is cnidophobic,
While I myself feel quite azoic.
Angel tends to be aerobic,
And Liz is anything but stoic.

Wednesday, January 21

American Idols

Unceasing amazement grips the audience as tone-deaf soloists
trill, troll and tune their way into the hearts of millions of viewers.
The questions are credulous: "Don't these people have any close
friends? Haven't they been told they suck? Can't they compare
themselves side-by-side to others who can carry a tune?"

And we feel SO BAD for them, but end up laughing along with
millions of others at their self deception and apparent idiosy. We
can't let them stay in that safe little cocoon of blind acceptance.
We have to shoot them while they're wounded and grin while we
do it.

It's the revival of the Roman arena mentality. Killing can be fun.

And me? Well, I can see all of my imperfections, thank you very
much. I'll admit to them all. But don't show me anything I don't
already know about! 'Me' here is the millions. Pride is deep.
Rejection is the unpardonable sin for the masses.

Wonderfully, some of us are shown our self-deception and kiss
the truth and Author of truth. Our deepest sins are revealed and
we run to the forgiving arms of our Heavenly Father. We are,
indeed, tone deaf. In fact, it is a prerequisite for going to the big
city where we can sing to our heart's content.

Monday, January 19

Winter Haiku

Cold white winter sheets,
Comfortless as unfelt shrouds,
Silence songs of spring.


I cleaned gutters this morning---birch leafed bogs,
Narrow brown black swamps boarding centipedes
And curious friends. Time to move on, boys.

Wednesday, January 14

New Old Stuff

We didn't have to wait long to head to that steakhouse with daughter, Liz. Got out of the place for only $50 for four of us (three of us had steak, lobster and shrimp --- the shrimp, Angel, had whitemeat strips). This after driving to San Leandro at noon to attend a plant meeting and ISO 9001 presentation. The traffic was cruel, of course, but providence provided clear sailing except for a little rain and stop and go just a couple of places.

And for all you kitty lovers:


It's sad, but true
That cats will do
The meanest things you've heard of.
They like to dine
Most anytime
On head and breast of bird, love.

And little mice
Had best think twice
Before they leave their houses.
A kitty's quick
And likes to lick
The guts of little mouses.

So when you hear
A meow, my dear,
Remember, though they're pretty,
Deep down inside
A cat can't hide
That he's a killer kitty.

May 1995

Tuesday, January 13

Quarter Century

The first quarter century milestone is passed today as daughter, Elizabeth, celebrates those few and many years. She's wearing a birthday present --- a polyester pink walking suit and enjoying dinner out ("my first real date") with her friend, Gary, instead of eating with her parents at a fancy steakhouse. Oh, well, it's pizza for mom and pop tonight, a lousy pizza from Round Table.


The door must have been open wide,
For in she flew --- fluttering ---
Sputtering --- all regal-eyed
And bushy tailed, her little wings
Raising dust where she alighted ---
I think she was a bit excited!

For an encore she began
To sing (or maybe it was squeak).
As a new and loyal fan
I admired her rosy beak:
Who could fault that happy chirping?
How mundane to call it burping!



Growing, growing, growing, gone!
Elizabeth, it won't be long
Before you leave your mom and dad
And try your wings. Oh, we'll be sad
And probably wonder what to do
For just a bit --- a day or two!

God's holy will and ways are best ---
And anyway, we'll need the rest!


Saturday, January 10

S.F. Bay Dinner Cruise

Last night's Hornblower cruise left the Berkeley Marina about 7:30 in the evening. It had been raining earlier but now a light mist fogged my hair and glasses. Eleven of us would be joining about 70 others from our San Leandro sister facility for a big city dinner cruise and thrilling one foot swells by Alcatraz Island. A belated, mostly casual holiday party.

Bay water is ominous. The stern's floodlights searched for bloated bodies in the swirling foam. Seagulls stroked above the murk, passing us in the dark as we pointed our 75 foot vessel toward the Bay Bridge. Dividing our time between sitting at round tables inside the second deck and visiting the fore and aft decks, we filled the night with people sounds.

We sailed under the Bay Bridge, around Treasure Island, back under the bridge then west along the Embarcadero and Pier 39 towards the Golden Gate Bridge, which was unlit because of the terror alert status. Guess they would rather have the fully lighted city and Bay Bridge as targets.

San Francisco's skyline sparkled like cheap diamonds. We were out too far to hear the horns honking, the screams of people being beaten and stabbed and robbery gunshots. Everything seemed so peaceful --- so serene --- so wonderfully perfect.

I lived in San Francisco for four months in 1964. I was the proverbial pre-Christian in Vanity Fair. The sights, sounds, smells, and mood of the city were bittersweet attractions. Fledgling flight, fragile at best, ended with failure of funds, failure in love and failure in the crash dummy test. Leaving my heart below Mt. Davidson's cross where I lived for that short time on Evelyn Way, I sometimes think of the best parts of my visit: friends, English shortbread, and learning never to call soil, 'dirt.'

Monday, January 5



Today's memorial service for an 83-year old friend inspires a few questions:

* Will 500 people say goodbye when off I fly? 50? 5?

* Will there be tears both of sorrow and joy?

* Will praise tell the truth or ruin the truth?

* Will people see their need for forgiveness of sins?

* Will God receive the glory?

* Will it be soon?

Life's brevity demands answers to the deepest questions. Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I going?

In my atheist years the answers were seemingly safe --- I am a speck in the universe --- I am here by a random chance gathering of molecules for no particular reason above struggling to exist --- I am going nowhere when I die. Consciousness ceases, and the blip that I once was on the radar screen of life is formless, forever gone and forgotten.

In my God awakened years the answers are real --- I am an eternal being in a sin-infested, dying body --- I am here to give all praise, honor, glory and trust to God who created me and adopted me --- I am going to see Him face to face when this body of death is replaced with a spiritual body and enjoy His presence forever.

God holds the key. His Word is truth. His only begotten, sinless Son paid for sins. God-given faith turns the key. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16

Thursday, January 1



The orchestra is waiting for the rain
In stony silence --- polished instruments
In tune --- all ready for this season's fame
And fortune out behind the broken fence.


Today's News

This New Year's day's windy rain is keeping me inside.
Time to cozy up to the silent screen and find a word or two.

Float #26 was Starbuck's first entry. Brother Marty helped flower it.
He and Karen were limousined to waiting parade bleachers this morning.
He won a contest. 45 degrees is too cold for parades in Pasadena.