Laszlo, this is heaven Definition of nuts: anyone who thinks there’s anything better to read on a plane or a rainy day than The New Yorker magazine. Other maybe than some novels. I like Heinrich Böll, have read lots, maybe all his short stories, IDK, am contemplating whether to order a seventy-nine cent copy of The Silent Angel through Amazon. Only problem with a free book or a penny book is the $3.99 shipping. Clearing the computer desktop somewhat this morning. Many icons I seldom or never open but don’t want to trash so tuck them away in files. In a hundred years someone opening this computer may wonder, “Who was twellerpc and why was s/he saving ‘I don’t need anything here’ by Laszlo someone unpronounceable, and Garth Brooks ‘The Dance’ and this rubbish about somebody named Werckmeister and a dear and nostalgic 1950 visit with Ernest Hemingway by Lillian Ross (1918-2017) https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1950/05/13/how-do-you-like-it-now-gentlemen (that reminds me of...

Waking in Hampton Inn, Tallahassee after eight hours’ sleep and a football game last night sitting next to Lincoln High School marching band,  watching C1 with flute,  watching C2 sitting in front of me and getting hair braided  by a middle school classmate friend whose sister also plays in the band,  and also watching a super game filled with penalties, at least one poor sportsmanship penalty for each side, dead ball callings, seeing one player stupidly slug an opponent after tackling him (referee caught it too), watching a safety and its two points, watching a fourth down forty yard field goal kick for three points, watching a good and promising quarterback play three quarters then yield to his backup in the fourth quarter when the score was, like, forty to fourteen. Final score, Lincoln 47, Chiles 21.  Last season we watched Lincoln beat Leon, last night’s game against Chiles seemed unusually scrappy, vengeful, and penalty pocked as foo...

Sit for preaching  Stand to sing  Kneel to pray Americans in Puerto Rico may not have power indefinitely, while I’m inconvenienced this morning by a momentary flip that flashes the lights off with a bang and back on with a jerk, blanks the televisions, turns off the internet until I can get it restarted, and requires four clocks to be reset. Puerto Rico is an economic, cultural and geographic issue unto itself, but we don’t seem to realize that there are no second-class Americans. But there are, aren’t there, there are, always have been second-class Americans, as a matter of fact, that’s what the Kaepernickian Kneel is about, being Untouchable in a land where all men are created equal but not treated so. I don’t Kneel: first and lifelong an American naval officer, in churches where I was in charge, I had the American flag removed partly due to the fact that we were there because of the cross not the flag, partly due to my own grievous fault that even as a priest, whe...

28 “What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ 29 He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. 30 The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. 31 Which of the two did τὸ θέλημα the will, the wish, the desire of his father?”  They said, “The first.”  Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. 32 For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him. Matthew 21:28-32 (NRSV) The first paragraph is called "The Parable of the Two Sons." It may be fair to say that nothing is always true, because exceptions arise; but let us say that in the gospels when Jesus tells you a parable it not unlikely is ...

At 3:22 a friend who cares about me, yes there are people like that, emailed me “no blog” and jolted me to some degree of mental alertness, what happened? am I okay? Yep, the coast is clear, but what happened?  Now I remember. Rising about two o’clock this morning to visit with Father Nature, on returning to bed to go back to sleep I had a homiletic thought that gnawed until I got up, fixed coffee, and drafted the nonsense for my next time in the pulpit. Time that was done, six o’clock, sleepiness had returned so back to bed for an octogenarial morning nap that lasted until ten-thirty. Then car to the shop because of the little “change oil soon” light, and the next time the blog came to mind was an hour ago when I picked up my iPhone and opened email “no blog.” Nope, all is well. It’s just that my thinking ability was used up between two and six and it didn’t occur to me to use my brain again until after my late afternoon project, what?  Reading PCNH daily comics and Sunda...

Soundproofing between rooms at 7H seems as good as the solid tongue-in-groove wood for walls and ceilings at The Old Place. In its space, which is the laundry room and pantry, my magic coffeemaker’s grinding and compression seems deafeningly loud, but isn’t heard in other rooms even with the door open. And sounds from outside are hardly ever heard here, although yesterday’s Sunday afternoon nap was jolted to semiconsciousness by loud claps of thunder.  To blog not to diary or journal, and to avoid mosaic whining, but exhaustion continues from the 9/07-21/2017 trial. Continues if slowly abating. In my middle years, Sunday afternoons often were occupied enthusiastically by examining the lectionary readings for the Sunday a week away and starting sermon thoughts and notes already. No longer, although by my fault, by my own fault, by my own grievous fault, I allowed October Sundays to become so jammed that yesterday I did manage to look and see what comes next so as to open th...

Seventy-four degrees out here on 7H porch, Fahrenheit, seventy-nine percent humidity. A jetliner very high, beyond hearing, moving between Sirius and Orion’s belt, or it may have been a satellite. Lightning low and wide from west to east at the horizon over the Gulf of Mexico. A buzzy small boat moves one direction as a shrimp boat, bright with all her lights, heads across the western end of StAndrewsBay toward her dock at the marina. The gentlest breeze, almost as undetectable as my PSA score, from off the Bay. And cool that at first I thought I’d left slightly ajar the sliding door behind me.  Yesterday breakfast, thick slice of perfect, densely chocolate birthday cake. Long nap. Yesterday, unwashed, mentally unwinding, we moved porch furniture and plants from their hurricane shelter filling the living room, back to their assigned spaces where I now sit sipping and typing. Saturday dinner, hotdog with sauerkraut on one side and chili on the other, and a thick slice of perfect...

For Betty and Walt I AM the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. All who believe in me, though they be dead, yet shall they live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. You do not know me. My name is Thomas Carroll Weller, Jr. Tom. I’ve never before been billed as “Bubba” but I like it and will explain. In the family I am First Brother so my name is Bubba, Uncle Bubba. I am Walt’s brother, Walt is my brother. Over the years people have asked if we are twins. Walt and I don’t think we look alike, but grandchildren have sometimes not been able to tell us apart in person or on the telephone, or the sound of our voice from the next room. At supper last night I even found out that both of us have been stopped and asked if we were Vice President Dick Cheney. We are not at all the same: growing up, or ever. To see us as biblical characters, I am Jacob, quiet, reserved, stay-at-home. Walt is Esau, outgoing, life of the party, hunter, athlete, fisherman, gun expe...

If, as inclined, I blog what I had for Friday lunch at Felix’s on Mobile Parkway in sight of the battleship USS Alabama, my favorite* type of warship, then +Time, my blogging of seven years duration, degenerates into the diary that it already has to great extent become anyway.  Oh WTH, crab soup delectably more crab than soup, and an overly generous filet of sautéed snapper covered with lump crabmeat. Our good waiter, who first warmed my mug with boiling water, kept it filled and refilled with hot black coffee throughout. The bottomless cup of coffee may have kept me awake for our drive straight home the rest of the afternoon, but it did not deter my falling asleep to the sweet tune of exhaustion last night. Thanks to alphabet FuroForty I only got up five times during the night to chat with Father Nature.  Truth, whoever or whatever that Other is inside of me peering out invariably stirs to semiconsciousness to confuse Father Nature of my own life, and old Father...

Cleared but had rained during my three hour nap, 2 to 5 Thursday afternoon. Quarter to seven, caught a cloud from Hampton Inn room window as we headed out to meet Walt & family for supper. Walt and his four children with beautiful, much-loved families. Walt’s daughters Leslie and Donna closely resemble each other. I’d post photo but that it’d violate the personal privacy that is one of my highest values in life. But they do. Sisters indeed.   Twelve of us for supper at Don’s, where we had enjoyed supper more than once when we were here in January. Folks had a range of things, I a dozen grilled oysters no cheese, shared with Linda a bowl of crawfish bisque, my main dish a bowl of crawfish etouffee, saved half for this morning’s breakfast. Oysters I love and would eat every meal, but in Louisiana it would be nuts to miss enjoying delicacies that aren’t available in PC. In my next life I’m living here during mealtimes.  Thursday morning, Betty’s funeral went well...

Thursday, 21 September 2017, this morning I’m thinking of family. Truth, I’m always, nearly always , thinking of family. Later this morning Betty’s funeral, my sister-in-law, my brother’s wife, Walt’s wife. Death has confronted me in the past, often as priest and pastor, classmate, friend. First as grandson, and later. Time to time as nephew, cousin, twice as son. Wishing you long years.  Me: who am I ? Who am I? Wie heiße ich? Depends entirely on who you are, and our relationship, but variously, Bubba, Carroll, Tom, Dad, Commander, Mister, Father Tom, Papa, Uncle Bubba, maybe more or less in that chronology though not necessarily in that ascension. Heute, today, I’m brother, ich heiße Bubba, as it was in the beginning, is now. All is not as it seems though. I’m not necessarily what I’m called. There’s someone, something, some thing inside peering out, someone whose name I don’t know, watching the clock, shaking bars, looking at the clock again, and the sun, the calend...

Hampton Inn, Ocean Springs, Mississippi, up early for coffee. Typical, I forgot to bring a sport coat to wear to Betty’s funeral, so Linda is on iPad finding a store where I can buy one. I also forgot a toothbrush but was gifted one at the desk last night, not typical, haven’t done that in forty years or more, toothbrush is nearly always the first-packed item. Malinda tracks us for safety, wants a text when we arrive at Denham, two hours west on I10 changing numbers to I12. Tuesday, my driving turn from Pensacola to Ocean Spgs, I10 truck traffic was horrendous all the way. Having made a habit of driving Interstates in through and around Atlanta, I don’t mind it, who cares, mind the mirrors for one thing. Travel with lunch yesterday, stop for sandwich and water, second sandwich with coffee for supper after arrival here. Linda had deli ham, I’ve a taste for enough prosciutto slices doubled over to almost an inch thick, tasty but requires sharp incisors. This morning: graze m...

first back to Apalachicola now back to StAndrews Just my brother and me. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works.  And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death. And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire. (Revelation 20:13-15) (KJV) Grant to us who are still in our pilgrimage, and who walk as yet by faith, that thy Holy Spirit may lead us in holiness and righteousness all our days. (BCP p.481) Solar system, MilkyWayGalaxy, Universe, highly not unlikely Multiverses (how many Big Bangs can there be if your Logos is not too small?),  are greater than life and one life and one’s life and our imaginations and images of it and fears of what it may not be after all when all is said and done. What is , or at least what we imagine is because it’s all we sp...