There's Always Something...

Rooster of the Week...

Word comes that yesterday traffic on I-17, the main interstate connecting Phoenix with the hinterlands to the north came to a screeching halt when  a rooster appeared and kept changing lanes as confused drivers tried to decide how to cope with this unusual phenomenon. While the rest of the world was trying to decide how to deal with the death of Michael Jackson and the resignation of Sarah Palin, Phoenix got down to more vital matters - a rooster versus a thousand or so frustrted motorists.

The police department finally solved the problem when an officer got in front of the traffic and chased down the rooster. As the story goes, he had a cage in the back seat of his vehicle and putting the bird in it kept the rooster from flying around his car as he drove off, much to the relief of the cheering drivers, who now could procede on their respective ways.

Where the bird came from, what he was doing on the interstate or what happened to him after his adventure was not revealed.

No statement to date has been issued by Sheriff Joe Arpaio, Sarah Palin or Michael Jackson. But things being what they are, we will probably hear from all of them before the weekend is over.

What to Call the Females?

I've been confused for decades about the question of political correctness and female designation. Now, I really don't worry much about political correctness in any of its many aspects. Confused is my word. No more. No less.

Anyway, certain terms come to mind.

Ladies is supposed to be a tribute, but some are offended by it. I respect ladies.

Girls has been a neat little endearing term for years and years, but some find it degrading. It goes with boys, a word which I also like. Oddly, I notice that senior women seem to love to be called girls and the word is very popular in these retiree areas.

Women seems OK with everyone, as far as I can tell.

Dames and broads - so Sinatraish. Haven't heard that in years.

But, and here is the reason I bring it up. This generation of college age females seem to get a kick out of referring to themselves and their chums as "ho's" and "bitches". That seems strange to me, but "to each her own, said the old lady as she kissed the cow." (That from my mother.)

I'll never understand.

Males don't seem to care much what we're called - men, gentlemen, guys, boys, dudes, studs - on and on. As long as we have some of the sisters around, who cares? Life is so short, isn't it?

Guns, Guns, Guns...

The gun folks are really whooping it up these days. I thought it went a bit far when they insisted on packing AK47s along on their adventures into the woods to bring down wild animals in a burst of lead, but these days they are filling the legislatures with demands that their inalienable rights should include the privilege of packing in churches, bars and restaurants.

Wow!

In my heartier days, I confess that I preached a few sermons that probably would have resulted in my poor, bullet-ridden, Bible-toting body being removed horizontally from church in much the same condition as a deer, freshly torn apart by friendly fire; if such a law or custom was in effect. It is a sobering thought.

All I can say is that if I glance at the adjoining pew or table next week and happen to see a parishioner/customer fondling a 45, I may just excuse myself and find some friendlier place to hang out. If he/she happens to get offended over something said, done, or undone, I'd just as soon not be around.

Books...

I'm a life-long bibliophile. Love books. It started with my mother who belonged to the Book of the Month Club. I got to read almost all of them, often before she did. In college, I became an English major. Couldn't get enough of literature in its many forms.

In my profession, I always felt it vitally important to buy and read books - both classics and modern. Every new interest that fell to me along the way headed me for the bookstore. A new collection of relevant books. You get the picture.

I ended up with a library of thousands of books. Each time we moved, I worked up courage to divest myself of a few hundred books. Of course, these were soon replaced as we went along. I was addicted - of course in a highly practical sense.

When I retired, I donated hundreds of religious books to churches and seminaries. This was painful. It also was revealing. The books I kept probably told more about me than the ones I gave away. Some books were so much part of my soul that I simply could not give them away.

When we moved into this smaller home, I really had to give away cartons of books. We were in a rush, so it wasn't as traumatic as it had often been before. When the smoke cleared, I still found myself with three large bookshelves full of good books - plus several cartons of unpacked literary treasures.

A few weeks ago I gave away a couple of boxes of books to the new Colonnade library. Then I sat down and went through the remaining library and pruned some more. Only the closest to my heart remained.

Now I am launching out on a slow, but wonderfully fulfilling project. One by one, author by author, I am rereading the sacred remnant. Maybe 500 books. When I finish a book, I give it away; unless! Unless I can't! Then it goes back on the shelf, to be treasured and loved a bit longer.

It is a life-long love I have. Books. Yes, books.

Responding to People...

Have you noticed the increased degree of disrespect that seems to come with communicating with friends and family on the internet?

I noticed several months ago that really young children and teenyboppers would simply disappear in the midst of chat or instant messaging sessions. Gone! Then the same thing began to happen with older kids and even adults. No "bye" or "got to go" or whatever. Just a quick vanish in the midst of a seemingly nice conversation. Leaves one feeling like a doddering ass.

I confess that after two or three of these, I removed them from my buddy list.

But it goes further than that. One of my sons recently discontinued his blog and then went on to cutting every name from his FaceBook page that had never responded to him in any way. He sees communication as a two-way relationship. That makes some sense to me. Unanswered emails, phone messages, are just accepted practices with some people. Eventually, they do pay a price. Receiving personal stuff without offering any response at all over a period of time eventually communicates the same thing. Disrespect. I'm with Pete all the way.

Blogs are different. Some of us read up into hundreds of them regularly. They are written and received as common offerings. Comments aren't really expected or generally received. It is good when it happens!

Pete's made me think.

When we are face to face with one another - or even to lesser degree - on the other end of a telephone line, it is harder to disappear and consequently more open to civility and real communication. Being with each other over the internet is much quicker, less demanding and prone to thoughtless impersonal discourtesies.

Remember the movie of a decade ago where a character kept going to his window, leaning out and shouting something like: "I'm damned sick and tired of all this and I'm not going to take it any more!" I loved that, but was not sure why. I'm beginning to see the light.

That's what Pete was trying to say - and I line up right behind him and shout in old fashioned Methodist style; "Amen, Brother! Amen..."

Life With The Swat Team...

In the event that you get in the mood for some action and decide to sign up for the local swat team, just remember that there are downsides. Here, for instance:

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/no_one_on_swat_team_wants_to_wait?utm_source=onion_rss_daily

Responsibility is Good...

Baseball's Painful Irony...

I played a lot of baseball and we live and die (mostly die) with our Arizona Diamondbacks on a regular basis. It was, therefore, with great joy and bittersweet pleasure that I opened Garrison Keillor's blog this morning and discovered a poem by John Updike that hits the ball right out of the park.

Here 'tis:

Baseball

by John Updike

It looks easy from a distance,
easy and lazy, even,
until you stand up to the plate
and see the fastball sailing inside,
an inch from your chin,
or circle in the outfield
straining to get a bead
on a small black dot
a city block or more high,
a dark star that could fall
on your head like a leaden meteor.

The grass, the dirt, the deadly hops
between your feet and overeager glove:
football can be learned,
and basketball finessed, but
there is no hiding from baseball
the fact that some are chosen
and some are not—those whose mitts
feel too left-handed,
who are scared at third base
of the pulled line drive,
and at first base are scared
of the shortstop's wild throw
that stretches you out like a gutted deer.

There is nowhere to hide when the ball's
spotlight swivels your way,
and the chatter around you falls still,
and the mothers on the sidelines,
your own among them, hold their breaths,
and you whiff on a terrible pitch
or in the infield achieve
something with the ball so
ridiculous you blush for years.
It's easy to do. Baseball was
invented in America, where beneath
the good cheer and sly jazz the chance
of failure is everybody's right,
beginning with baseball.

"Baseball" by John Updike, from Endpoint and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2009. Reprinted with permission

Surgery, Anyone?

One of my delights in life is listening to fine lectures every day, thanks to TED, an internet lecture hall. This one is the best I've heard - got a standing ovation and dealt with the history of surgery, the vision of surgery and the practice on modern surgery using robots. Wow!

Can't tell you how exciting, how relevant this lecture is.

A Sentimental Old Fool - Me...

Call me that, if you will. And, of course, You would be right. I listen with quiet, sentimental attention to The Sound of Music's lovely "Edelweiss" with The Caption, Maria,The children. It gets to me every time.