My Rebecca and I spend a little precious time together catching up on some of the old PBS series on Television. We got through all the Foyle’s War and all the Father Brown ones. And now we are into the first season of Call the Midwife.
A pic that just came in from Annie in California.
All three of those have inspired me and taught me about life. There is something about the quiet hero that seems an excellent role model for us in life here and now. And I mean that for the male and female of us as I think the word heroine is out these days.
Of course, a lot of heroes are unwilling heroes. But maybe there comes a time when it becomes a sort of second nature to act that way, that quiet way. Maybe it becomes easier to do with more practice, more moves, more vocabulary.
Well it seems to be a shortie today. Thanks for stopping by. Our walk is in a few minutes and time for me to gear up.
Love, Felipé.x
I was on my way here to the hospital yesterday when I got involved in a traffic accident. No one was hurt fortunately and we were all very cordial throughout. But I just wanted to relate the aftermath as it has some comic aspects.
This is all sort of in a day’s work for trying to get to my appointment yesterday on time and in one piece. And did make it and with my blood pressure in pretty good shape to boot.
So after getting out of the street and into an adjacent parking lot so we didn’t have to worry about getting hit again. That maneuver was successful with my truck but some horrendous noise was coming from the damaged area. On further inspection it appeared that my bumper was bent inward and was up against my front tire meaning that I couldn’t possibly turn to the right.
About that time the owner of the business was out telling us that we couldn’t be there and we would have to move. He was having work done and we were smack dab in the middle of things. There was a crew unloading tools and I borrowed a crowbar to try and straighten the offending part but no go. The bend was too strong.
About this time the boss of the crew shows up with a dump truck that needs to be there. So I am looking at the name on the side of the truck and it is a demolition outfit. So, a light goes on in my brain. The boss is looking at me and I’m looking at him and we are both looking at my truck and I say, “I need a Sawsall”. That is one of the main demo tools ever and I know they have one there somewhere.
So, even better, he not I, after a little conference saws off the end of my offending bumper, no muss no fuss. And then and there I was able to drive away and be out of his way and on my way. Wow, everyone needs a demo guy!
So, that was the salient part of my morning. And everything went more normally after that. Even all the way to being back home again and having our son and daughter-in-law for spaghetti and meatballs. Then we decorated the tree. All’s well that ends well right there.
And beyond all that good stuff I think maybe the incident shook something loose in my writing department. You know how they say in hushed tones, “Yea, he was never quite the same after the accident.” I’m feeling a bit more poetic these daze.
I have been feeling the need to rethink the way the blog is going. It has been chugging along for coming on five years now in pretty much it’s present configuration and look. And I see no need to change that. What is called for is a change in emphasis and a change in content.
As I walk this journey I am learning and evolving and this blog should reflect that. This is all swirling around in my mind. It is calling for some prayers to be said on it’s behalf.
January 1st seems like a good time to officially switch over. Until then I can play with a few things backstage. And maybe the new year will start out with a few fits and starts but I have faith in the new leaf we are turning.
A glimpse of our tree of which I had a minor role.
I caught a glimpse of Mt Rainer yesterday. Gone were the icey glaciers that reflect the sun’s rays, gone the rocky ridges. The whole thing was awhite from head to toe. While we get the endless rain done here, it is snowing like crazy up at elevation. Skier’s delight.
One more week before the big day. As of the moment I have done a big zero. Well, My Rebecca did corral me into helping with the tree so that counts. I just have a hard time traditionally getting cranked up.
Off for my scan this morning. I should be scared out of my shoes but I’ve had so many that it is kind of easy for me to think my way around them now, sort of.
I will go now. Need time to panic on a number of fronts. The best to you. Time for a rosary loves, Felipé.
Our new sign along the driveway to Raven Ranch. Thank you Tom!
I have to admit that I am digging deep this morning for inspiration. Right now I have a sliver in my finger that is really bugging me and it must go, be back. Ah, that is better.
The robins are here by the tens and hundreds. They think that this general area is a good place to winter. They seem glad to be here, a break from the frozen ground to the north.
There was a lone fawn out in the pasture yesterday when I walked in the afternoon. No one showed up to accompany me so it was the deer and me. It was moving apple tree to apple tree looking for some fruit that had fallen over night. I could see that there wasn’t much there so I shook branches as I went and got some feed for it.
I’ll pick up some more sunflower seeds on my next trip to town. The seed eater birds need help this time of year. It’s always a challenge to keep those feeders supplied. And my favorite scene in Phil’s Camino is the juncos at one of the feeders hanging in the hawthorn hedge. There is no talking, just the birds busy.
The other day a hummingbird zoomed into the area by our kitchen windows. And it hovered where we had a feeder hung two years ago. That was the last time as we didn’t get it together this year nor last to hang it. So we are led to believe what? This tiniest of critters has been checking on us all this time. I’m amazed.
Ah, I feel better, can you tell? Time to find my boots and the logbook for the walk at 9. A lull in the rain this morning but it is back this afternoon and continues all night.
Oh, and I am back to the city tomorrow. Time for my every two month scan. OK, later, love, Felipé.
It is pretty darn wet out these days so dress appropriately as they say. Boots are a must and with rain gear handy. Of course we save a lot on insect repellent and sunscreen this time of year.
Wiley took this pic of Puget Sound and Mt Rainer the other morning on the way to the job site.
Oh, I am so late writing the blogpost today. We had a wind storm last night and it took Wiley and me five hours today to put things back in functional shape. Wasn’t planning on that but it’s the way things go most of the time, the two steps forward and one back dance.
Now I am to tired to get anything done here. But there was one thing I could leave for you if I could find it. Let me look.
One of the loveliest of all stories is that of The Fourth Wise Man. His name was Artaban. He set out to follow the star and he took with him a sapphire, a ruby and a pearl beyond price as gifts for the King. He was riding hard to meet his three friends, Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar, at the agreed place. The time was short; they would leave if he was late. Suddenly he saw a dim figure on the ground before him. It was a traveller stricken with fever. If he stayed to help he would miss his friends. He did stay; he helped and healed the man. But now he was alone. He needed camels and bearers to help him across the desert because he had missed his friends and their caravan. He had to sell his sapphire to get them; and he was sad because the King would never have his gem.
He journeyed on and in due time came to Bethlehem, but again he was too late. Joseph and Mary and the baby had gone. Then there came the soldiers to carry out Herod’s command that the children should be slain. Artaban was in a house where there was a little child. The tramp of the soldiers came to the door; the weeping of stricken mothers could be heard. Artaban stood in the doorway, tall and dark, with the ruby in his hand and bribed the captain not to enter. The child was saved; the mother was overjoyed; but the ruby was gone; and Artaban was sad because the King would never have his ruby.
For years he wandered looking in vain for the King. More than thirty years afterwards he came to Jerusalem. There was a crucifixion that day. When Artaban heard of the Jesus being crucified, he sounded wondrous like the King and Artaban hurried towards Calvary. Maybe his pearl, the loveliest in all the world, could buy the life of the King. Down the street came a girl fleeing from a band of soldiers. “My father is in debt,” she cried, “and they are taking me to sell as a slave to pay the debt. Save me!” Artaban hesitated; then sadly he took out his pearl, gave it to the soldiers and bought the girl’s freedom.
On a sudden the skies were dark; there was an earthquake and a flying tile hit Artaban on the head. He sank half-conscious to the ground. The girl pillowed his head on her lap. Suddenly his lips began to move. “Not so, my Lord. For when saw I thee hungered and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw I thee a stranger, and took thee in? Or naked and clothed thee? When saw I thee sick in prison, and came unto thee? Thirty and three years have I looked for thee; but I have never seen thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King.” And then like a whisper from very far away, there came a voice. “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.” And Artaban smiled in death because he knew that the King had received his gifts.
(from the commentary on Mark chapter two by Charles Barclay)
I clearly remember hearing that at some time or place in my high school education. “They were eating moldy rye bread.” As if that explained it all. And, well, it does for many.
The statement refers to our medieval ancestors who thought they were seeing visions and witnessing miracles but low and behold their perceptions were influenced by some sort of chemical that they were ingesting accidentally. The apparent culprit was a mold. Ah. And speaking of ingesting that idea stuck in my craw and I remember it after all these years.
What are you getting at Felipé? Yea, it seems to me that yes if you dig hard enough one can come up with a scientific explanation for just about everything if not everything altogether. Existing side by side are two threads or two worlds really, a view that allows for the supernatural and one that strictly doesn’t.
I think that this is a clue to unlocking Danna’s statement that “miracles are a choice”. To see miracles we have to believe that they are possible. We have to be tuned to their wavelength. And sure that all looks like a bunch of woo woo garbage from a certain viewpoint. At a certain point though some of us are asked to recognize an intelligence in the randomness of it all. Can we accomplish that?
Can we hold onto the usefulness of science and acknowledge spiritual influence in our lives? Can we be big enough to bridge that gap for ourselves. And can we welcome miracles into our lives at the same time that we believe our doctor’s orders.
OK, I just dozed off and “accidentally” fat fingered the following into existence on this post. Was that random or meant to be? You make the call?
THE RETURN, by Geneen Marie Haugen
Some day, if you are lucky,
you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.
Eyes will examine you for signs
of damage, or change
and you, too, will wonder
if your skin shows traces
of fur, or leaves,
if thrushes have built a nest
of your hair, if Andromeda
burns from your eyes.
Do not be surprised by prickly questions
from those who barely inhabit
their own fleeting lives, who barely taste
their own possibility, who barely dream.
If your hands are empty, treasureless,
if your toes have not grown claws,
if your obedient voice has not
become a wild cry, a howl,
you will reassure them. We warned you,
they might declare, there is nothing else,
no point, no meaning, no mystery at all,
just this frantic waiting to die.
And yet, they tremble, mute,
afraid you’ve returned without sweet
elixir for unspeakable thirst, without
a fluent dance or holy language
to teach them, without a compass
bearing to a forgotten border where
no one crosses without weeping
for the terrible beauty of galaxies
and granite and bone. They tremble,
hoping your lips hold a secret,
that the song your body now sings
will redeem them, yet they fear
your secret is dangerous, shattering,
and once it flies from your astonished
mouth, they–like you–must disintegrate
before unfolding tremulous wings.
Along the trail in black and white. I forget who took this, sorry.
I made the deadly mistake of reading Danna Schmidt’s thoughts this morning before working on my blog post. Also peeked in on Richard Rohr’s and between the two of them I am totally derailed and shanghaied. I so totally know better.
Right now I am propped up on the corner of Schmidt and Rohr wondering just what sort of truck just ran me over. Well, it has disappeared but it’s a clear case of hit and run. I am left with this one thing, the idea of “miracles are a choice” to gnaw on.
This morning here before the start of the walk I think I am just going to leave that alone right there for you to find when you come along later. See what you can do with it. I have two ideas and maybe something else will pop up on the trail. We can talk about it when we have more time. What’s the rush, we got forever, right?
