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Gentlemen, start your engines

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    Looks like I just missed the line of heavy thunderstorms, and that the rest of the day, which includes a haircut this afternoon, will be rainy. At least, judging by the green (rain) blob that stretches to Pensacola.  Ah, Pensacola, the mind wanders to my teenage years there with my Gentry grandparents and first cousins, especially Bill and me waiting until the old folks had departed for their evening of cards with friends, leaving the other car for us to speed around the streets of East Hill. Bill was the passenger, I was always the driver, and this morning, heading down the brick street of a residential neighborhood, myself behind the wheel of the 1952 Imperial hemi-V8 with the Fluid Drive tip-toe shift, passing 50 mph before lifting my foot to let the transmission shift into high gear, my wild stupidity scares the living hell out of me this morning.   And if they'd taken the Imperial because it was parked last in the driveway, we took the Chrysler Windsor ...
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contemplation: I believe

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the Big Bang: At the first of ELOHIM creating the skies and the land -- and the land was desolation and emptiness; and darkness was over the face of the deep, and the spirit of ELOHIM was hovering over the face of the waters--and ELOHIM said, "Let there be light"; and it was light. And ELOHIM saw the light, that it was good; and ELOHIM separated between the light and between the darkness. And ELOHIM called to the light "day," and to the darkness he called "night." And it was evening and it was morning -- day one. (TEV, Genesis 1:1-5) +++++++++ Our tribal metaphor by James D Tabor.  Not many will read this, but mox nix mir, it's this morning's rambling lenten contemplation by me for me to me.  The sense of it is that you and I do not see the same or believe the same. What do I believe, what's my religion? It has to do with how Eucharistic Prayer C puts it: At your command all things came to be: the vast expanse of  interstellar space, galaxies, ...
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on Christmas Day

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Fog, it's fog season again. Sandburg, right? Carl Sandburg. "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on."  He must have been thinking of Chicago fog, eh?, not ours. Our fog doesn't move on, it stays for the season it defines for itself about this Time every year. So, it's good, fog season, I like it. I'm not at sea, nor going up in the air Junior Birdmen, and trying to avoid driving in it.  Lost, I've lost my train of thought for this blogpost, haven't I. Yes, I have, it's rhetorical, so on my own I reckon a question mark is not essential. And not only has my thought evaporated, the large chunk of panettone I ate with my mug of hot & black has caused my bp to plummet, shutting my brain down, so back to bed for a short winter's nap this early morning 2025, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day.  ... and may all your Christmases be white fog on Christmas Day in the morning. For lif...
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Merry Christmas

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O holy night: happy Christmas to all. Not getting out into anything that lasts until we have to drive home after dark, we are at home here in 7H watching online our parish church's Christmas Eve spectacular long titled "Holy Commotion" and living up to its name. They are all good, but in my memories, the absolute worst most pathetic have been the sweetest, dearest and best.  There was a Time, Christmas 1984 to Christmas 1997, when I was very sure that Christmas did not happen anywhere in the world but Trinity Episcopal Church, Apalachicola, the worship, liturgy, spirit, music, choir, musicians were that perfect. That feeling held on in me for many years after my October 1998 retirement. But watching and loving the little characters on show at my old home parish, Holy Nativity Episcopal Church, Panama City, stole my heart away. We have a beautifully decorated Christmas tree here at home and loved ones are coming tomorrow to open presents and for Christmas dinner, and it me...
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