Wednesday, November 30, 2016

25.52.41N 77.39.05W

Early morning, 5:31, still dark and cruising along heading 270° so due west. The ship may be sailing a big rectangle in order to fabricate the “Fun Day at Sea” that they call Wednesday before arriving back at Canaveral early Thursday morning. Thinking this as our fourth and last cruise, Linda and I splurged for a suite about the space of the living room in 7H, plus entryway, dressing room, large bathroom, double-size balcony. Not like the squeeze spaces our last three. 

Interesting primary news coverage on the ship’s television yesterday, POOTUS wanting Americans who burn or trample the flag to be deprived of their citizenship or sent to prison. Free speech includes all kinds of protest possibilities, all effectively meant to anger someone who will be outraged, and abusing the flag to get attention and anger somebody is as much an exercise of free speech as sitting or kneeling during the national anthem or defacing the pictures of The Leader that soon will be required in every home, and in every school room to replace the portrait of George Washington. At any event, one is thankful that humanity, the nation, and world have so few problems that punishing people for burning the flag can be priority for a rational thinking man, the people’s choice.

Ship heading 281° now according to my iPhone, 6:00 and a tray of coffee and tomato juice just arrived at the door. WTH, we’re at sea, oh-six-hundred hours and counting.

Latitude 25.52.41N Longitude 77.39.05W 

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

2 gigajoules

No blogpost Monday morning was there, das tut mir leid. Slept until an unheard of six o’clock, and when I came out of the shower Ray and Lillie were here in the room to take us to the wedding ceremony venue. Freeport, Grand Bahama Island is an interesting port of call: don’t go there to shop. 

Ride to the beach at the other end of the island was bleak, due to landscape flattening by recent hurricanes, homes with roof shingles missing. Cleveland's Beach Club was bad hit by Hurricane Matthew, the proprietor told me, 

but they've recovered sufficient to reopen. It's right on the sea and I had a Kalik beer, 5%, not bad though my taste is to bitter, but not a bad beer, local. 

Cruise ship landing at Freeport an industrial area, not downtown at fun shopping like here in Nassau, where five cruise ships are here in port with us today: two Disney ships, two Royal Caribbean, and our ship, Carnival Valor. Pleasant weather, nice square right here at the port, with lots of benches to sit, look at the free map, and reconnoitre. 

Wedding ceremony in lavender, if I'd known I'd have brought a lavender vestment. Windy, strong, stiff breezy wind coming off the sea and low breakers right there at our feet

Only serious mistake I’ve made so far was getting in the wrong “Carvery” line for supper on board last evening. As I finished my well done roast beef, Linda said in the other line the roast beef was red, bloody red. Bad Word, said I, foul and profane, don’t use words like that in the presence of a lady even if the beef was well well done. Tonight I’ll try again, the other line. This morning a nice breakfast of eggs benedict on salmon, went off the ship for our short shopping adventure, back aboard for coffee and ice water, to room for nap. Not having lunch, waiting for early supper this evening. 

Cruise ships are about food, you know, free food: one must take care not to over eat.

This cruise has been a reward for the elderly: both for having sailed on Carnival before and for booking a deluxe suite, we had priority boarding, which took minutes instead of hours. Sound investment for two octogens. 

Tomorrow is billed as a “fun day at sea” and we’ll see what fun is scheduled for three thousand people with nothing to do but shop onboard and eat for free.

Cleveland's on Sea, Freeport, Bahamas

What about being back at sea. It's like being in a little city suffering a constant, continuous, continuing, ongoing earthquake, Magnitude 3 on the Richter Scale. Where are those sea-legs, Commander?

DThos+ from Nassau

Sunday, November 27, 2016

7H: my kind of cruise ship

Seven and a piece hours driving, including lunchtime stop at Texas Roadhouse in Gainesville, yielding absolute, total collapse into bed exhaustion, not at all a good octogenarian Saturday. Televisions in TR had the Michigan game on, score 3-0 Michigan at the time before we headed on down the highway. Hint: don’t get overly excited when the score is three-oh, and don’t order the “country fried tenderloin steak” I mistakenly anticipated was going to be real Texas chicken-fried steak, ‘twarn't. Fool me once.

27-30 and 13-31, 'twarn't no good football Saturday neither. 

On the drive down yesterday, at least we weren’t heading the other direction on Florida’s Turnpike, mile after mile after mile of stop-and-go bumper-to-bumper traffic creeping and crawling out of Disney northbound home from the holiday, clogging the northbound lanes on both the Turnpike and on I-75 from north of Gainesville all the way south to the Orlando exits.

Not this trip but one of these days I may return to WaltDisneyWorld to see if renovated Pirates of the Caribbean is still my favorite ride. Decades ago, arriving early mornings, I’d hurry straight there and, before crowds started creating a long line, ride round it half a dozen times before heading over to the Haunted Mansion.   

With more of Ray and Britany’s wedding party, we’re off to breakfast at ten o’clock this morning then to the Carnival cruise pier at Port Canaveral to board their good ship Valor. Linda and I’ve not been on enough cruises to have a favorite, but we do anyway and so far it’s hands-down Disney Cruise Line. For me actually, it’s neither Disney nor Carnival but either a WW2 Navy destroyer or 7H.

Not much of a cruise-ship cruise fan, last time I enjoyed sea duty was 1959. SOP, my ship went to Guantanamo Bay for refresher training after shipyard overhaul, early winter it was. Underway from Norfolk, Virginia, USS CORRY in snow flurries as we entered the Atlantic Ocean and headed south for GTMO. Because Fidel Castro and his band of guerrillas were in the mountains nearby, we were not permitted off base. 

Couple days later sailing on Guantanamo Bay with close friend and shipmate, skipper in sailing, and partner in whatever Don Senese and an iced tub of Heineken. From Boston and a fan of the Boston Pops, Don hated the same Navy that I so loved, couldn't wait to get out while I was augmenting to Regular Navy, he was a Russian language major at Harvard, his family’s Episcopal parish served sherry at coffee-hour, mimosas and bloody-marys I recall him saying, then the family headed home for martinis before Sunday dinner. Evenings at GTMO, two Navy ensigns in the O Club sipping pure sunshine: Añejo and soda. 

Castro dead with his hatred of America for our pre-revolution imperialist treatment of Cuba (we are sadly a nation of blind to self, always placing the blame elsewhere narcissists). With respect to all who escaped from Cuba during Castro and are still understandably filled with hate, the Cuban people, who have long endured evil government, equally feared and detested Batista before him: their oppressive governments nothwithstanding, our right way is to cultivate cordial relations with the Cuban people.  

Tonight supper on board, 6:30 dinner reservations and I may have lamb chops and a glass of dry red.

DThos+ overdoing life in +Time+

Saturday, November 26, 2016


Tampering, fidgety, always tampering with something, restive, restless, antsy, always tampering with something. First in my mind the liturgy, the Episcopal Church “tampering with the liturgy” as Malcolm Boyd said it back in the 1970s when General Convention did the Zebra Book and ultimately the 1976/79 BCP to us. Early on, I used to read a periodical or something Malcom Boyd sent out, maybe it was in his critique of the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. Malcolm Boyd was a character, I miss his cynicism. I remember when his mother took sick and died. I remember when Boyd died. I miss his cynicism. 

But tampering, the word, thought, that woke with me from a dream that stirred me to consciousness just after one o’clock this morning. In the dream, tampering with a recipe or something, God tampering, messing with my life such that here I am, when on my own I’d undoubtedly have goofed it all up and ended up in prison or something with this mouth and temper [that thought must have broken free out of the right brain, heel, heel, I say]. So God tampers with one: God can be heavy if one listens; heavier, heaviest if one ignores, ask me. IDK, maybe at various times of life God did a Job on me, IDK. At any event I’m happily up here in 7H at this point in this little sometime melodrama of waking, sleeping, dreaming, waking …   

Joe and SO are at a Blue Ridge Parkway resort for the T-giving weekend. Lovely pic. Not 7H but lovely. Choose: seashore or mountains. Top mountains. Below sunset beyond Redfish Point from PB407.

In short order: off toward Port Canaveral. Stay tuned, Self.


Friday, November 25, 2016


Couple of brain things to do today, plus my sadness inevitably sets in when Tass leaves to return home to Tallahassee. Otherwise a Friday of peace and quiet at promise. 

Why can’t I be 36 again, a Navy commander managing my career differently. Evidently wanting a second chance at life, woke this morning from a dream in which, confused and greatly mixed feelings, I’d just put on the fourth stripe heading back to WashDC and a new duty station. What’s bothering? Why should Brexit be bothering me, I have no further desire to travel, surely not to relocate?

And why should an obscure FoxNews article online this morning bother me, “Vladimir Putin: Russia's border 'doesn't end anywhere’ Russian President Vladimir Putin has said Russia's border "doesn't end anywhere", addressing a televised awards ceremony for geography students. He asked a nine-year-old boy where Russia's border ended and the boy replied ‘at the Bering Strait’. Mr Putin provided his own answer, which he then said was meant as a joke. Mr Putin has pledged to defend ethnic Russians wherever they live.” A very funny joke, nicht wahr, Sudeten Germans, anyone, Polish Germans? Is this 1939? 1932? Heh heh, it is to laugh, no? “Any Dream Will Do” or, per Ukraine, any excuse. 

Not and never a political blog, uneasy about potentially shifting U.S. alliances, but no American patriot could rightfully hope an American president will fail, and I do not, neither now nor ever regard half of fellow Americans as The Enemy. Thanksgiving Day is a national holy day, to some of us the holiest of holies, perhaps with the Fourth of July, Veterans Day; Columbus Day like it or lump it. Memorial Day. Presidents Day for 1&16. How the hell I wander this far off into the brambles, I neither know nor care.

Black Friday? Even in India? Do they have BF in the UK? Across the EU? FoxNews: as US relationship with Pakistan degrades under PEOTUS it may improve with India? 

"PEOTUS" and "VPEOTUS"? gimmeabreak

Why do humans contrive to so hate and murderously anagape each other? Someone said or wrote that it’s because of religion, our religious differences. Is that it or are we still fighting over hunting grounds.

Breakfast oyster dressing.



Thursday, November 24, 2016


No one need look here for Thanksgiving Day wisdom, I will not, that’s fer sure, that’s fer dang sure. Memories maybe. In my bedroom upstairs, the larger one on the left at the top of the stairs and over the kitchen, delicious aromas wafting up. Turkey roasting, pumpkin pie. Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, a longest weekend, no school until Monday. Cove School. This year Bay District Schools had the week!!

Cool outside and okay for going barefoot except that autumn, fall of the year, the chinquapin trees covered the ground with their spiny produce. 

Edible, I never ate one, the Indians, Native Americans roasted them, the squirrels ate them. Stepped on and they were bad or worse than stickers, sandspurs. Ours was a yard one had to know where not to walk barefooted. 

The cinquapin trees, in which our father had constructed us a small platform dubbed “the treehouse,” disappeared when the garage was built in 1948 to accommodate the new Dodge sedan. Mama had insisted no new car until a garage was finished, because the 1942 Chevrolet was dotted with turpentine pitch from sitting outside under the dripping pine trees all its six years with us. The garage was built exactly where the spiny ones fell.

A couple years later the Plymouth station wagon came to live with us and the carport, actually an open air garage, was expanded to hold both cars. Along with the house, it’s still all there. That's an oak tree in the foreground, hanging over Massalina Drive. Beyond, a three-trunk magnolia grandiflora that I stood on the front porch with mama and our dog Patsy one morning in 1938 as my father and Old Dave planted it, a healthy little stick of three twigs sticking up, because mama had always wanted a magnolia tree. As Robert and I walked by last week, I wondered if the upstairs bedroom of my growing up memories would smell so wonderful on Thanksgiving morning.

Thanksgiving morning 2016 ->


Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Completely Knocked Down

Gardenia-est thing I ever heard of, must think they’re running an alphabet kindergarten: list of things to bring onboard the Carnival ship. We’re driving down Saturday, sailing from Port Canaveral on Sunday afternoon, Ray & Britany’s destination wedding cruise. Carnival’s online list of things to pack says if you’re bringing medicine you must bring either the original prescription bottle or a copy of the prescription, I reckon they don’t want octogenarians slipping dope onboard to get high and jump overboard or something. Dope: is that the word anymore? IDK. Evening handful has seven or eight pills in it. Gag.

And the weather this morning: freezing outside, 50°F says the weather channel and, worse, “feels like 49”, and all because I complained about the long hot summer, so I complained and this is my payback. Yep, I had it coming but everybody else has to suffer with me. down to 50F already and likely this is only the beginning. Next summer I’m keeping my mouth shut.

Ship last evening, departing, one of the larger ones, Seaboard Valparaiso 525x91 making for Houston with general cargo. Missed her as she passed close by 7H but caught her clearing Davis Point. Also a smaller ship coming and going, weekly PC-Progreso transits. 

Happiness this morning: TJCC arriving. When the girls were little they loved, and I loved it, their running around and around the huge house shrieking and laughing. That’s what that house was built for, happy children. For a few months late 1917 five Weller children lived there. Four after January 8, 1918. Finally, because Evalyn was off at college in Tallahassee, three in 1923 when Mom and Pop sold the house and, chicken cages strapped to the running boards, spirited off to Ocilla, Georgia in two touring cars, Ruth and my 11-year-old father driving the Model T Ford, Pop driving the Hudson with Mom and Marguerite. Pop was the Ford dealer in Ocilla and my father had stories of the several years there, going down to the train depot where the CKD cars, various Model T Fords, arrived in box-cars, my father and another boy assembling them and driving them couple blocks to the Ford garage. So far the upshot of it all is that here I am in 7H watching ships pass my green flashing channel marker light, clear Davis Point and remembering; another instance of memories and fantasies gone indistinguishably wild. 

Spend my life worrying about family members here, daughters. If only I’d bought that Seattle townhouse a generation ago when their economy tanked and the saying was, “Last one out of Seattle turn off the lights.” Besides StAndrews, my three favorite cities: SFran, Seattle, Sydney. Closest I’m to Seattle anymore though is eating these Willamette oysters. They’re packed labeled “Extra Small” which means three monsters to a pint but they’re half the price of local. Extra Small: I wonder what a large one is like.

Wednesday Thanksgiving Eve, one of those mornings where I have to give up rushing out and snapping pics as the sunrise grows gray, golden, pink. Damn sky won’t let go of me.

DThos+ muttering along

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

don't ever write with the left hand

Gandalf: you shall not pass

This was goofy, didn’t work. This morning’s sky is clear, black, beautiful and starry. East to west, papermill, downtown PC, planet, moon, Sirius, Orion, condos on Thomas Drive. Lovely, so I tried a pano shot of all that: nothing, black, zilch. Oh well.

We are into the quadrennial political moaning that the party losing the election is done for. “Done for” must be an idiom, native to the language, I know what it means but can’t explain why

After every presidential election all the breast-beating that (fill in name of losing party) did it wrong, are no longer in touch with the people, has dropped into oblivion and will never recover. A month ago it was the Republican party per pundits, pollsters and talking heads, as Hillary, House and Senate headed for a Democratic landslide and decimation of the Republican party. God and the Electorate willing, nobody is done for, and we need at least two viable parties, preferably three or four. In my Time, the two parties we have seem to have somewhat traded appeal. When I was a boy, commonfolk were afraid of Republicans, Wallstreet & the Banks. Now folks fear Democrats, Wallstreet & the Banks. People vote for what they perceive to be in their own interest, if a party can’t appeal to that motive it’s lost, but not done for. Always another election soon, staggered vacancies and Republicans, who were done for after President Obama was elected, will moan again. Why are elections surfacing the despicable in our inhumanity. Not to say "the deplorable", as that has already been said. 

What am I accumulating over here? Where in tarnation did that question come from, must have been the right brain speaking again. Discomfited by what it wrote with the

left hand, I may not soon again free it. Someone long years ago said, “If you scratch Tom with a pin, there’s a Baptist under there” but that wasn’t what peered out at me. It may be worse. 

What passed with flying colors and cannot be rebottled?

Gandalf: fly, you fools

Monday, November 21, 2016

is that you?

Cold out, 43F 46% and what’s to see, Sirius, planet high in the east, no longer keep up but Jupiter? Orion tripped and falling, slanting down toward the west. Jacket time for the walk, knit cap to pull down over the ears. Yesterday also was chilly, enough winter for me, ready for summer again. Warm lemon water, now b&d. And yep, the bed's already made, no getting back in

Neither religious nor political, just a musing blog, too often an incoherent stream of consciousness that makes me uneasy to post lest someone discern me too well, or realize now I’m public it’s too late for blackmail, or see it’s Time to Baker me. What’s the gospel for next Sunday, Advent One? Jesus said to the disciples, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” Matthew 24:36-44. Uh-oh. 

And though we’ll be out of town, here’s our Advent One Collect for the Day

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.


Sunday, November 20, 2016

not King

Sermon by the Reverend Tom Weller in Holy Nativity Episcopal Church, Panama City, Florida on Sunday, November 20, 2016. Last Pentecost: Proper 29, The Reign of our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. 

Luke 23:33-43
When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And they cast lots to divide his clothing. The people stood by, watching Jesus on the cross; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, "He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!" The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!" There was also an inscription over him, "This is the King of the Jews."
One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." He replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
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When they came to the place called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with other criminals. There was an inscription over him, "King of the Jews.” …  ”Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
More than I could ever tell you, I loved and enjoyed the charismatic movement of the Episcopal Church 30, 35 years ago and more. Movements come and go, but we had wonderful praise and worship, spirit-filled songs about Jesus as our King. If I could go back anywhere in life, it might be to reclaim that beautiful place and time of joy in the Lord. “Alleluia, alleluia, opening our hearts to him, alleluia, alleluia, Jesus is our King.” A triumphant hymn for opening worship, every hand in the air, joy in Jesus on every face!   
But you know what, I have to give them credit: the lectionary framers are idiots, this is an absurd gospel to read on a Sunday we’re celebrating Christ the King: what kind of king hangs on a cross, or maybe Jesus was right last Sunday, maybe the earth is quaking, not one stone left upon another, maybe we do need to see our king hanging naked on a cross bloody, drooling and dripping to shock us into remembering who we claim to worship and adore, and in whose bloody tracks we covenant to tread: we adore thee, King Christ, and we bless thee; for by thy holy cross thou hast redeemed the world. Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.
But Jesus is not King, because Christianity is where Christ is King, and a Christian is someone who is becoming Christ, and we are not becoming Christ, and Christ is not king for us — which is why we have this Day in the first place. 
You’re heard this from your priest before, here at Holy Nativity one or both of us tell it every year: in 1925 Pope Pius XI instituted the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, Christ the King Sunday, in response to growing secularism in the world, ascendance of fascist dictator Benito Mussolini in Italy, nationalist fascist movements erupting throughout Europe by majority vote of the electorate, for whom Christ was not King, stirring hate and prejudice and the unspeakable horrors of the German Holocaust, and igniting World War Two. 
I am that age, I was there, a child but I remember the propaganda, the newsreels, our national fears, hatreds and determinations. I remember the war songs, the nationalistic fervor. How we hated the enemy. I remember the nuclear fireballs that ended the war with our exuberant celebration, I have stood at the atomic epicenter in Nagasaki; and I have served. Christ is not king, Nation is king, Flag is king. 
Nothing, little has changed, Your Holiness. The Pope was right: Christ is not king and still hangs dying (poor Yahweh, he never gives up on us), crucified God ever hopeful that Sunday, Easter will come for us, in spite of all that we are and all that we worship in this world. Like and with Saint Paul two thousand years ago, my longing is that Jesus may return in my Time as conqueror and king: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again, Amen, maranatha, come, Lord, quickly come! 
One wonders if Jesus will be disappointed, angry; what will be his reaction to us as he finds us? One of my books at home is the Bible according to Mark Twain, who early on replicates the familiar scene in the Book of Job where God’s advisors, the heavenly chorus of angels, gather in conference with God. God tells the angels he has created humans in his own image. Stunned, they don’t know what to say. Satan rolls his eyes and snorts, “Excellency, what are they for?” And when it comes to the question, God does not seem quite sure. 
In a later scene, God is disappointed, confounded and desolate that His human experiment has gone so wrong, so wicked, bad and evil, so far from His hope and dream; and so God again confers with the council of angels. Satan, the caustic angel of sarcasm, wit, and bitter cynicism speaks the wisdom of the ages when he advises God, “I’d drown ‘na whole lot of ‘em ‘n start over.”  
Look at the world around us: Christ is not king, will never be King simply because God the Father wills it, only if and when we Christians make it so. But from Nawkhawsh the Serpent in The Garden to this present moment, our record in human history is unpromising and unhopeful.
As your preacher this morning, I can smile and laugh with you, raise my hands in the air praising God and shouting Alleluia, Christ is Risen, the Lord is Risen indeed, Alleluia, but you heard the gospel: he is not, not risen, not king, I am the idiot: the lectionary framers are right: he hangs crucified, the resurrection but a future promise and divine hope — of paradise where Christ is King on earth. Not King in an afterlife above the firmament, but here on earth, king in this room here and now, king in your home and family, king in human life today. Christ will only be King when for every problem the only question is WWJD, What Would Jesus Do? and in answer we follow in His bloody tracks. We are A Long Way From, and every day is Good Friday as our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe hangs in agony on the cross, and the earth shakes with the trembling rage of God the Father.    
There he hangs, in today’s Gospel, the man on the cross. What he is and will be depends solely on you, on your becoming
  • whether you follow and obey him as your Lord and King, or hurl stones and insults as a common passerby. 
  • Whether you persevere in resisting evil, or surrender to the powers of darkness. 
  • Whether you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself, or unite with the hatreds that divide us. 
  • Whether you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being; or sink into prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from you.  
You are bound in Covenant to Christ the King. If you are not living into your baptismal promises, he is not king, not your king, not king for you. As we head into Advent, I exhort you: seriously contemplate the promises and vows that you have made. Let us pray:
Almighty God, thank you for the Good News Gospel that in the death of your Son Jesus Christ you overcome sin for all who follow and obey him as King. Thank you that in his resurrection you overcome death for us. Thank you that by the sealing of your Holy Spirit in Baptism you bind us in love to your service. Renew with us the covenant you and we made at Baptism. Send us forth in the power of the Spirit to live the life you set before us in Jesus Christ your Son our King, who lives and REIGNS with you and the Holy Spirit one God, now and to the ages of ages.
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I do not publish these sermons proudly, but simply and only to keep a promise to a dear friend that I would always do so. TomWeller+

Art: scene from The Passion of the Christ

Sunday: praise now, sermon later

A Song of Creation     Benedicite, omnia opera Domini

O all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye angels of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.

The Cosmic Order
O ye heavens, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye waters that be above the firmament, bless ye the Lord;
O all ye powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye sun and moon, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye stars of heaven, bless ye the Lord;
O ye showers and dew, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye winds of God, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye fire and heat, bless ye the Lord;
O ye winter and summer, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye dews and frosts, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye frost and cold, bless ye the Lord;
O ye ice and snow, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye nights and days, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye light and darkness, bless ye the Lord;
O ye lightnings and clouds, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.

The Earth and its Creatures
O let the earth bless the Lord; *
    O ye mountains and hills, bless ye the Lord;
O all ye green things upon the earth, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye wells, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye seas and floods, bless ye the Lord;
O ye whales and all that move in the waters, bless ye the Lord;
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O all ye fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord; *
    O all ye beasts and cattle, bless ye the Lord;
O ye children of men, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.

The People of God
O ye people of God, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord;
O ye servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.
O ye spirits and souls of the righteous, bless ye the Lord; *
    O ye holy and humble men of heart, bless ye the Lord.
Let us bless the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; *
    praise him and magnify him for ever.

Sunday: Praise now, Preach later


DThos+ still chugging along

Saturday, November 19, 2016

it's all the same

Good morning, self. We, self and I, look to some +Time+ soon and very soon. Happy Holidays, the holiday season has started actually, some schools having Thanksgiving Week off, short cruise after Thanksgiving with a destination wedding party, keep the Xpistos in Xmas till New Years, then soon and very soon that will include seeing my brother’s face again.

Lovely out this morning, waning moon high, lighting clouds and the Bay, solitary shrimp boat off 7H, cool breeze. Blue velvet chair in Beck bedroom, browsing the desktop of my old original MacBook to see what I’d left on it before its own semi-retirement like mine.

In a 2013 file loaded with miscellaneous cleared from the desktop, a file entitled PICS Special. When both are fading anyway, is there any neural difference between memories and fantasies down roads not taken, when history is all in the mind anyway? Not haunts, but sits there in a back room like Rodin’s Thinker, long dormant then quickens on opening various doors. That yellow 1951 Cadillac with the black top that someone stole from my garage out back. I'd left the door ajar.

 Me at nineteen, how do I know? because 1955, it was my first “crewcut” and mama had our pictures taken. Mama had not wanted me to get a crewcut, so I got it in the barbershop down the street from the KA house on University Avenue in Gainesville before coming home for the summer after my sophomore year. I guess my mother reconciled to it, IDK.

 What if I had stayed in the Navy? 

November at the old place, the cassia we brought from Apalachicola an explosion of yellow, gorgeous, but the bush was scraggly hideous the rest of the year. 

 There’s our black 1935 Chevrolet Master Deluxe coach again, except ours had WSW and yellow spoke wheels. Many memories.

 Oh right, November 2014 Bubba the Clown trips, falls, and has an ambulance ride to the ER.  

 The baptism of Flat Stanley before he begins his world tour. 

 Long years ago forgotten here, someone’s little lamb gone to be with Jesus and alive forever in the Mind of God. 

 Springtime at the old place, azaleas transplanted from the house on Massalina Bayou, where Anderson and I'd planted them in the 1940s

 December 2014 our last Christmas tree in Alfred’s house, vacated, empty, bittersweet.

   My doll that mama made, Charles wearing my USN cap.

 August 28, 2010 me on the roof in Ordinary Time, my summer supervising renovations at HNES.

 Kris on the bus with the PCB soccer team. 

  A 1932 DeSoto.  

 MLP, My Laughing Place. 

 And that Cadillac again,  still somewhere waiting for me to drive it across the heavens.

No matter, it’s all the same to me.

Rain? Promises, promises - - -

DThos+ in +Time+