It's a frosty winter night, it's been snowing all day, and only the hard-boiled cabin fever cases are venturing out. There's nothing like dipping into a little heady aural stimuli to distract one from the monotony. And I have just the ticket...Bazzini.
ParDON?, you say?
That's what I said. Well, not really. I encountered Signior Bazzini's legacy by stumbling upon a youtube clip, and at first thought there was something wrong with my computer sound card. Nope. Supernatural ability is just a prerequisite here.
If, like moi, you are not well-versed in 19th Century violin virtuosos, enjoy my "discovery", as performed in the link below by Itzhak Perlman. To call it remarkable seems to be an understatement. Let me know what you think.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pR8ABKpwm7w&feature=related
And if, for some cyber-gremlin reason, you are not able to connect to the above link but are still interested just go to youtube.com and enter "Bazzini" in the search field. There are several filmed performances, but Perlman seems to have the most "liquid" fingers of the few clips I sampled...and he seems to be in the 'joy zone' as he performs. Enjoy...marvel...replay...well, that's what I did, anyway.
For any "inquiring minds" who want to know more, I've cut and pasted a brief excerpt from the wikipedia entry, below. Time to put the kettle on...
Antonio Joseph Bazzini (March 11, 1818 – February 10, 1897) was an Italian violinist, composer and teacher. As a composer his most enduring work is his chamber music which has earned him a central place in the Italian instrumental renaissance of the 19th century. However his success as a composer was outstretched by his reputation as one of the finest concert violinists of the nineteenth century.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Super?
This being Super Bowl Sunday all the menfolk, usually in residence here at the Circle H Ranch, are elsewhere, presumably glued to a big-screen TV watching the annual hypefest. Did that sound underappreciative?
Alina and I took a "pass", which is the closest we get to Football Lingo.
Me: Do you understand football?
She: Well, I know there are guys who tackle each other, or something.
Me: Yup, and they try to run the football across the endzone line, but I'm never sure if the line they want is at the opposite end or not...
She: Opposite end of what?
Me: This is why we don't watch football.
[Where is Miss Cee, you may ask? She is with the menfolk, but of course...it was a no-brainer that there would be more excitement going on at Coach's Annual Super Bowl Party, not to mention lots of yummy grub, and the Loveable Lola.]
Our hunch was correct...as long as we stayed away from sports bars (not a real danger), we would steer clear of any long queues at eating establishments. In fact, it was if a giant testosterone vacuum had sucked up anyone of the male persuasion at our restaurant...even the bartender was a woman.
"Yeah," the hostess shrugged, "all the guys who work here traded all their hours with the girls for tonight. It's like an annual thing with them, I guess." Yeah. Annual, like in Super Bowl every year...I think there are some clever marketing strategies to be developed here, to capitalize on the preponderance of female clientele, but that's just a guess.
Even I figured out it was half-time, though, when the TV over the restaurant bar started blaring out The Who...well, to be honest, I at first thought it might be one of those demographic-niche cell phone ads, like the current one featuring Eric Clapton with the Fender-edition phone...maybe The Who ad is still in development.
But, no, there were Pete and Roger rockin' it at centerfield in the midst of a fairly respectable-looking light show. Surely there is some social/cultural commentary inherent in the fact that the 2010 Super Bowl halftime show features 60-something rock legends...but, I'll leave that to the sociology grad students.
* * * * *
Speaking of sociology or, perhaps, it's socio-pathology, I have a confession to make. No, nothing juicy. Just kind of a 'confession is good for the soul' and 'I indulged in further morbid curiousity' - courtesy of cable TV - mea culpa.
Do the initials "T & T" mean anything to you? If you can honestly say 'no,' I tip my proverbial hat to you. I, myself, have crossed the line.
For the uninitiated who still have their self-respect intact, "T & T"--as it relates to small-box media--refers to *inhale* "Toddlers & Tiaras". Yup. I said it.
It is exactly what you would expect. Tiny little females (with the odd boy thrown in) who are primped, prepped, and spray-tanned all for the glory of the rhinestone crown and obligatory savings bond. It's a contemporary blend of reality-docu-drama and vicarious parenting-gone-wrong that just cries out for an Intervention!!
Somehow, there is an inverse relationship between the age of the contestants and the pathology of their mothers...it is...surreal. As in, I-can-hardly-tear-my-eyes-away-from-this-bizarre-spectacle. Thus, commercial air time is sold.
One can only hope that the savings bonds won can be used for the future therapy sessions these little Regal Gems, Ultimate Supremes, Sapphire-Ruby-Emerald-and-Diamond Supremes and crestfallen Runners-Up will, no doubt, need. Or, perhaps, it's the unfathomably motivated moms and pageant directors who are in most dire need of help.
Wait...Silly me. Anyone who would imagine that a therapeutic perspective is called for here wouldn't be caught dead in one of these hotel meeting room pageant venues to begin with. So, it's all good. Isn't it?
I suppose the one thing that kept me watching all the way to the end (in addition to the fact that I left my Lunesta upstairs) was the uncanny perspective with which all this video footage was shot and edited. It was deftly balanced between wide-eyed buy-in of the whole pageant phenomenon and finger-shaking indignation at the willful exploitation...but maybe that's the point, afterall. Is it really exploitation if everyone in front of the camera is so knowingly cooperative?
I think one episode is enough.
Alina and I took a "pass", which is the closest we get to Football Lingo.
Me: Do you understand football?
She: Well, I know there are guys who tackle each other, or something.
Me: Yup, and they try to run the football across the endzone line, but I'm never sure if the line they want is at the opposite end or not...
She: Opposite end of what?
Me: This is why we don't watch football.
[Where is Miss Cee, you may ask? She is with the menfolk, but of course...it was a no-brainer that there would be more excitement going on at Coach's Annual Super Bowl Party, not to mention lots of yummy grub, and the Loveable Lola.]
Our hunch was correct...as long as we stayed away from sports bars (not a real danger), we would steer clear of any long queues at eating establishments. In fact, it was if a giant testosterone vacuum had sucked up anyone of the male persuasion at our restaurant...even the bartender was a woman.
"Yeah," the hostess shrugged, "all the guys who work here traded all their hours with the girls for tonight. It's like an annual thing with them, I guess." Yeah. Annual, like in Super Bowl every year...I think there are some clever marketing strategies to be developed here, to capitalize on the preponderance of female clientele, but that's just a guess.
Even I figured out it was half-time, though, when the TV over the restaurant bar started blaring out The Who...well, to be honest, I at first thought it might be one of those demographic-niche cell phone ads, like the current one featuring Eric Clapton with the Fender-edition phone...maybe The Who ad is still in development.
But, no, there were Pete and Roger rockin' it at centerfield in the midst of a fairly respectable-looking light show. Surely there is some social/cultural commentary inherent in the fact that the 2010 Super Bowl halftime show features 60-something rock legends...but, I'll leave that to the sociology grad students.
* * * * *
Speaking of sociology or, perhaps, it's socio-pathology, I have a confession to make. No, nothing juicy. Just kind of a 'confession is good for the soul' and 'I indulged in further morbid curiousity' - courtesy of cable TV - mea culpa.
Do the initials "T & T" mean anything to you? If you can honestly say 'no,' I tip my proverbial hat to you. I, myself, have crossed the line.
For the uninitiated who still have their self-respect intact, "T & T"--as it relates to small-box media--refers to *inhale* "Toddlers & Tiaras". Yup. I said it.
It is exactly what you would expect. Tiny little females (with the odd boy thrown in) who are primped, prepped, and spray-tanned all for the glory of the rhinestone crown and obligatory savings bond. It's a contemporary blend of reality-docu-drama and vicarious parenting-gone-wrong that just cries out for an Intervention!!
Somehow, there is an inverse relationship between the age of the contestants and the pathology of their mothers...it is...surreal. As in, I-can-hardly-tear-my-eyes-away-from-this-bizarre-spectacle. Thus, commercial air time is sold.
One can only hope that the savings bonds won can be used for the future therapy sessions these little Regal Gems, Ultimate Supremes, Sapphire-Ruby-Emerald-and-Diamond Supremes and crestfallen Runners-Up will, no doubt, need. Or, perhaps, it's the unfathomably motivated moms and pageant directors who are in most dire need of help.
Wait...Silly me. Anyone who would imagine that a therapeutic perspective is called for here wouldn't be caught dead in one of these hotel meeting room pageant venues to begin with. So, it's all good. Isn't it?
I suppose the one thing that kept me watching all the way to the end (in addition to the fact that I left my Lunesta upstairs) was the uncanny perspective with which all this video footage was shot and edited. It was deftly balanced between wide-eyed buy-in of the whole pageant phenomenon and finger-shaking indignation at the willful exploitation...but maybe that's the point, afterall. Is it really exploitation if everyone in front of the camera is so knowingly cooperative?
I think one episode is enough.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Plumbing New Lows
There is nothing new under the sun, we're told in the book of Ecclesiastes, and I am the last to argue with a biblical source. Neither is there much quite so hackneyed and predictable as political scandal...only the names and eras change, for the most part.
Still, while channel-surfing several months ago, I stumbled upon the singular press conference conducted by SC Gov. Mark Sanford. It didn't look like 'business as usual', even to a jaded eye. Apart from the tears and convincing angst, it was obvious that his statement was neither prepared nor "spun." He had, afterall, been virtually ambushed by an intrepid reporter who figured out that he hadn't really been "hiking the Appalachain Trail" as he had told an aide; no, his destination had been both more exotic and more suspect...visiting his Argentinian mistress.
The reason I return to this sorry topic at all is that the governor seems to have broken some new ground, in spite of himself. Not in the immorality department, but in the very degree of his callousness. I found myself shaking my head as I read the following snippets from a review of Mrs. Sanford's just-released memoir:
"How he was a jerk early on: The first Thanksgiving they were married, they joined Mark's family at the Sanford farm -- where Mark informed her he'd be bunking with his brothers, not with her. 'I've always slept with my brothers and I don't see why that has to change now that we're married,' he told her.
"How he pinched pennies: One year, for her birthday, he gave her a drawing of half a bike; for Christmas, he drew the other half. A few months later he handed her a $25 used bike. [Nice.]
"Then there was the time he had a staffer pick out a necklace for her -- but when he saw her wearing it, he said, 'That is what I spent all that money on? I hope you kept the box!' He returned the jewelry the next day. And he was once too cheap to hire an exterminator when their Charleston house was infested with bats.
"How his disregard for her turned callous: When Sanford needed a tubal ligation (she had been through four difficult pregnancies and could not risk another), she went to the hospital alone. 'As I was wheeled in for surgery, the nurse asked me why I didn't have anyone with me for support.
"And shortly after she discovered his long-running affair, he began 'pestering me for permission to see his lover ... so he could find the 'key to his heart.' "
"When she demurred -- she knew she could forgive him for what had happened, but condoning continued adultery was another matter -- he asked her, 'Do you want to wake up when you are eighty and know you never had a heart connection?'"
There was also the jaw-droppingly insensitive comment about how he was "trying to fall in love" with his wife, after his return from one of the assignations. And what must have been an excruciating moment when Mrs. Sanford discovered her sons reading verbatim quotes from some of their father's graphic e-mails to his mistress, published in the Charleston newspapers.
But, every now and then, life seems to give us a heads-up, which we would do well to heed. Apparently for Mrs. Sanford, her early warning signal flashed during their wedding preparations, two decades earlier, at which time her husband-to-be "did not include the vow to be faithful" in his wedding vows. Warning, warning.
Still, while channel-surfing several months ago, I stumbled upon the singular press conference conducted by SC Gov. Mark Sanford. It didn't look like 'business as usual', even to a jaded eye. Apart from the tears and convincing angst, it was obvious that his statement was neither prepared nor "spun." He had, afterall, been virtually ambushed by an intrepid reporter who figured out that he hadn't really been "hiking the Appalachain Trail" as he had told an aide; no, his destination had been both more exotic and more suspect...visiting his Argentinian mistress.
The reason I return to this sorry topic at all is that the governor seems to have broken some new ground, in spite of himself. Not in the immorality department, but in the very degree of his callousness. I found myself shaking my head as I read the following snippets from a review of Mrs. Sanford's just-released memoir:
"How he was a jerk early on: The first Thanksgiving they were married, they joined Mark's family at the Sanford farm -- where Mark informed her he'd be bunking with his brothers, not with her. 'I've always slept with my brothers and I don't see why that has to change now that we're married,' he told her.
"How he pinched pennies: One year, for her birthday, he gave her a drawing of half a bike; for Christmas, he drew the other half. A few months later he handed her a $25 used bike. [Nice.]
"Then there was the time he had a staffer pick out a necklace for her -- but when he saw her wearing it, he said, 'That is what I spent all that money on? I hope you kept the box!' He returned the jewelry the next day. And he was once too cheap to hire an exterminator when their Charleston house was infested with bats.
"How his disregard for her turned callous: When Sanford needed a tubal ligation (she had been through four difficult pregnancies and could not risk another), she went to the hospital alone. 'As I was wheeled in for surgery, the nurse asked me why I didn't have anyone with me for support.
"And shortly after she discovered his long-running affair, he began 'pestering me for permission to see his lover ... so he could find the 'key to his heart.' "
"When she demurred -- she knew she could forgive him for what had happened, but condoning continued adultery was another matter -- he asked her, 'Do you want to wake up when you are eighty and know you never had a heart connection?'"
There was also the jaw-droppingly insensitive comment about how he was "trying to fall in love" with his wife, after his return from one of the assignations. And what must have been an excruciating moment when Mrs. Sanford discovered her sons reading verbatim quotes from some of their father's graphic e-mails to his mistress, published in the Charleston newspapers.
But, every now and then, life seems to give us a heads-up, which we would do well to heed. Apparently for Mrs. Sanford, her early warning signal flashed during their wedding preparations, two decades earlier, at which time her husband-to-be "did not include the vow to be faithful" in his wedding vows. Warning, warning.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Movie Review
The Percolator Interviews Illustrious Film Critic J.Daniel Holliday: "HEIDI"
Editor: Mr. Daniel, it's a pleasure to meet you.
JD: It's a pleasure to meet you, too.
Ed.: I understand that this afternoon you were privileged to screen the vintage version of the film, "Heidi."
JD: Well, "privilege" might be stretching it a bit.
Ed.: How so?
JD: Well, they did have, like a romance part, and it didn't seem very exciting. I mean, it might be good for a girl, but not for me.
Ed.: Ah, I understand completely; I have observed that the Male Mind is An Entity Unto Itself. How did you happen to view this film today?
JD: Our teacher, Mrs. Brown, wanted us to see some of the scenery and stuff, since we're studying Europe in class right now. It's in Switzerland, ya know...The Alps, goats, well, you get it.
Ed.: Indeed. So, who starred in this cinematic treasure?
JD: Like, Jennifer Somebody...anyway, I know it wasn't Shirley Temple.
Ed.: Who was Grandfather?
JD.: Beats me.
Ed.: Hmm, well were there any exciting scenes?
JD: Unfortunately not...not exciting to me, anyway.
Ed.: What kind of scenes are exciting to you?
JD: Explosions. Gunfire.
Ed.: Blood and gore?
JD: That's not exciting, it's just gross. Even though I do live for that sort of stuff.
Ed.: OK, well, then. Isn't there a mean headmistress character or something, named Miss Rottenmeyer? I've always loved that name...
JD: Well, there's a governess, but she's not mean. It's not like a sinister movie or anything.
Ed.: So, what grade would you give this film?
JD: A 'D'
Ed.: Hmm, so this isn't on your list of favorites, I gather.
JD: Nope. Well, it was kind of what some girls would think is 'cute' in a few places, but that doesn't apply to me.
Ed.: Aha. Well, if you could give the filmmakers any advice to improve their efforts, what would you suggest?
JD: Get a new director!! If it was a different movie, it might have a hope.
Ed.: You don't beat around the bush, do you Mr. Daniel?
JD: Apparently not... What bush?
Ed.: So, overall, would you recommend this film?
JD: Nope. Not for any reason. I just hope the next movie we have to watch for school is better overall...so there isn't so much crying and hugging and such... *eye rolling*
Ed.: I understand your next film screening will include another European venue.
JD: Well, I don't know about that, but it's about a kid named Hans who skates around in Holland. I'm not too excited, though, because he's not an Olympic speed skater or anything cool like that.
Ed.: I see. Well, Mr. Daniel, we do appreciate your time with us.
JD: Anything for the public.
###
Editor: Mr. Daniel, it's a pleasure to meet you.
JD: It's a pleasure to meet you, too.
Ed.: I understand that this afternoon you were privileged to screen the vintage version of the film, "Heidi."
JD: Well, "privilege" might be stretching it a bit.
Ed.: How so?
JD: Well, they did have, like a romance part, and it didn't seem very exciting. I mean, it might be good for a girl, but not for me.
Ed.: Ah, I understand completely; I have observed that the Male Mind is An Entity Unto Itself. How did you happen to view this film today?
JD: Our teacher, Mrs. Brown, wanted us to see some of the scenery and stuff, since we're studying Europe in class right now. It's in Switzerland, ya know...The Alps, goats, well, you get it.
Ed.: Indeed. So, who starred in this cinematic treasure?
JD: Like, Jennifer Somebody...anyway, I know it wasn't Shirley Temple.
Ed.: Who was Grandfather?
JD.: Beats me.
Ed.: Hmm, well were there any exciting scenes?
JD: Unfortunately not...not exciting to me, anyway.
Ed.: What kind of scenes are exciting to you?
JD: Explosions. Gunfire.
Ed.: Blood and gore?
JD: That's not exciting, it's just gross. Even though I do live for that sort of stuff.
Ed.: OK, well, then. Isn't there a mean headmistress character or something, named Miss Rottenmeyer? I've always loved that name...
JD: Well, there's a governess, but she's not mean. It's not like a sinister movie or anything.
Ed.: So, what grade would you give this film?
JD: A 'D'
Ed.: Hmm, so this isn't on your list of favorites, I gather.
JD: Nope. Well, it was kind of what some girls would think is 'cute' in a few places, but that doesn't apply to me.
Ed.: Aha. Well, if you could give the filmmakers any advice to improve their efforts, what would you suggest?
JD: Get a new director!! If it was a different movie, it might have a hope.
Ed.: You don't beat around the bush, do you Mr. Daniel?
JD: Apparently not... What bush?
Ed.: So, overall, would you recommend this film?
JD: Nope. Not for any reason. I just hope the next movie we have to watch for school is better overall...so there isn't so much crying and hugging and such... *eye rolling*
Ed.: I understand your next film screening will include another European venue.
JD: Well, I don't know about that, but it's about a kid named Hans who skates around in Holland. I'm not too excited, though, because he's not an Olympic speed skater or anything cool like that.
Ed.: I see. Well, Mr. Daniel, we do appreciate your time with us.
JD: Anything for the public.
###
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Mending Thumb
Buonserra-
I almost feel funny posting again about Ben's thumb, but so many people have kindly asked about it, even as of yesterday, that I thought I'd put in a few words from yesterday's follow-up appointment. This seems like a lot of appointments and follow-up treatment for one small digit, but we know better than to take a chance on any nasty bacteria surviving...and they don't seem to go down without a fight.
Bill reports that Dr. S. was much more satisfied with the way Thumbkin looked, and there was no need for further draining (or long anesthetic needles). He also said that Ben can stop the hydrogen peroxide soaks, which is one less thing to do.
Ben does need to continue on the antibiotic and was also given a refill for 10 more days. Dr. S. wants to make sure that this infection is killed. He is going to be out of town for a few days, and he wanted to make sure something did not flare up while he was gone.
He wants to see Ben again next Wednesday (I think we can just set the car on auto-pilot to get to Rockford Orthopedic now) to check on it for, hopefully, the last time. The plan is for Ben to stop the med on Sunday, allowing a couple of days without it before the next appointment. If these last 10 days of antibiotic do not kill the infecting bacteria, then the couple of days without meds will allow it to flare up just before the next appointment, when Dr. S. can get another look. If this last course of meds kills it, then we are done. If not, we will not be happy campers and will have to see what's next: probably a stronger drug that is harder on the system. But, I remind myself that in the days before antibiotic therapy, a lot of people died from rampant bacterial infection.
Perhaps some of this extra caution means he is taking Ben's recent medical history into account with this treatment. We are cautiously hopeful that this little incident does not mean Ben will be more susceptible to and harder hit by infections in the future.
His glucose readings have been more reasonable lately, but still bouncing a bit [104, 87, 140,11, 74]. Of course, Ben still is not testing often enough or noting the times he eats or exercises in relation to the timing of these readings. I have nagged him about this repeatedly, and even spoken to him in English...we are supposed to fax more detailed readings into the endocrinologist next week. Ben knows that this testing scenario can be as pleasant or unpleasant as he wants to make it...compliance = no loss of privileges or outside activities, while the reverse is also true. This stuff makes me old and tired.
The last two days, Ben has gone to track practice and, though he comes home exhausted, he is able to keep up. He has also returned to work (three or four nights a week at the frame shop); so far he reports that the eccentric lady who strongly resembles me (perhaps my secret lunatic twin) has not appeared lately...but that may be changing. Word on the street is that she unearthed the Scottie travel poster that was supposed to be framed and hung in the powderroom, after our painter friend transformed it to Highland Green....
I almost feel funny posting again about Ben's thumb, but so many people have kindly asked about it, even as of yesterday, that I thought I'd put in a few words from yesterday's follow-up appointment. This seems like a lot of appointments and follow-up treatment for one small digit, but we know better than to take a chance on any nasty bacteria surviving...and they don't seem to go down without a fight.
Bill reports that Dr. S. was much more satisfied with the way Thumbkin looked, and there was no need for further draining (or long anesthetic needles). He also said that Ben can stop the hydrogen peroxide soaks, which is one less thing to do.
Ben does need to continue on the antibiotic and was also given a refill for 10 more days. Dr. S. wants to make sure that this infection is killed. He is going to be out of town for a few days, and he wanted to make sure something did not flare up while he was gone.
He wants to see Ben again next Wednesday (I think we can just set the car on auto-pilot to get to Rockford Orthopedic now) to check on it for, hopefully, the last time. The plan is for Ben to stop the med on Sunday, allowing a couple of days without it before the next appointment. If these last 10 days of antibiotic do not kill the infecting bacteria, then the couple of days without meds will allow it to flare up just before the next appointment, when Dr. S. can get another look. If this last course of meds kills it, then we are done. If not, we will not be happy campers and will have to see what's next: probably a stronger drug that is harder on the system. But, I remind myself that in the days before antibiotic therapy, a lot of people died from rampant bacterial infection.
Perhaps some of this extra caution means he is taking Ben's recent medical history into account with this treatment. We are cautiously hopeful that this little incident does not mean Ben will be more susceptible to and harder hit by infections in the future.
His glucose readings have been more reasonable lately, but still bouncing a bit [104, 87, 140,11, 74]. Of course, Ben still is not testing often enough or noting the times he eats or exercises in relation to the timing of these readings. I have nagged him about this repeatedly, and even spoken to him in English...we are supposed to fax more detailed readings into the endocrinologist next week. Ben knows that this testing scenario can be as pleasant or unpleasant as he wants to make it...compliance = no loss of privileges or outside activities, while the reverse is also true. This stuff makes me old and tired.
The last two days, Ben has gone to track practice and, though he comes home exhausted, he is able to keep up. He has also returned to work (three or four nights a week at the frame shop); so far he reports that the eccentric lady who strongly resembles me (perhaps my secret lunatic twin) has not appeared lately...but that may be changing. Word on the street is that she unearthed the Scottie travel poster that was supposed to be framed and hung in the powderroom, after our painter friend transformed it to Highland Green....
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Knowing and Feeling
Bon Soir--
Well, we have been without internet service for most of the day and evening, so this is a quick post (don't I ALWAYS say that?) since my highschoolers have to get on to do their homework. Once again, I marvel that I got through grade school, high school, and college with nothing more potent than an electric Smith-Corona that resembled a chocolate Chunky bar.
Anyway, Punxatatawney Phil is already vindicated here in northern Illinois with his 'six more weeks of winter' prediction...it has snowed ALL day long.
But, I digress...
Today, for the second day in a row, Bill went to visit a friend in the hospital here. Exactly our age. With kids the ages of our kids. We haven't seen him in quite some time, and were never really close...but had spent some time with him and his wife some years back...
He is a patient now because of advanced liver disease due to alcoholism. Bill says he looks 20 years older than his chronological age. We have no idea what the prognosis is, let alone what his outlook is emotionally, physically, or spiritually.
Bill visited with him briefly, and he managed to get his hand out from under the sheet to hold Bill's while Bill prayed for him. It is a long and tortuous road that brings someone to the point that this man is at now, and he has traveled a long way in not so many years. We have no way of knowing if this man felt strengthened or encouraged in any way by that prayer. It was raised out of trust and obedience.
Today, Bill said he looked better and was talking on the phone, which requires at least a little energy.
Just a few minutes ago, I was catching up on my e-mail and found another church prayer request. A lot of times, I don't know the person that the request is about. But, this time, I did.
It seems that when it comes to our moments of crisis, and moments of prayer, the perceived reality can vary. I have experienced times when I prayed for others and not only "knew", but "felt" I was being heard by the One I addressed in prayer.
I have had my own moments, whether as a hospital patient or in moments of emotional extremity, where my anxiety or pain seemed to blot out anything else, while I prayed on. I have times, as probably everyone does, when it seems pointless to pray--usually because my focus is downward and my trust is frayed.
But I've also had moments, and I pray this for the individuals referenced above, and their loved ones, when I both Felt and Knew. I knew we were being lifted in prayer, and I felt an inexplicable security and certainty that I new to be the fruit of the prayers of others.
Feelings, as we all know, come and go; they can't be trusted to bring you through the deep water. "We walk by faith, not by sight." [can't remember the reference now].
But there must be some kind of circular path there...the memories of that peace that passes understanding have buttressed my faith for the next time....
Well, we have been without internet service for most of the day and evening, so this is a quick post (don't I ALWAYS say that?) since my highschoolers have to get on to do their homework. Once again, I marvel that I got through grade school, high school, and college with nothing more potent than an electric Smith-Corona that resembled a chocolate Chunky bar.
Anyway, Punxatatawney Phil is already vindicated here in northern Illinois with his 'six more weeks of winter' prediction...it has snowed ALL day long.
But, I digress...
Today, for the second day in a row, Bill went to visit a friend in the hospital here. Exactly our age. With kids the ages of our kids. We haven't seen him in quite some time, and were never really close...but had spent some time with him and his wife some years back...
He is a patient now because of advanced liver disease due to alcoholism. Bill says he looks 20 years older than his chronological age. We have no idea what the prognosis is, let alone what his outlook is emotionally, physically, or spiritually.
Bill visited with him briefly, and he managed to get his hand out from under the sheet to hold Bill's while Bill prayed for him. It is a long and tortuous road that brings someone to the point that this man is at now, and he has traveled a long way in not so many years. We have no way of knowing if this man felt strengthened or encouraged in any way by that prayer. It was raised out of trust and obedience.
Today, Bill said he looked better and was talking on the phone, which requires at least a little energy.
Just a few minutes ago, I was catching up on my e-mail and found another church prayer request. A lot of times, I don't know the person that the request is about. But, this time, I did.
It seems that when it comes to our moments of crisis, and moments of prayer, the perceived reality can vary. I have experienced times when I prayed for others and not only "knew", but "felt" I was being heard by the One I addressed in prayer.
I have had my own moments, whether as a hospital patient or in moments of emotional extremity, where my anxiety or pain seemed to blot out anything else, while I prayed on. I have times, as probably everyone does, when it seems pointless to pray--usually because my focus is downward and my trust is frayed.
But I've also had moments, and I pray this for the individuals referenced above, and their loved ones, when I both Felt and Knew. I knew we were being lifted in prayer, and I felt an inexplicable security and certainty that I new to be the fruit of the prayers of others.
Feelings, as we all know, come and go; they can't be trusted to bring you through the deep water. "We walk by faith, not by sight." [can't remember the reference now].
But there must be some kind of circular path there...the memories of that peace that passes understanding have buttressed my faith for the next time....
Monday, February 1, 2010
Feb. 2nd: A Double Whammy...
Consider this a head's up....tomorrow is a double-jeopardy day...first, it's election day in this neck of the woods...federal representative seats, judgeships, and other municipal posts will appear on the ballots...which means I'll have to get up extra early if I have any hope of having DH (dear husband) buy me a coffee after we "cast" our ballots....I'm sure there's a back story to that expression...
Today I worked at school and during lunch duty, it was explained to me that I needed to move the little lunchers away from their usual roosting spot because election workers were coming in with voting machines, etc. The church that our school lmeets in is an official lpolling place.
Being the only adult in the area at that moment, I imagine I was the only one to inwardly chortle at the juxtaposition: many US voters go to cast their ballots in polling places that happen to be within church buildings. No doubt, it is the only time many people enter a church building. I'm not sure why so many polling places are in churches....and I realize it is probably not the majority. Obviously the 'separation between church and state' spin doesn't carry much weight here...maybe there's an inherent understanding that houses of worship tend to be 'safe havens' where it is reasonable to expect some orderliness...I hope so, anyway.
I hope the first through fourth graders (who were temporarily inconvenienced at lunch time to make way for the voting machines) all grow up to appreciate the costly freedom they have inherited to live in a democratic republic. Or, perhaps, I should hope that it still is so when they are old enough to vote.
And FURTHERMORE, tomorrow is Groundhog Day! Holy Toledo...that's a lot of gravitas for one day! My husband has an "old" [in both senses] friend--going back to kindergarten, in fact--who was born on Groundhog Day. But *head scratch* for some reason, he didn't like to be reminded of that little coincidence. So they obligingly call(ed) him Earth Pig...
Which brings us back to the "heads up"....how's that for a clever segue?...OK, never mind. But, tomorrow, we'll at some point find out what happens when Punxatawnee Phil, or whatever his name is, pokes his little mammalian head out into the daylight and either does, or doesn't see his shadow.
With all due respect to my beloved dad, who used to work as a meteorolgist back when I was a tiny tot, I think the Groundhog Method of predicting the duration of winter is about as valid as all those computer models, satellite images, etc., etc. And, it's MUCH more fashionable. I've heard tell that some groundhogs have even been persuaded to pose in tophats for their moment(s) of glory! I suppose after the flash, they "eat their hat"...
Today I worked at school and during lunch duty, it was explained to me that I needed to move the little lunchers away from their usual roosting spot because election workers were coming in with voting machines, etc. The church that our school lmeets in is an official lpolling place.
Being the only adult in the area at that moment, I imagine I was the only one to inwardly chortle at the juxtaposition: many US voters go to cast their ballots in polling places that happen to be within church buildings. No doubt, it is the only time many people enter a church building. I'm not sure why so many polling places are in churches....and I realize it is probably not the majority. Obviously the 'separation between church and state' spin doesn't carry much weight here...maybe there's an inherent understanding that houses of worship tend to be 'safe havens' where it is reasonable to expect some orderliness...I hope so, anyway.
I hope the first through fourth graders (who were temporarily inconvenienced at lunch time to make way for the voting machines) all grow up to appreciate the costly freedom they have inherited to live in a democratic republic. Or, perhaps, I should hope that it still is so when they are old enough to vote.
And FURTHERMORE, tomorrow is Groundhog Day! Holy Toledo...that's a lot of gravitas for one day! My husband has an "old" [in both senses] friend--going back to kindergarten, in fact--who was born on Groundhog Day. But *head scratch* for some reason, he didn't like to be reminded of that little coincidence. So they obligingly call(ed) him Earth Pig...
Which brings us back to the "heads up"....how's that for a clever segue?...OK, never mind. But, tomorrow, we'll at some point find out what happens when Punxatawnee Phil, or whatever his name is, pokes his little mammalian head out into the daylight and either does, or doesn't see his shadow.
With all due respect to my beloved dad, who used to work as a meteorolgist back when I was a tiny tot, I think the Groundhog Method of predicting the duration of winter is about as valid as all those computer models, satellite images, etc., etc. And, it's MUCH more fashionable. I've heard tell that some groundhogs have even been persuaded to pose in tophats for their moment(s) of glory! I suppose after the flash, they "eat their hat"...
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