Movie review: short, sweet

I saw UP yesterday.

I would most highly recommend!!!

STATUS: Riding mower--Thingamajig belt needs replacing

STATUS: Push mower--PARKED in mid-swath

CONCLUSION: Too fuckin hot to mow the grass


thank you

SkyWaterFogLightEarth

My dad died over three years ago, and my mom's not lived in their house since three weeks after he died, so why my massive wait to get rid of the house? For a while, I kept it out of an odd respect for her; she thought she'd be going back there, that she was merely in the assisted living facility to "get back on her feet" (or as a beach vacation, or as cruel punishment evincing my hatred of her, or to help some of the other residents there as needed; take your pick, depending on the day). But she was NEVER there, in her mind, because she couldn't live alone---and it was obvious to anyone from the beginning that she would not ever be able to again live alone, despite her pleas, which were both pitiful and incredibly frustrating. But once she died last November, it took me til March to even get a truck there to get the bulk of the furniture (not a big enough truck, as it turns out, as there's still another truck load of less valuable stuff to still be cleaned out. Snap and I went on Tuesday because I needed to adjust the temperature from 60 heat to 80 cool so that mildew won't grow, and to have the place exterminated and arrange for the grass to be cut. It was my [mistaken, apparently] understanding that Brandon across the street would cut it (in exchange for the probably thousand dollars' worth of my dad's tools I let him have + two heavy work benches and a desk), but when we drove up, the grass was three feet high in some places and completely gone to seed complete with fire ant high-rises tottering over the grass. My dad always kept the lawn manicured meticulously, and I was really hoping he wasn't peeking down at the whole sad business from a port window in heaven. But Brandon and I are clear on it all now, and he'll be keeping it trimmed up.

But I think that the real reason I've been lax on selling the place is that I want it ALWAYS to be there to go back to....and when the house is gone, I'll have no reason to go back. I'm not pretending my parents aren't gone; the silence in the house and the disarray speak all too loudly on that front.

This trip, though, made me ready to sell, finally. The upkeep on the house is compromised, the utilities, insurance, and property taxes are needless expenses, and I'm finally ready to let it go.

On another track, here are more pleasing photos from the trip than were posted earlier.

It rained on and off the entire way, as usual. The clouds were truly stupendous.

So many layers of grey:


This shot, coming into Birmingham, shows pollution meeting nature.

Tuesday evening, after Snap and I were settled in my beloved Hampton Inn, I went back across the Tennessee to the house because I'd accidentally left some things. There was a great sunset, though, after the storms, so I detoured up on a cliff overlooking the river for some better shots. Unfortunately, all I had with me was my camera phone, so the pics aren't as resolute as they would have been with the digital SLR.

This one looks down the kudzu-covered cliff into the water.

This one stands above O'Neal Bridge on the Muscle Shoals side looking toward Florence.

Slightly different angle:

This big mushroom-ish cloud was the main source of the angled light:

This shot looks toward Wilson Dam and the "new" bridge, though that's an old railroad trestle in the foreground:

This shot was actually taken when I stopped going over the dam, checking for cars behind me. It looks back toward O'Neal Bridge where I was. The fog is starting to roll in.

More fog on TVA reservation:

Later, even the moonrise was nice:

HAD TO SHARE!!!!

from the stat counter!!



from Mobile Alabama United States
INMAIL.ASMS.NET (199.20.31.52)
[Label IP Address]button-holes.blogspot.com/2009/05/its-picture-day-in-ohio.htmlwww.blogsearchengine.com/blog-search/?q=Redheads porn&action=Search

Someone was searching for "Redheads porn" and came up with my Ohio Picture Post!!!!!!

SORRY DUDE!

B,a,m,a kitsch

As you might well know from past posts, the state of Alabama can be heavy on the absurd. My short trip this week, from which Snap and I returned just this afternoon, was no exception. Take a look.

I snapped this photo in Florence, AL. Huge place. Parking lot totally empty. I had occasion to pass by several times in my three-day visit, and never saw any signs of life. The name of the business can't help but intrigue one in its ambiguity (covers pretty much the gamut?) and its absolute ridiculousness (the specific named ("sticks") does not appear to be a heavily-sought retail item. Or am I just woefully out of touch with the times?


I loved this. A Tex-Mex pawn shop?? No, of course, its a Mexican restaurant. But I've not noticed an cactus sporting red balls atop. I regret to admit I didn't check back after dark, but I DO hope they light up! Also in Florence.

DON'T SKIPE ME, BRO!!!

This was taken (via cell phone, of course!) in a Subway in Talledega, AL, where we stopped for lunch today.

A half hour south of Muscle Shoals lies the small town of Moulton, AL on Highway 157. I've never been into the town proper, but my dad lived there briefly as a child, and he spoke of a nice place with a large courthouse in the town square. I've always meant to find the time to drive into the downtown area, but when I'm on the way to The Hometown, I'm always wanting to get there (as Moulton is about five hours into the drive) and, coming back through on the way home, I've got a long drive ahead of me and, thus, don't wish to detour. But this time, Snap convinced me to drive off the beaten path to see what's to see.

Of special note right off the bat was the preponderance of a) thrift shops b) closed boarded up businesses and c) hair salons and day spas. And not in that order! As God is my witness, every other business was a hair salon and day spa!! However, the folks out and about did NOT, oddly, appear to sport the kind of panache and finesse one might expect when fully half the businesses in a town are dedicated to competing in putting that finishing je ne sais quoi to the town's populace.

Also, there was this. I tried to be fair and assume some sort of punning was going down here, but. Alas. I fear not.

When we arrived on Tuesday, we ate dinner at Newbern's Dixie Queen Catfish Haven out by Shoals Creek, of course, and I have no idea what I was thinking when I did NOT take photos of the foot-tall Biblical figures lining the waitress station, encased in square glass boxes. Next time, I promise. Newbern's is a VERY godly catfish eatery: you've got your Bible verses sprinkled throughout the menu to remind you to give thanks for the fish and hushpuppies (best ever, I promise!) and to say a little prayer for the extra tartar sauce they bring. As luck would have it, someone was having a birthday (yeah? where would YOU go if Newbern's were a choice??) and I couldn't help but notice the waitresses took liberty with the familiar lyrics ("HB to you, HB to you, HB God bless you, HB to you!")

I did find this, though: http://www.hollyeats.com/Newberns.htm

Anyway, the next day, we went to lunch at The Palace in Tuscumbia, an olde-timeye restorede sodae fountain in what used to be a hotel built in 1833. Down the street was an "art" gallery. Here are a couple of pieces for sale. The first, I believe, shows a baptismal frenzy. You'll need to enlarge; sorry about the glare--I jockeyed for the best position and this was as good as it got. Certainly one notable aspect of this work is that those on the banks (uh, is that a rabbi to the right about to read kaddish??), in the water, or on the thin plank spanning the water appear to be from disparate time periods, based on their clothing. I'm particularly interested in the two fully clothed ladies in the foreground, who don't appear to have noticed they are nearly waist-high in a river.

Of course, money is no object, I'm sure, when it comes to this stellar find: the multi-faceted Willie Nelson. (Whozat in the right bottom corner?)

And finally, not exactly high kitsch, but Snap and I liked this old theatre in Moulton. The different colored lightbulbs don't show up well under the marquee; some were missing, but I was amazed that ANY had survived. Looks to be quite a while since any blockbusters played here. Take a good look; I'm sure it will be turned into a hair salon and day spa next time I'm through.

It's Picture Day in Ohio!

Barry barely reads my blog, so he might not see this unless SOMEONE who knows Barry rats on me!!! You know who you are. So hush. Let me have my fun.

Among class group photos, this is a profoundly wonderful find.

Origins: I ganked this off'a Facebook. The owner of the photo is, thankfully, I'll hasten to point out, easily the best-looking sport in the batch: second row, t-shirt, red collar. Good touch, Bar: casual, tasteful, under the top.

Location: The tag on the photo tells me this is the fifth grade class of 1974-75 at East Elementary School in Lancaster, OH. It's clear to any observer that this crew puts the "class" in class!

Analysis: Let's start with the teacher, Mr. Klingler, clearly a paragon of fashion in his tartan-meets-lumberjack-themed leisure jacket. You KNOW that's gabardine, just by looking (and, yes, it helps to have lived through--somehow!-- the leisure-suit era). Notice the can-do stance: legs apart, elbows slightly turned outward, fists in machismo-clench. Here's a dude ready to help his army conquer some long division, and fractions, too! When he says turn to chapter 4, he means business.

Did you notice the unusual preponderance of red-heads in the group? I'll leave you to draw conclusions (after I point out the teacher's carroty-top). With less than 2% of individuals in the United States being natural redheads, I will conclude that something fishy is afoot at East Elementary. (Warning: steel yourself for a barage of porn--not surprisingly, wink wink--should you want to check my stats by googling "natural redheads").

I can't help but be concerned, too, with the overuse of the "vest" as a fashion accessory here. I count 7 kids in vests out of 26. That 37% of this class felt that Investiture was a safe bet on picture day is an outrage begging for a shopping trip.

Let's move on to the Scouts. I wasn't a Boy Scout, true, but that's not a uniform that I recognize....Not to be outdone, though, I checked out the shirt and kerchief (http://www.scoutstuff.org/) , and they turned up kosher. My favorite Scout is the intrepid soul wedged and scrunched between the blonde in the homespun maxi-skirt and the gal in the autumn-knit sweater. Like any good Scout, I'm sure he's keeping in mind the Boy Scout oath:
"On my honor I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, morally straight,

and to remember that girls are gross

and have cooties."

Delving further into our mini-tour of mid-70's fashion, I note, also on front row, the girl in the capped-sleeve pinafore. I'd forgotten all about these woebegone travesties.

Do you love the pumpkin-inspired tights on the front row?

Between the pinafore and the pumpkin is the Boy with the Luscious Hair--absolutely de rigeur for every class from the dawn of schoolin'. The girls were guaranteed ga-ga. His mentor? I'll call: Bobby Sherman.

If I had one "Where are they now?" card, though, I'd play it on the last little gal in the ill-advised reds on the front row. She knows what a home perm can do for a girl's self-esteem. What fate befalleth her? Is she seamstress and mother of six? The exotic dancer with a heart of gold who still hopes "something better" will come along and pluck her off that pole? A research scientist wed to her work and her cat? Her destiny is anybody's guess.


A personal fave of mine is the young "Up with People" hopeful at the end of the second row, far right. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone photoshopped the head of a used-car salesman over this kid. He's a bold brash patriot who knows his ABC's: Always Be Closing.

Here's a real rocker. Bow tie, vest, suit coat. Something tells me it wasn't just his mama who was lovin this ensemb.

Not entirely sure what to make of this one.....Gender identification seems fraught with ambiguity. Could that be a sweater thrown oh-so-casually across the shoulders, or merely a study in assymetrical patches on the shirt? Too innovative for me, all the way around.

I. am. lovin. her! What fitful schemes and quiet revenge lie beyond these parted curtains of wispy shag??

Major disappointment: NO PONCHOS.

Conclusion: Count on Ohio for Picture Day!

Tonight's blog has been pre-empted so that Button could present a special email that she didn't know she was going to write. We will resume our regularly scheduled blogging tomorrow.

Do you do this?
Someone sends a link.
You see a related link on this link that looks to be of interest.
You click on it.
This link reminds you of something you've been meaning to google.
You google it.
It's a memory from the past.
The floodgates of time open and swallow you up.
Six hours later you emerge.
And realize it's time to put up a blog post!

Childhood local TV shows. Posting boards: memories of the 70's (NW AL/Shoals area).

when i was small a very bizarre woman had her own show on TV, local station WOWL out of florence, al. show was earline in storyland.
even as a very small child, i knew this woman WAS. NOT. RIGHT.
deeply and profoundly not right.
i wondered if kids watching peewee herman knew he was.......truly bizarre......but apparently not many of them thought anything about him....
but earline.....she was faulknerian but darker--too gothic for o'connor
but memory can blur and betray and i forgot about her for years.

but tonight in a book about children's tv shows called hi there boys and girls! by tim hollis, i come upon this write-up:

". . . WOWL's other contribution to kid vid was Earline in Storyland on which show a local piano teacher dressed in little-girl clothes and read cute children's stories to the audience, surrounded by a set depicting a fairy-tale castle in the clouds. Veteran Florence TV personnel recall, while shaking their heads somewhat sadly, that the host of Earline in Storyland was not acting and actually emulated the clothing and mannerisms of a little girl in real life."

earline lived in a big house and drove a big pink car, i remember that. she lived with her mother. apparently her house was condemned while she still lived there, and after her mother died, the car sat in the yard so long that a tree actually grew up the middle of it. also, she is rumored to have so many cats (wouldn't you know it???) that one didn't want to get downwind from the house on a hot summer day.

i wish wish wish someone would post an old clip of the show on youtube......

I'm just sayin.....

Got your Goat?

This in my email from the neighborhood listserve:

Hi,

My husband just phoned me & asked me to send this. He was unable to do much since he had to get our son to soccer practice on time & could not get them into his small car, but he just saw 2 goats at the corner of Idylwood & Barnett Shoals (Paisley Place / South end). They both have on collars so are clearly pets or domesticated. They were away from the road when he saw them, but someone will want to claim them before they get hurt. Can you help to circulate this to the various neighborhood contacts? I'm figuring they cannot be from too far away, hopefully someone will be able to get them.

Thanks,Beth--

Beth Kirch,

DirectorLegal Career Services

The University of Georgia School of Law

I'll admit I'm particularly enchanted by the image of two goats riding in a small car. Imagine passing them on the road, maybe one with its head hanging out the window, maybe the other one starting to eat the upholstery......

Family Fotos

Nothing screams "I love you" like cuddling up at Olan Mills:

Did mom take her neck brace off for the photo and ask son to spot her neck? WTF??

From the Redneck Garden of Eden collection:

Prom Patriots:

Something tells me I might not have a lot in common with this couple:

24 Hours with Button

7 am ish

Waking up is hard to do!
Here's my waking view.
Once up, I drink coffee. I piddle paddle aroundst the yard and such.
Then I shower.....


...and meet Mary Anne for lunch at 11:45 (or thereabouts) at Taqueria del Sol. Fish taco, fried chicken taco, shrimp corn chowder......sho wuz good!

1:20 pm
Our lunch was short as she had to pick up her youngest, so by 1 I'm tooling it back home!

1:28 pm

Let's check the mail! Ooh, not much today. Just an ambulance bill for my mom that I can't seem to get a grip on. The amb co keeps billing. I say why haven't you filed insurance. I can't get an answer. Whatever.

1:29
I turn into the driveway....

...

1:32 pm

...and park in front of the house.....

1:33 pm

Pinkerton is watching for me out the dining room window!

I have my poetry group at 6 and my poem is NOT ready, so I plan to work on it. But first, let's check.......

2:21 pm

Facebook!

Oh, all kindsa crazy shit going down on there I have to examine.

AN HOUR LATER.......grrrr......

3:45 pm

....I'm ready to try to do something with that mess of a poem I've had started since December. I decide inspiration will descend more easily if I'm outdoors.

4:23 pm

Widdles gives not a fig for a poem......Never has.....

4:30 pm

....Hey Baby is convinced her life will continue quite well without poetry, too, thanks.....

After about an hour, I give up and get ready to go to Lee-Ann's house, where the poetry group is held this month....

5:45 pm

It's a lovely afternoon and I can get to Lee-Ann's entirely by rural bucolic routes.

5:56 pm

Here's Lee-Ann's house!

8:46 pm

Here's Lee-Ann's cat, Jasper!

8:55 pm

Here's the poetry batallion

Ron, Sarah, Lee-Ann, Clela

Rebecca, not pictured

10:49 pm

Later, I check out a few tabloid news shows to see who's gone missing now.

I start The Wrestler but don't finish.

Cubby stretches out but thinks he'll not join me.

You're probably convinced that I left out the REALLY exciting stuff, right??

Uh, no.

a dybbuk in my computer?
I posted the last two posts minutes ere midnight's chime, yet they both say 10:51.

If you could sit down at a computer hooked up to May 15, 2029, and could google one thing, what would you google?

IN THE NEWS

**Blago shampoo? Seriously?

**GA wants to secede from the union. Seriously.

** Hey y'all. Maybe......there's a reason beauty contests aren't called brain contests. Since when do the opinions of bimbos make national news??? ALL OPINIONS ARE NOT EQUAL. Who cares what Miss CA thinks about ANYTHING???? Get over it. And frankly, I've found a large portion of gay responses to her to be what I'd expect out of a bunch of sixth-graders.....It IS possible to show disagreement through an intelligent, logical, and thoughtful response rather than the gleeful snide nastiness that exploded after those semi-racy photos came out.
Sure, she's a hypocrite. What a surprise. The backlash against her has done nothing but give her more confidence as a "spokesperson." Take a look at some of the organizations that are recruiting her as a voice. I rest my case.

**Does Donald Trump own all beauty contests now? Not something I keep up with. He's welcome to 'em. Just wondrin why he decides who keeps a crown or not.

**What a world! Where are we going? And why are we in this handbasket??

**Hello! Zinkhan's decomposing body is ready to be picked up from the crime lab! But family won't return calls. Coroner says even though he's refrigerated, someone needs to claim him..... "soon," emphasis his.

**I don't remember the last time I felt really really good.

**Started watching The Wrestler. It bored me for a bit, but has gotten better...I think I won't be awake long though.

**I did document my oh-so-exciting day! But I'm too tired to download pics and write text.

**Tomorrow is another day.

Artereosclerosis Special $6.50 + insurance deductible

I've never eaten this dish, but wow. whoa. damn. zowee. I hope they're at least good!

Listed as #1 on several Worst Foods in America lists.......

Aussie Cheese Fries (Outback Steakhouse) Serving Size: 28 ounces;

Calories: 2900,

Total Fat: 182 g,

Carbs: 240g, Protein: 75g

WHY I CAN'T WRITE MUCH TONIGHT

I think on Thursday, I'm going to take you with me all day. I'll give you 2-3 photos a hour of

My Exciting Life.

I won't do it tomorrow since I grade online and I'm expecting it to be fairly low-key as far as true excitement goes.

I'm about [fixin'] to watch The Something Something [Strange Case?] of Benjamin Button. I already feel a deep connection to the movie. I hope it mentions my blog somehow.

My point is. . .

if there's a point to anything, anything at all,

. . . that I got up super early this morning and don't want to be up way late, so I'm not going to devote a whale of time to this post. Though sometimes I'll get started and can't stop. . .

I had terrible nightmares last night, a real rarity for me. I've never been one for consistently bad dreams. Even in periods of intense turmoil and worry in my life, when my waking hours are filled with agitation pacing tears and the like, I can still go to sleep and have the most magical baby dreams. I wonder if that means anything significant. I know people who claim to be happy without any huge worries in life who are consistently plagued by nightmares. . .

so after awakening from this badly dreamt event in my brain, I woke up Mr. Button at 4:30 or so, which roused the cats, which started some kittishenanigans, which caused him to say sheesh wanna just get up and go to IHOP? So at 5:15 we left for IHOP across town, but when we arrive the parking lot: empty and we could see through the lettering on the door that said "OPEN 24 HOURS" all the chairs perched leg-up atop tables in that way that sends the undeniable nonnegotiable message "uh uh you AIN'T comin in HERE." At which point we decided to go to the Grill downtown, though I took the short cut ghetto route that did not please Mr B, who mumbled about our throats getting cut all the way to the Grill, though we were out of Danger's Zone in 3 blocks. I was glad my throat was not cut or otherwise compromised as I was hungry. Back home before 7. Mr B leaves for work and I spend a while rereading Waiting for Godot very slowly and deliberately, thinking what a different life I bring to it to reflect after I read it last in toto (1985, grad school, Modern Drama class, Tony Roche, Auburn U). The lines are essentially so simple, a sparse play, but the whole thing can turn tragic or comic depending on the actor's delivery. It seems that the dialogue, more than most, lends itself to the actor's interpretation. Sort of like some sit-coms, if you take away the laugh track, would appear uncomfortably serious, tragic indeed.

I didn't finish, though; I had some stuff to write and copy (won't go into the story) and had to run errands--courthouse, Anguish department to drop off hard copy of my grades, the DOL, etc. . .

and so it goes.

ps I think my laser surgery is wearing off. horrors.

pss I need a haircut in the worse muthafuckin way possible. I look like a bag lady. It will be okay, too, if Richard (my hairdresser who is awash in gaiety) accidentally dropped, like maybe, a complete bottle of dye on it as well OOPS. But looks like everyone in town has the same notion, as I can't get an appointment until areyoujokingme June 29! Plus Richard does hair for the dead sometimes, too, and that eats up some of his time.
I paid a lady (never met her, arranged through funeral home----the f-home that overcharged me $4500, so watch them carefully when it comes time to pony up for your loved ones, folks, though I think this was a true mistake and not a scam, but I might be too trusting--)anyway, the fun director (I guess "funeral" doesn't lend itself well to truncation, huh?) suggested having my mother's hair "did" by a lady in the area known to do nice things to hair, plying her trade almost exclusively at funeral homes. So I left $50 for her to do my mom's final coif plus another ten for a tip since my mom was always all over a tip. No matter what. A waiter could take a shit in the middle of our table and she'd still leave a tip "because it's rude not to tip." Anyway, my hair will probably look much like the hair of Richard's dearly departed clientele by June's end.

finis.

Just wondrin...

.....about what's actually going on in your brain when you're trying to remember a fact/trivia, etc and you say, "It's right on the tip of my tongue."

I find it very odd that we can actually feel, somehow, that we're "close" to remembering something (a name, place, etc) or conversely how we will know that we're not even close to remembering.

The fact that we can talk about the retrieving of info from our brain in terms of distance ("I'm close") means the brain can look at itself thinking, which isn't new info, of course.

But not only that, it can gauge and assess its retrieval processes.

What are we feeling actually happen (on a physical/chemical level) when a fact is "on the tip of our tongues"? Synapses firing or not firing? An EEG shows brain activity by color, so are we perceiving activity in the area where the info is stored? So I guess the brain automatically becomes active/hot when we try to think about certain topics. As a fact becomes less remembered, does it move to a different place in the brain, and we have merely learned to call activity in this new place an "Oh, I've almost got it!" type memory?
What does memory look like in the brain, as it is stored? I don't mean its depictions on EEG or MRI. That's like calling sheet music "music."

Well, IS it music until its played?
What is a memory if it's not remembered?

.....and another thing......

To continue with my prayer harangue:



Those who think they carry out New Testament orders by praying....well, I'm not so sure. Is prayer really supposed to be a Giant Wish List? It seems to me that some are mixing up Santa Claus and God. Sure. Think about the similarities. Santa is watching to ascertain whether you're naughty or nice, just like God. If nice, you'll get rewarded with gifts (heaven) or, in the case of naughty (and you know who you are!), you'll have switches and ashes (fire and brimstone) in store for you. And both Santa and God maintain their spying by inexplicable means; they just know; they're just everywhere. They're both depicted as old, with long white beards. Though God doesn't appear to be quite a jolly as Santa, far from, really. Also, they both have enlisted help in the form of elves and angels. Santa has Mrs. Claus, but they apparently are childless......when would they find time to procreate. In a bizarre reversal, God has no wife but does have a son. And then there's the mysterious Holy Spirit, who appears even more touchy than God about being disrespected (i.e. "But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation." mark 3:29). Boy, talk about carrying a GRUDGE.



But I'm off task.

If those given to praying look at the Lord's Prayer as an example of HOW to do so (as it was expressly given as a teaching tool for prayer), they might note the very conspicuous absence of a massive Wish-List).

Our Father which art in heaven

Hallowed be thy name

[big on the praise, as one might expect]

thy kingdom come

[this line appears to simply be looking forward to God winning the war between good and evil]

thy will be done

[this line is, granted, ambiguous, and I never saw it until I typed it just now. I always took it to mean "I will submit to your wishes" (in which case prayer itself could serve as a reminder to those praying that they should be submissive to God) but I've always been confused about the next line:]

on earth as it is in heaven.

[I assumed maybe everyone on earth should exhibit as much faith--since we can't directly see God while alive--as those already in heaven exhibit, those who DO have direct evidence and no longer need faith. But NOW I see that "will be done" could mean "thy will be accomplished on earth as it already has been in heaven." Either way, this prayer seems pretty directly opposed to OUR wish lists as opposed to submitting to the will of God].

Give us this day our daily bread.

[daily bread seems to refer to only what is needed, nothing superfluous. Of course, opinions on what is NEEDED vary widely. One could make a case that I need my loved one to live through this day]

And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

["as" might mean "in the same way that" or "when"--Either way, it seems to be a reminder that God rewards you by how you treat others. Duh.]

And lead us not into temptation

[Odd. I thought the devil led us into temptation. Why would we need to ask God not to tempt us? Why would he want to?]

But deliver us from evil

[he needs to get busy]

[more praise coming up:]

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.

Check this out. The kid's actually pretty amazing to be able to sing, at two years, even halfway close to the tune in a piece like this with a two octave range!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AR4PQ30VkBk

Don't Pray for Me, Argentina

Sometimes, things work out, and sometimes they don't.

In my life, I've been forgiven and have experienced good luck and easy breaks beyond my just desserts.
On the other hand, I've also suffered plenty of shit that I'm convinced I didn't deserve.
True for you, too? And you?

Hmmmmm......So this interplay of good and bad must be pretty common?

Explanations for the good and the bad in life, I think, can be reduced to these three possibilities:

• God has a reason for meting out good and bad to us for reasons that our understanding cannot fathom; or
• We bring good and bad upon ourselves by our attitudes and actions, both directly and indirectly; or
• Good and bad occur in our lives randomly and inexplicably for reasons we cannot understand, or for no reasons whatsoever

I think that most (all?) people want to believe in order, that one day All of This will make sense---that our pain does have a reason, that our long-suffering will have reward, that our tears will teach us and make us stronger, and better.

And indeed it all may be so.

For me to declare this life to be senseless and to posit authoritatively that no God exists is as arrogant, I feel, as claims of believers that they are held tightly in the protective hands of a just God.

But.

The issue of prayer bothers me greatly.

If there is a God to whom we can pray, why does he appear to "answer" our prayers so randomly? And by random, I don't mean the yeses or nos for which I can find no justification or reason, but instead the apparent randomness of how sometimes the lives of those who pray work out well and sometimes not.....and how the lives of those who do not believe experience the same ups and downs.

I don't understand what transpires in the minds of so-called religious people when they do not have a prayer request granted to their satisfactions. Oh, yes, I know what they say: that God has a larger plan; that sometimes he knows that "no" is best; that perhaps not enough faith was involved (I've heard that one plenty--seems to involve a great guilt trip coupled with an egotistical just-plain-mean God who can't understand our human frailty and uncertainty...) But where is the evidence that prayer works if "God knows best"? Isn't he then doing what's best for us whether we prayer for it or not?

I'm also bothered by the fact that, especially in the cases of sickness, family and friends obviously want to get as many people praying for the infirm as possible, which reduces prayer to a popularity contest. What is the reasoning behind this? Can we really imagine that God is saying, "Whoa! Had no idea so many people cared about Betsy! Guess I'll let her stick around a while more...."

I once worked with a woman named Donna whose mother had breast cancer. Donna's extended family were members of a Pentecostal Holiness Church (xenoglossia, whole nine yards). When Donna's mother had surgery, the entire congregation held a prayer vigil for her (which I will say is a nice gesture on an emotional level for anyone experiencing a serious illness). As it happened, the surgery went well, her mother was declared cancer-free in time--and of course a miracle was declared and God was praised for his love and care.

Sadly, two years later, Donna was diagnosed with breast cancer like her mother. Because of the apparent genetic predisposition of this disease, Donna was very vigilant with breast exams and mammograms, so her cancer was discovered sooner than her mother's, a good sign on the surface. She opted for a mastectomy, but soon the doctors discovered that the cancer had metastasized. The church kicked into full-throttle prayer as Donna began chemotherapy. She felt confident that God would not let her die and that the prayers would help. Even on a secular level, her positive attitude (and if her faith did waver in moment of doubt late at night, perhaps, she never gave sign of it that I saw) indicated that she perhaps might have a better chance of survival than someone who simply gave up. She often spoke of her reliance on God and how her faith would save her. (I won't delve into questions regarding why, if her wellness depended on her faith, she went to the doctor in the first place though I feel certain she would see her surgeon as an instrument of God). She died within a year of her initial diagnosis. Why? For me, the answer is that her cancer was more aggressive. I don't think the faithful would deny this fact, but then I wonder if, then, they would have to say that the cancer was beyond God's capabilities to cure? I doubt they would think so.

Furthermore, when I see people crowing about the things God has given them--material goods, health, happiness, etc--I have to wonder how they cannot ask themselves: Why has God given me this new car I prayed for when he allows millions of children starve, suffer horrible abuse, poverty, disease, and sadness? I think of the woman in the doctor's waiting room not long ago, the one who claimed God changed the color of her husband's eyes simply for the asking. Am I to understand that he cares more for a cosmetic improvement than for a five year old with an inoperable brain tumor who'll never see first grade?

Certainly behind these questions lie bigger ones, issues about the existence of God or the purpose of suffering that are beyond the scope of this particular ramble. I'm not attempting to explore those nor do I anticipate that I will ever be prepared to intelligently or clearly do so.

Prayer, though, seems to be a more pervasive belief than many other Christian rituals (church-going, charity, communion, etc). I think prayer has taken on a sort-of Wishing Well or Christmas Wish-List purpose for many.

To be continued....Tomorrow: Thoughts on the Pater Noster.

US vs France

Hm. So maybe there's something to stereotyping, after all.......