Food for Wiggles is poison for humans, and so Linda will not eat anything I prepare unless it's steak. I cook hers medium and mine rare. But not what I had for breakfast this morning, a MarshWiggle breakfast of a small bowl of cottage cheese with milk and sugar.  It was a standby staple my growing up years, always available for such as a peaceful Sunday evening. Through WW2 we had military folks living in the two bedrooms upstairs, a different family, person, or couple on each side and sharing the bathroom - - and I remember the first Time they came into the dining room where we were having cottage cheese for supper, the shock they expressed that something they ate on lettuce with a half a canned peach or a slice of pineapple, we were eating like corn flakes, with milk and sugar. We were grossed out at the thought of eating cottage cheese any way but ours, which we told them was how we Southerners ate cottage cheese. In retrospect, we may have been the only ones. Always Yank...

Over the almost 2025 - 2010 = 15 years that I've been writing these +Time blogposts, there are several, I don't know how many, not a lot but at least a few, blogposts that I've written but then either pressed Publish on +Time but not linked on Facebook, or that I've pressed Publish and then immediately gone back and pressed Revert to Draft and never published. IDK, this could be one or the other, it's going to be obtuse, probably, too stupid to let anyone read and draw conclusions about me. I mean, one can tell too much about oneself, nomesane?  This issue of +Time is my thoughts about what I've been doing this morning, starting at 3:41 dark-thirty when Father Nature finally forced me to get up and turn on the coffee. For early breakfast snack I had one of my standard favorites, half of it pictured above, Roquefort cheese on a saltine cracker. There are many cheeses that I like, my two blue cheese favorites are English Stilton and French Roquefort; the Italian b...

In a recent situation of pain, sickness and dying of a loved one, I was asked, "Where is God in this?" It may be the question asked the most by believers, the faithful, when we are in extremis, a crisis of life where nothing seems to help and we wonder about our all powerful all loving God after all.  Not only a Jew at Auschwitz as fumes begin to fill the gas chamber, but any husband whose wife is dying of cancer, any parent hearing the phone ring or a police knock at the door in the dark night, any patient hearing the doctor's dreaded terminal prognosis.   Mindful that we hope and expect God will intervene to heal and save in response to our prayers, I am still and nevertheless always mindful of a prayer I heard at Episcopal summer camp as a teenager seventy-odd years ago. The teenager told our small group that her youth group at home always ended their Sunday evening sessions with the prayer, "God has no hands but our hands to do his work today ...". To me, it...

  Gators 65 Houston 63 for an NCAA championship win. Did you watch it all the way, Robert? Robert was our Cove School class of 1949 basketball star, and I've watched him sink a jump shot from half-court at over 75 years of age. Robert, who will turn 90 in May, and may the Lord add his blessing. My Laughing Place under the cedar tree across the street down at the Bay's edge evaporated ten and a piece years ago when we sold the Old Place and moved to 7H. I was tentative for a while, but have come to peace with it upon finding just the right arrangement:  this spot in 7H by a living room window shutter looking out across St Andrews Bay, at a table my mother had made for me after my father died, in my favorite office chair that I brought from my office at HNES, the Bill Lloyd Building upon my retirement as school chaplain in, what?, must have been 2007? I retired when Kristen graduated from HNES and went on to high school.  Holding the numbers in my head - - they seem to slip...

  Generally I don't bother going back to look at earlier blogposts, and I'm not going to this morning; but, clearing my desktop of old images that clutter it up quickly, I came across this painting by Peter Paul Reubens, that I posted last week in commenting on the gospel for yesterday, Lent 5C. The painting is extraordinary, and I decided to look at it a bit more  before sweeping it into the Trash bin. The painting visualizes the story at John 12:1-8, Mary anointing Jesus' feet with expensive perfume while Jesus and his friends are having supper at her home with Martha and Lazarus. It's intriguing to speculate about the home: is it some sort of allusion to a convent of virgin sisters, are the sisters widowed, are the three siblings orphaned and living in the house of their parents that now belongs to Lazarus as heir? Mary seems quite independent, maybe she's the eldest and, with Martha, raising Lazarus, whom I take to be a teenager, maybe an image of the same boy w...

From today's NYT Magazine, this is another story about why I am on the side of Israel, Israelis, and the Jews for all Time, no matter what. I did not live in Europe during the Holocaust, but I lived in America through the Holocaust and I remember the stories and newsreels and photographs once the story was uncovered of Germany's unspeakable evil, evil that infested non-Jews in every European country that was conquered and brought into the Third Reich - - here including Hungary.  Again as always, few to none will read this, but it helps explain to me why I am who and what I am and have been in my life. And it helps me realize that Germans were not alone, that what they did, Americans with total power also have done and even seem primed to repeat if given power over helpless others. Time magazine photograph of the My Lai massacre of a village of Vietnam women and children by American troops, March 16, 1968. Genesis 1:27,  So God created humans in his image,  in the image of...