Overflowing with Hope

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving. There were seven of us around the table. We ranged in age from thirty-three years old to ninety-four years old. We all have a lot to be thankful for. Good health is by far the greatest blessing of all, and we're all in reasonably good health. We all have a steady income that pays the bills, and that's truly a blessing in these troubled times.

In spite of these blessings, it wasn't long before our after-dinner conversation turned to what's wrong with the world. Our country is fighting two wars and - judging by the current news - could be drawn into a third war if North Korea keeps acting up. We talked about the declining dollar, the volatile stock market, the eroding of personal liberty - new airport security procedures being the latest example. We talked about how civilizations throughout history have all eventually failed, and how ours will no doubt fail sooner or later. Will it happen all of a sudden, or will it happen gradually so that we have time to adjust and prepare? How do you prepare for such a thing? Is it even possible to prepare for it? I don't know about everybody else, but I got up from the table feeling a little bit uneasy.

I had a sleepless spell during the middle of last night and found myself replaying our dinner table conversation. My uneasiness turned to remorse. Why didn't I inject some hope and optimism into that conversation? Surely that should be the role of the elder members of a family - putting things in perspective and sharing hope for the future with the younger ones who will still be here after we, the elders, have exited the stage of life. Christians, of all people, have reason to hope.  Why did I fail to offer some hope for the future? All I could do as I lay in bed pondering all this was to confess my weakness to God, ask for forgiveness and the strength and wisdom to do better.

Most mornings at about ten o'clock, I'm sitting at the dining room table with the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer. This morning, as usual, I turned to the Daily Office Lectionary in the back of the prayer book to see the Bible readings for today. When I turned to the reading in Romans, I was amazed - not for the first time - at how the Bible speaks to our needs. It so often tells me what I need to hear when I need to hear it.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13

That's the wonderful thing about God - he's not stingy! He wants us to "overflow with hope." I like the idea of overflowing with hope. I'm not proud to admit that my hope is sometimes so puny that it just barely keeps me hanging on by the skin of my teeth. But I don't believe  puny hope comes from the Holy Spirit. Puny hope is just me, trying to prop myself up and not doing a very good job of it. I think I'm going to give up my puny hope and trust God for that overflowing hope that comes from the power of the Holy Spirit - hope that will overflow to the younger members of my family - including the new grandbaby who is on the way and will be at the table with us next Thanksgiving.

What is a Masterpiece Anyway?

I love words. A particular word may pop up often in something I'm reading or something I'm watching on TV - or even in conversation. Then I start to chew on the word like a dog chews on a bone. If I chew long enough, I usually find that there's more to the word than I first thought. Sometimes I find that there's more to it than the dictionary has to say about it.

Take the word "masterpiece." A masterpiece is one of the very best of whatever it is. It is an example of unusual excellence. A masterpiece of any type - whether art, music, literature, or any other category - cannot exist without a value system. What a heavy metal rock star considers a masterpiece of music may have no value at all for me. In order for it to be a masterpiece to this rock star and other rock music fans, they must have a value system by which they judge music. There must be a reason why they consider this particular piece to be a masterpiece over and above other pieces.

This sparks some questions in my mind. Are there perhaps two kinds of masterpieces - general and specialized? A general masterpiece would be one that is immediately recognized by most of the general population. A specialized masterpiece would be one that can't be appreciated unless the viewer has a certain specialized education. Does this make sense? An engineer may design a superb industrial valve. He and his colleagues may consider it a masterpiece. I could stare at it all day and never see anything but - at best - an interesting-looking hunk of metal. If the engineer explains what this valve can do and suggests that it could somehow be of benefit to me, I may see it in a different light. I may develop a sincere appreciation for it, but I don't believe I would think of it as a masterpiece. It's just too specialized.

When I first laid eyes on Caravaggio's painting of Christ being taken down from the cross, I knew instantly that I was beholding a masterpiece. I will always remember exactly how I felt when this painting caught my attention at the Vatican exhibit at the 1984 World's Fair in New Orleans. No one had to explain it to me. The apostle who stares out of that painting into the eyes of the observer, stared into the depths of my soul and said, "You see, he suffers this for you." This beautiful painting was huge. Am I exaggerating to say it was eight or ten feel tall and at least half that wide? I don't know - but it was big. Its figures seemed to come alive, and I was transported to the foot of the cross. I felt at least some of the sorrow, disappointment, and confusion those men and women felt as they cradled Christ's lifeless body.

After all is said and done, maybe a masterpiece is something that changes you in some way. The change may be small or it may be profound; but if the thing is a masterpiece, you will never be quite the same.

Back to the Barn

I'd rather do barn work than house work. I can't explain why. The barn work is not any easier. There's just something about a barn. It has a friendly, homey atmosphere, and that's where I spent this morning.

I gave all three horses a thorough grooming - for the first time since my knee surgery.  They really need a good bath, but I'm not sure I'm up to that yet.  I've decided this knee surgery was a good thing after all.  My recovery is coming along, and I'm getting back to doing some of the things I used to enjoy before my knees got so bad I was always looking for a place to sit down.

Grooming a horse is a satisfying thing because a horse likes being groomed.  As much as I love dogs and cats, I can't say that I ever got the feeling that they enjoy being groomed.  The dogs I've had were never the least bit cooperative when I got out the grooming tools.  And Teche, our cat, will endure being brushed for just so long before he lets you know he's had enough. 

Horses - like people - are built differently.  Tesoro has a skimpy mane, but a thick tail.  Rocky has a long luxurious mane and a not-so-thick tail while Fay's mane and tail are about the same thickness.

Tesoro stands patiently while I brush him, even leaning into the brush somtimes as if to say it's OK for me to brush a little harder.   Rocky's mane is so long it's prone to getting knots and tangles.  Sometimes getting them all brushed out is quite a challenge. 

Both the boys stand pretty still while they're being groomed.  It's another story with Fay.  Fay is the most curious of the three.  She's got to know what's going on, and sometimes that requires changing position.  If she hears a boat passing on the bayou, she must look in that direction.  If she catches a glimpse of the kids across the street jumping on their trampoline, she's got to turn so she can see.  A top-notch horse trainer would say that I shouldn't put up with her moving around, and maybe I shouldn't.  But it's due to curiousity and not for any malicious purpose, so I move with her.  I'm as curious as she is. 

When the grooming was finished, I put hay in the outside racks and turned the horses out in the pasture.  Then I filled the sink in the barn aisle with hot soapy water and let the grooming brushes and tools soak while I cleaned stalls.  Then it was back to the sink to rinse the brushes.  I set them on a stool in the sun to dry.  I don't want to give the impression that I clean grooming tools daily.  I don't clean them often enough, so it was a job that was long overdue.

Jerry took the box fans out of the stalls so we can clean them and store them for the winter.  In the summer, when it's 98 degrees, the horses appreciate a little breeze in their stalls.  Well, Rocky and Fay appreciate it.  Tesoro tolerates it, but he lets you know he doesn't like that darn fan by snorting and going to a corner of the stall that doesn't get too much of the breeze from the fan.

Spiders love the barn.  They think we built it for them.  I spent some time brushing down their cobwebs with a broom.  I hate spiders!  I just can't think of anything useful about a spider.  OK, I guess they snare a few mosquitos in their webs - but not enough to put up with cobwebs all over the place.  A wren perched on a rafter and fussed at me while brushed down the cobwebs.  If it was spring, I'd think she must have a nest somewhere in the barn and was afraid it would be knocked down with the cobwebs.   But do wrens nest in the autumn?  I don't know. 

Timely Thoughts

Most people have an opinion about the fact that our year is divided between Standard Time and Daylight Savings Time. It seems to me that, although a few people don't care one way or the other, most people have a definite preference for one or the other.

I prefer Standard Time. There's something dishonest about Daylight Savings Time. Noon is when the sun is highest in the sky, and calling noon one o'clock in the afternoon is lying - plain and simple. I'm sure there are all sorts of other ways that we humans lie to ourselves for convenience sake - but I'll save them for future posts.

I'm old enough to remember when Daylight Savings Time wasn't a given.  Various forms of daylight time had apparently been tried on a haphazard basis, making The Uniform Time Act of 1966 necessary. It didn't require anyone to observe Daylight Savings Time; but it said that those who want to observe it must all observe it uniformly. Everybody had to change at the same time. That makes sense. Uniformity would have prevented a summer of chaos and confusion in the area of northern Florida where I grew up.

I don't remember the exact year, but it must have been in the 1950s, before the Uniform Time Act was passed. We lived in the rural county - between the city and the Air Force base. One summer the city and the Air Force base went on Daylight Savings Time while the county stayed on Standard Time. This, of course, meant that if you lived in the county and had an appointment in the city, your appointment would be an hour later than what the watch on your arm said. The same thing was true if you lived in the county and had business on the Air Force base.

On the other hand, if you lived in the city or on the Air Force base and had an appointment in the county, your appointment was an hour earlier than the hour your watch displayed. I was just a child at the time, but I remember that the grown-ups grumbled all summer about the confusion. People were always arriving early or late for appointments.

Thank goodness things are more uniform now. Well, sort of. Hawaii and Arizona choose to stay on Standard Time year round even now. Well, almost. The Navajo Indian Reservation in Arizona does observe Daylight Savings Time. That's surprising. I would have thought the Native Americans were so in tune with nature that they would be even more repelled by Daylight Savings Time than I am. Sometimes my logic just doesn't hold up.

Of course, modern humans are not the first to tinker with time. The Romans, with their sundial system, couldn't even count on an hour having sixty minutes. The time from sunrise to sunset was divided by twelve, and the time from sunset to sunrise was also divided by twelve; so there were twenty-four hours in a day for the Romans just like there are for us. But in the summer - when there is more daylight than dark - an hour could have as many as seventy-five minutes while an hour during the night could have as little as forty-four minutes. Of course, in the winter when the darkness lasts longer then the daylight, the night hours were longer than the day hours. Comprende? If you want to know more about Roman time-keeping, you can check it out here http://www.beaglesoft.com/timehistoryroman.htm. All I can say is it's surprising that Romans ever got anywhere on time. Maybe they didn't.

All this rambling aside, I'm glad to be back on Standard Time. My body is more in tune with Standard Time, and I find it easier to get up in the morning. My apologies to those of you who prefer Daylight Savings Time.

Rocky's Journal - Entry 3

I had a rough weekend.  I've just now recovered enough to write about it.  We missed our Saturday evening feed and our Sunday morning feed.  And - to add insult to injury - we had to spend the night in the triangle pasture.  We've been in the triangle for daytime grazing many times, but this was the first time we ever spent the night over there.  I don't like the triangle at night.  That wooded fence line gives me the creeps.  Anything could be lurking there, just waiting to spring on you - a lion, a tiger, or - more likely, since this is Louisiana - a slimy alligator.

All this trouble and hardship started because of the improvements they're doing on the barn.  Here's a news flash for you - barns are for the convenience of people, not horses.  The people around here didn't like it that it gets muddy in front of the stall doors when it rains.  They can't stand getting mud on their feet.  Of course, mud never bothered any self-respecting horse, but people are persnickety.  So they decided to add on to the overhang above the stall doors.  This involved a lot of beating and banging, welding, setting up scaffolding, moving material in and out of the gates.  They figured we would be in the way in the barn pasture so they decided to lead us over to the triangle.

Going to the triangle means we have to walk across the unfenced backyard.  They always lead Tesoro over to the triangle first.  Then they lead me and Fay over there.  Tesoro always behaves perfectly when they lead him to the triangle.  He ambles across the backyard with his head held high like he's parading in front of a panel of judges.  I think he does it just to make me and Fay look bad. 

So anyway - Saint Tesoro was already in the triangle when they got me and Fay out of our stalls.  I don't remember exactly why or how things got rowdy, but it was Fay's fault.  She was all nervous and started dancing around and going in circles.  And any time Fay gets nervous, I do, too.  I mean - if she's nervous, there must be a reason.  And if there's a reason, shouldn't I get nervous, too?  Then too, it was cool and crisp and we felt kind of frisky.  So we danced and circled all the way across the back yard.  Our people don't like that kind of behavior.  I don't know why it bothers them so much.  It's not like we're trying to run away from them.  But they don't like it. 

We enjoyed grazing all day Saturday in the triangle.  When it was time to go back to the barn in the evening for supper, we all waited at the gate - like we always do.  But nobody came to lead us back to the barn.  Just before dark, they came on the tractor with the bucket loaded with hay.  Jerry threw the bales of hay over the fence for us to eat.  He and Judy talked about how rowdy we had been that morning and said they had decided to let us spend the night in the triangle so they wouldn't have to lead us back the next morning.

I couldn't believe my ears!  Hay is OK, grass is better, but feed is out-of-this-world good!  And soon as they said we were spending the night in the triangle, I knew there wasn't going to be any feed.

It was a miserable night.  Tesoro read me the riot act.  He said he was having to miss his feed because I misbehaved.  I tried to tell him it was all Fay's fault, but he wouldn't listen.  He has a crush on Fay and doesn't think she can ever do anything wrong.  And Fay's lips were sealed.  She wouldn't say a word in my defense.  So I had a pretty rough night what with Tesoro fussing at me and the scary shadows and sounds coming from the fence line.  I sure was glad to see the sun rise Sunday morning.

Well, the overhang extension is all done now except for a few finishing touches.  We're back in the barn pasture - getting our morning and evening feed.  And to think - all that hoopla just to keep people from getting their dainty little feet muddy! 

An Onerous Burden

A cable news station reported recently that an Arizona law that requires voters to prove they are citizens before they are allowed to vote has been struck down by an appeals court.  Supposedly, having to furnish this proof would be an "onerous burden." 

It seems like society's motto has become:  Let's see how complicated we can make simple things.  And seriously - this seems like a simple thing to me.  Either you are a U. S. citizen or you're not.  If you are, you must have something in your possession to prove that you are.  If you're a natural born citizen, you have a birth certificate.  If you are a naturalized citizen, you have some papers to document your citizenship. 

I know, I know - it's possible that you had your birth certificate or naturalization papers at one time, but you've lost them - or spilled coffee on them - or let the dog chew on them -or accidently lined the bird cage with them - or flushed them down the commode, mistaking them for toilet paper.  If any of these disasters have occurred, you take the initiative to contact the appropriate government agency and get a duplicate document.  Granted - getting this duplicate may take a while.  Government agencies are not known for speedy service.  If you wait until the day before the voter registration deadline to locate your proof of citizenship, you may have to miss voting in an election.  But if you really want to vote, I bet you'll have your act together before the next election rolls around.

And now, let's get to the pertinent question - how is producing this documentation when you register to vote an "onerous burden?" I thought I knew the meaning of "onerous," but I went to the dictionary to be sure.  It gives two definitions.

1.  burdensome, oppressive, or troublesome; causing hardship
2.  having or involving obligations or responsibilities, especially legal ones, that outweigh the advantages

The dictionary gives eight definitions for "burden."  If you want to know all of them, you'll have to go to your own dictionary and look them up.  If looking all this up would be an onerous burden, just take my word for it that the definition that applies in this case is the one that says a burden is "that which is borne with difficulty; an obligation."

Is furnishing a birth certificate or naturalization papers really an oppressive, troublesome act that is borne with difficulty, causing hardship?  Is it an obligation that outweighs its advantages?   Really - honestly - is it that bad?  Is it any worse than showing your driver's license to prove how old you are when you want to buy a fifth of whiskey?  Is it any worse than producing your library card when you want to check out a book?  Is it any worse than whipping out your health insurance card when you go to the doctor?  Have we become such whimps that simple things like these are onerous burdens?

You know what I think an onerous burden is?  I think the blood, tears, sweat, toil, and treasure given by those who founded our nation were onerous burdens.  I think being a combat soldier today in a war zone is an oneous burden.  And isn't it incredible to think that the founders of the nation made extreme sacrifices, and present-day soldiers are - at this very moment - making extreme sacrifices for people back home who think furnishing proof of citizenship in order to vote is an onerous burden!

Fidget Pie

I have quite a few English ancestors.  So why didn't any of the traditional English recipes get handed down in our family?  We never had Yorkshire pudding, shepherd's pie, plum pudding, or fidget pie when I was growing up.  French cooking may be applauded by the whole world, but English cooking is often spoken of in less than glowing terms.  Could it be that my English ancestors came to America to escape English cooking - in spite of what the history books say about their wanting to escape religious persecution?  I don't know, but a few years ago I decided to try out some of the traditional English recipes. 

I bought a special pan to make plum pudding - which is a cake, not what we Americans think of as pudding.  To add to the confusion, there are no plums in plum pudding.  English recipes often have names that are not very descriptive.  Maybe it's the English sense of humor.  Anyway, plum pudding is steamed on top of the stove and takes several days to complete from the initial mixing of the batter to the steaming.  I like it, but it's not my all-time favorite dessert.

I've made Yorkshire pudding which is a flour/eggs/milk batter, poured into hot drippings from a roast, and baked in the oven.  Delicious!  I've never made shepherd's pie, but I've had it on two or three occasions at Scottich Highland Game festivals.  It has ranged from OK to pretty good.  Maybe I should bake my own and see if it's any better.

Fidget pie has always been a complete mystery to me.  The origin of the name seems to be lost in the mists of antiquity.  Some think its name may come from the word "fitchett," a slang word for apple, but who really knows?   I googled Fidget Pie recently and found a recipe here www.uktv.co.uk/food/recipe/aid/574117.  I used a thawed frozen pie shell for the top crust.  Here's the filling recipe:

40g butter (in American lingo that's about 1/2 cup)

3 potatoes, peeled & finely sliced (I didn't peel my red potatoes; and instead of slicing them, I used my mandolin slicer with the julienne attachment.)

2 cooking apples (I used Granny Smiths.)

2 onions, sliced (I chopped mine.)

2 tsp. finely chopped sage (Next time I'll use more sage.)

2 tsp. light muscovado sugar (Never having heard of muscovado sugar, I used brown, unrefined sugar from the local sugar mill.)

2 slices sweetcure gammon (Gammon is English for bacon, I think.  Anyway, that's what I used - a good lean breakfast bacon.  And I used about six slices.  I like bacon.)

150ml (about 1/2 cup) vegetable stock (I think chicken or beef stock would be just as good.  Another Fidget Pie recipe called for apple cider instead of vegetable stock.)

I assembled all this as follows:
(Preheat oven to 350 degrees)  I melted the butter over low heat in a large skillet with straight sides.  I added the potatoes, onions,  apples, and sage; stirring until whatever liquid produced was almost evaporated and everything was partially tender.  I put this mixture in a large, greased pie plate.  I stacked my six slices of bacon and cut them into small pieces.  I put them into the same skillet, separating the pieces, and stirring until brown.  I spread the bacon pieces over the potato/apple/onion mixture in the pie plate.  Then I poured the vegetable stock in and sprinkled the whole mixture with salt and pepper.  I flattened the thawed pastry shell and put it on top of the mixture, pressing the edges down on the pie plate.  I brushed the crust with milk and baked the pie at 350 for 30 minutes.  I reduced the oven temperature to 325 and baked for another 10 minutes until crust was golden brown. 

Jerry and I both agree that this recipe is a keeper!  It's different and delicious!  Jerry confessed that he did quite a bit of "fidgeting" while I was preparing this pie - wondering what he was going to be expected to eat.  Jerry's a Cajun.  I think he's suspicious of anything that's not jambalaya, seafood, or a roux-based stew.