"The Vernepator Cur"

Heard this bit of history for the first time on the radio the other day -- the tale of the turn-spit dog tasked with running inside a wheel that turned the spit on which meat was roasted in England and, later, America.

The Canis vertigus, or turnspit, was an essential part of every large kitchen in Britain in the 16th century. The small cooking canine was bred to run in a wheel that turned a roasting spit in cavernous kitchen fireplaces....
"Turnspit dogs were viewed as kitchen utensils, as pieces of machinery rather than as dogs," says Bondeson. "The roar of the fire. The clanking of the spit. The patter from the little dog's feet. The wheels were put up quite high on the wall, far from the fire in order for the dogs not to overheat and faint."....
On Sunday, the turnspit dog often had a day off. The dogs were allowed to go with the family to church. "Not because of any concern for their spiritual education," says Bondeson, "but because the dogs were useful as foot warmers."....
The dogs were used in large hotel kitchens in America to turn spits. "In the 1850s, the founder of the [Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals] was appalled by the way the turnspit dogs were treated in the hotels of Manhattan," says Weaver. "This bad treatment of dogs eventually led to the founding of the SPCA."

attention ... photos

A woman shouts during a vigil in Abuja calling for the release of Nigerian schoolgirls abducted in the remote village of Chibok, May 15, 2014.
REUTERS/Joe Penney

 

 

A woman walks through a display of portraits which were made as part of the Inside Out art project by French artist JR at Xintiandi area in downtown Shanghai May 14, 2014.
REUTERS/Carlos Barria

 

 

The head of a full-scale replica of the Sphinx, which is part of an unfinished theme park that will also accommodate the production of movies, television shows and animation, is seen behind trees on the outskirts of Shijiazhuang, Hebei province, China May 15, 2014.
REUTERS/Petar Kujundzic

"feudal America"

Fiery and lackadaisical as some creationist Bible-thumper, I find myself stuck with the post-it label "Feudal America."

It's not something I have the energy or willingness to investigate or question or prove: It is true because I feel it is true and since what I feel is true, so too must it be true. Amen, brother! Amen!

The rule of law dribbling away ....

The rule of wealth gaining ever more sway ....

The slick and self-serving use of the "terrorism" label....

Drones....

The growing acceptance of yet another war ....

Collateral damage....


And there are other tendrils that wisp and wave in my mind. But in the end, I am too tired to yowl and dissect: Like a man with malaria, the truth is the truth is the truth. Even if I wanted to escape, attempts to escape would be futile.

"Feudal America."

And, although there are many consequences to this assured-but-amorphous, post-it foundation stone, perhaps the horror that is most etched is a sense that as wealth claims the day, imagination and innovation dissolve.

Wealth is never imbued with much imagination outside imagining more wealth.

When was the last time America created something unifying and nourishing for the nation? The Health Care law may turn out to be a good thing, but even that cannot hold a candle to the health care systems in other smaller, less wealthy nations. Gay rights has a soupçon of breadth. But the soaring hearts of a few is not the soaring heart of the many.

Creativity is whittled away and whittled away. Even the creative need to eat and when eating is the first priority, creativity can go suck an egg. Who can dream or think or soar when the increasingly-constricting dream is of survival?

The Brits have had practice in feudalism and the colonists are mesmerized by the steady and stately pace of "Downton Abbey," a world wondrously well-appointed, genteel, circumscribed and clueless. The barons and baronesses of America have less practice ... maybe a TV show will provide some hints... shed some light on the comme-il-faut of wealth and privilege. Once the wealth is accumulated ... well, what will you do with it all; how will you act and what act will assure that appearances will be kept up and the servants will remain below stairs?

Oh well. There's the social whine and I am not immune. But the loss of thought and imagination somehow feels the worst. It "feels" ... and remember, it's true because what I feel is true and therefore it must be true.

"Feudal America" feels right.

Pass me my Bible.

with thanks

Things have been a bit higgledy-piggledy around here and my usual contributions to the blog have been curtailed for the last couple of days.

But I did want to pop in and say thank you to the donors who showed up out of the blue yesterday and contributed towards the repair of the zendo roof.

It has been a while since I posted the donate button to the right on this page. I posted it in the winter and there were some (thank you) early donors. But now it is spring -- the time when, if the donations pick up, the job can actually get done. Anyway, I was surprised and grateful yesterday... and could use a few more before I can actually have someone do the job.

The writing hiatus relates in part to trying to piece together a newspaper column that I write on a monthly basis. The older I get, the harder it gets to bang out a satisfactory 750 words ... something that, if my capacity to talk-talk-talk is any yardstick, I ought to be able to do like falling out of bed. These days, I can pick a topic pretty easily, but the magnetism of that topic is no longer what it once was. The igniting importance simply doesn't ignite as once. It is harder to write.

And then there's the household full of people and getting fuller. Not only are my daughter, her husband and my younger son filling out the domestic tableau. Now, it seems, my older son, who just graduated from college, will also join the herd in a corral that was large enough for pint-sized people, but shrinks by leaps and bounds as everyone fills out, has differing adult-sized plans and comes and goes as if it were Club Med. I like and love them all and that's a consolation, but ... well, it gets confusing for an old duffer like me and more confusion is not something I need.

So it goes.

"spurious correlations"

Passed along in email was this list of "spurious correlations," of which the following is one ... what a hoot!

the moral and the moralistic

The moral and the moralistic -- this morning in email I found myself making a distinction and yet now, I'm not quite sure.

A moral argument or position brings together evidence surrounding a particular topic and through that presentation suggests a direction that could be called "good" or "better" or "right."

A moralistic argument likewise gathers or presents evidence that then insists on a particular course of action or direction.

What brought this to mind was the irritation I can feel in the company of those who distrust their own argument so much that they feel the need to have my agreement. The swirling addition of "you gotta believe" detracts from the issue itself and makes it more difficult for me to reach whatever decision I choose to reach. Is the issue "address the issue" or is it "love me?"

Whatever the case, the older I get the more irritated I become when someone brings up an issue I too take seriously and then injects what might be called a moralistic overlay.

I was content for a few minutes with my separation of "moral" and "moralistic" -- it had a certain fortune-cookie conclusiveness -- and then I wasn't quite so sure.

Even without the explicit insistence that anyone see the issue from a prescribed and moralistic point of view and even when evidence is collated without any apparent salesmanship in mind, still there is the choice of evidence being adduced. And of itself, that choice implicitly points in one direction or another.

So in the end, what is moral and what is moralistic both rest on the agreement of others -- an aspect that morality might claim to be free of.

Oh well ... wubba, wubba ... I guess I just dislike having stuff shoved down my throat by people who are convinced by their own morality.

And that reminds me to remind myself to watch my oh-so-moral step.

economic outlook ... with sass

Passed along in email, this Irish-flavored, quick-hit summing-up of the world's financial woes ... not for those with delicately-disposed ears:

the devil makes a comeback

Passed along in email:

The devil seems to be making a comeback in the Roman Catholic Church.

Lord, what would the church -- or any of the rest of us -- do without our devils?!

PS. The keeper quote from the Washington Post article linked above came, for my money, from the Rev. Cesar Truqui, an exorcist:

Asked how he knew the woman was possessed, he said that “once you hear a Satanic growl, you never forget it. It’s like smelling Margherita pizza for the first time. It’s something you never forget.”

the point of Buddhism

Trickling down individually and then temporarily pooling as one came the thoughts:

The point of Buddhism is not "Buddhism."

The point of Buddhism is you.

If the point of Buddhism were "Buddhism," it would become rotten and cruel and useless -- another entry on an imaginary resume.

It is only because of you that Buddhism is fresh and nourishing and dances.

No (wo)man can be limited by the dead fruit of "Buddhism" or "Christianity" or "Islam."

Which is not to say that "Buddhism" can't lend a hand from time to time.

A waltz is a waltz even when it's a "waltz."

Mother's Day, I guess

It's Mother's Day here in the U.S.

Happy Mother's Day, one and all!

Good mother, bad mother, sweet mother, sour mother, nourishing mother, withholding mother ... it's Mother's Day and a time to recall -- if there's nothing better to do -- who brought us all forth... who cared and who didn't ... whose magic was magic, however it was dressed.

My mind has been off on other tangents ... not especially relevant, I suppose ... dancing around a friend's draft piece about military chaplains and noodling without much thought to explication or logic ... anyway, I emailed in part:

One of the tendrils your piece waves across my mind: The evidence suggests a disconnect between principle and practice [the no-killing principle faced with the killing-zone fact]. The disconnect is surprising only to the extent that anyone might imagine principle could be perfectly realized. Principle entices, but practice tells the tale. Claiming that one is more important than the other is a fool's errand, life being as scrumptious as it is. 

I think of the anguished man -- perhaps wounded on the battlefield, perhaps not -- crying out for some relief, some succor, some human companionship. Would I be willing to lie to such a man -- to tell him tales in a language he found credible ... the language of "Buddhism," perhaps? You bet I would. Why? Because I too am human and humanity trumps all principle in times of anguish. And, if any of this seems relevant, I guess I see something humane in the Buddhist "chaplain," however disconnected such a post may be in principle. Not that the disconnect doesn't deserve to be pointed out, not that the corruption doesn't need to be noticed, but isn't the circumstance much like Buddhism itself ... telling principled tales that are bound to disconnect from the people they affect?

The old line, "wishing to entice the blind/the Buddha has playfully let words/escape his golden mouth --/Heaven and earth have ever since been filled/with entangling briars" pops up on my radar. "Playfully:" Perhaps another word for that is "in principle." I'm not trying to elevate the briars when I say I think that everyone chooses his way into the briars ... and from there, god willing, out. If a little lying will grease the skids, who am I to deny anyone a bit of grease?

Not sure that that has much to do with Mother's Day.

Oh well....

of life and death

A nice story.

'tis the season ... the rites of spring

Passed along in email:

techno-fogies at the Supreme Court

A Reuters story tweaks the U.S. Supreme Court justices for their lack of understanding of the Internet.

An increasing number of tech-savvy cases has come before the court that is staffed by nine justices whose youngest member is 54 and four of whose members are over 70.

A scattering of gaffes has been noted on the part of these "techno-fogies" who must sort out the ramifications of technology as it affects the country and the people who live in it.

The sub-rosa question that arises is, can a group of ignoramuses adequately address questions that require an intricate understanding. Implicitly, the suspicion arises that maybe younger, hipper justices would be better suited to these cases.

But I don't see things that way. At the same time that trust in governmental bodies is understandably on the wane, still I generally trust that those on the Supreme Court are both willing and able to research the issues at hand: They may not know, but they have proven themselves willing to find out ... which is a far cry from the younger and hipper au-courants whose assumptions too often go unexamined.

The Supreme Court is in business to sort out what it is that affects people and shape rules to guide social intercourse. It is an unenviable role, people being as variegated as they are. But to the extent that anyone must find a compromise between the rule of law and the ways of the people, I would far rather think that someone would do some thorough research than to make decisions based on blithe and often-unexamined presumption.

Or maybe I'm being too idealistic.

$7 Keepod: Internet access upgraded

If others are anything like me, there is a certain built-in, blase assumption that comes with the computer I work on. It's here, it works, its educating or entertaining functions are at my fingertips ... basically it's like soap in a soap dish or toothpaste in a toothpaste tube.

And I don't think much about its implications and what life might be like without it.

Nor is life without it so much an opportunity for a self-congratulating, liberal whine. Rather, and roughly, I guess I think that the less anyone knows, the greater the likelihood of widespread greed and bloodshed, and the more anyone knows, the greater the likelihood of widespread kindness and social peace.

A "likelihood" is not a promise, but still I think there are better odds and what's good for you has the potential to be good for me.

And it is in this regard that I liked seeing that a small idea holds out some promise of spreading the Internet wealth. To read and write; to see pictures of a beast or activity never seen before; to hear words in a different tongue; to witness a wedding ceremony awash in rituals never witnessed; to find delight or distress in some new music....

The USB flash drive is one of the most simple, everyday pieces of technology that many people take for granted.

Now it's being eyed as a possible solution to bridging the digital divide, by two colourful entrepreneurs behind the start-up Keepod.
Nissan Bahar and Franky Imbesi aim to combat the lack of access to computers by providing what amounts to an operating-system-on-a-stick.
In six weeks, their idea managed to raise more than $40,000 (£23,750) on fundraising site Indiegogo, providing the cash to begin a campaign to offer low-cost computing to the two-thirds of the globe's population that currently has little or no access.

graduation

 Today is ushered in with grey skies and falling rain. Today, my older son, Angus, will be graduated/will graduate from Keene State College, having completed well what I never accomplished at all. He has chosen computers as a field of interest. Whether that field continues to hold water ... well, no one can know.

My son will leave college with a lot of student debt, a fact that is simply a fact and yet embarrasses me ... how I wish I could have saved him that burden. Education is not well-enough regarded in my country to facilitate the training that will improve the nation without regard to station or financial resources.

The ceremony is to be held outdoors, rain or shine, because there is no venue at the college big enough to accommodate the crowd.

Graduation from college ... how the hell did that ever happen, the old man asks.

the horror behind the "horror"

The gasps and squeals of horror are often so warming that little or no attention is paid to the quiet, human particulars that created the horror in the first place. Taking the time to investigate is too exhausting: Crooning with others who are likewise horrified is much, much easier. Ain't war awful?! Ain't disease and starvation awful?! Ain't unkindness awful?!

And of course it is. But as a personal matter, I think there is something to be said for sorting out the human tendrils, for digging into the particulars, for reining in the lawsy-lawsy of horror and taking the steps necessary to be honestly horrified. And in that regard, I imagine each picks his or her own realm to investigate ... investigating them all would be too much to expect.

Today, in email, I received a very good -- and yes, quite long -- news story about Edward Courtney, a man described nutshell fashion in the headline with the words, "For 30 years, the man of God molested students he was hired to teach and guide. Over and over he was accused, questioned, transferred, rehabilitated, and accused again. But he never truly paid for his sins." 

The story itself is far quieter and more compelling than those headline-esque words ... the kind of words that might arouse a crooning, harmonizing horror. The story is step-by-step and written in clear English. It's pretty human.

And, for those interested in clerical sexual abuse, I think it is worth reading. Horror is never really horrible because it is somehow outside the human realm. Its real horror lies in how tightly woven it is with the mundane and sometimes astonishingly-benevolent capacities of one human being or another.

'Christians' interrupt Senate prayer

Passed along in email:

education -- the top 20 countries

TOP 20 EDUCATION SYSTEMS

• 1. South Korea
• 2. Japan
• 3. Singapore
• 4. Hong Kong
• 5. Finland
• 6. UK
• 7. Canada
• 8. Netherlands
• 9. Ireland
• 10. Poland
• 11. Denmark
• 12. Germany
• 13. Russia
• 14. United States
• 15. Australia
• 16. New Zealand
• 17. Israel
• 18. Belgium
• 19. Czech Republic
• 20. Switzerland

Source: Pearson/ Economist Intelligence Unit

woof therapy

In the never-ending battle to clean up the physical and psychological messes wrought by the latest 'necessary' war, the U.S. military is slowly coming to the realization that dogs can help.

"Optical Illusions"

Above is a ceiling fresco in the Palazzo Ducale, Mantua, Italy from 1473. It is one of several pictures in a book entitled "Optical Illusions" by Paul M. Baars ... and passed along this morning in email.

per aspera ad astra

"Per aspera ad astra" is a Latin phrase sometimes translated as "through hardships to the stars." Whether as encouragement or simple descriptive, I hear it as a double-barreled pronouncement -- hope and determination.

The phrase can be made to apply to any human endeavor but this morning I am thinking of spiritual endeavor in particular, and, perhaps more particularly, Buddhism.

Buddhism lays out a doormat for the right-now, the right-here, the what-is: This very moment is IT -- the time of peace and understanding that can still the crackling fires of discontent and sorrow and uncertainty.

As a doormat, it's pretty hopeful and yet all doormats are only entry points that invite the visitor to cross and to enter the establishment. Crossing the threshold requires determination.

What, exactly, is hope? I'm not sure, but it seems fair to say that hope is focused on what is not or what is not-yet. All the deliciousness in the world -- and hope can be deeply delicious -- cannot change the fact that hope is about another time, another place, another perspective, but that time or place or perspective is not-yet.

I think that a spiritual endeavor that can hold out no better than hope is bestowing a curse on its followers. Why? Because even on its own terms -- even as it holds out no better than hope -- what is not-yet will always be at war with what is and peace in heart and mind will be relegated to the status of a deluded pipedream.... to creating inventive and Dante-esque panoramas akin to the opium smoker's habit of "biting the clouds."

Don't get me wrong. Hope is not something to banish or eradicate. That would be foolish. The "hope" stitched into spiritual endeavor's doormat is lovely. It inspires. But to the extent that it invites the visitor into a world that is filled with nothing but more hope ... well, it sounds pretty spooky and unfulfilling and painful to me. The object of spiritual endeavor is to end the war, not prolong it.

Some may hope that determination will untie the knots of hope ... and indeed a focused determination can make good strides in that direction. Where experience becomes the touchstone of choice -- where testing replaces the desire for relief -- hope is not quite so necessary and the wiles of "what happens after you die?" or "ending suffering" or "how do you get from here to here" lose much of their hopeful luster.

Yes, determination, like hope, is required to reach the stars. But I think it's worth keeping an eye on. Where "improvement" persists, how could things improve? Where "relief" persists, how could there be relief?

Just something to keep an eye on, I think.

artificial genetic code

Scientists reported Wednesday that they had taken a significant step toward altering the fundamental alphabet of life — creating for the first time an organism with artificial building blocks in its genetic code.

The accomplishment might eventually lead to organisms that can make medicines or industrial products that cannot be made by cells with only natural DNA. The scientists behind the work at the Scripps Research Institute have already formed a company to try to use the technique to develop new antibiotics, vaccines and other products.

The work also gives some backing to the concept that life can exist elsewhere in the universe using genetics different from that on earth.

-- Full story: New York Times, May 7, 2014: "Scientists Add Letters to DNA’s Alphabet, Raising Hope and Fear"

something real in Wrestlemania

Passed along in email:

torture and the Vatican

Yesterday, the day that is generally reserved for this morning's daily news, the Vatican's ambassador to the U.N., Archbishop Silvano Tomasi, released figures of the number of priests who had so far been defrocked or sanctioned over the past ten years of the priest-abuse scandal.

"The figures [848 defrocked, 2,572 sanctioned], however, only cover cases handled directly by the Holy See, not those handled by local diocesan tribunals, meaning the total number of sanctioned priests is likely far higher."

Tomasi was testifying before the U.N. committee charged with monitoring the implementation of the U.N. treaty against torture.

But significantly, he didn't dispute the committee's contention that sexual violence against children can be considered torture. Legal experts have said that classifying sexual abuse as torture could expose the Catholic Church to a new wave of lawsuits since torture cases in much of the world don't carry statutes of limitations....
Tomasi insisted that the Holy See was only obliged to abide by the torture treaty inside the tiny Vatican City State, which has a population of only a few hundred people....
There are over 410,000 Catholic priests around the world, according to the Catholic News Service.

Since there is no statute of limitations on the fallout from the torture suffered by the individual Peter's and Mary's at the hands of trusted priests, it seems fair that the playing field be leveled a bit and the Vatican might concede (however grudgingly) its role  in the horror. Tomasi's failure to dispute the contention that sexual violence can be considered torture may be a small step in the right direction, but it is hard not to hope it is indeed a step.

Strange to say when there are reportedly 1.2 billion Catholics in the world, but I could find no immediate reference to this story on either the BBC or Reuters -- two of my go-to news sources -- this morning. The Washington Post  and The New York Times managed to offer a story. I guess, at least along my news-taste spectrum,  tragedy loses its newsworthy luster when there are so many other, up-to-date tragedies.

"no forwarding address"

There was something about Carl Koehler's black-and-white photo in the newspaper that lay open on the porch this morning: Was it possible I had known this guy?

It was with that question in mind that I read Koehler's obituary and realized that no, I had not known this entomologist who had had some local ties, sired several children and been rewarded with grandchildren into the bargain.

Though I do not yet make an old-age habit of reading obituaries, still I was glad to have read this one. The next-to-last paragraph made me smile and that's always a nice way to start the day:

Carl requested that there be no service and in his own words, he is "leaving no forwarding address." The children plan to scatter Carl's ashes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California.

Who knows but what an ember of wit will fill the world with a forest fire of laughter.

Thanks, Carl.

Carl requested that there be no service and in his own words, he is leaving no forwarding address. The children plan to scatter Carl's ashes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/gazettenet/obituary.aspx?n=carlton-s-koehler-carl&pid=170936899#sthash.gjk5AC2d.dpuf

Carl requested that there be no service and in his own words, he is leaving no forwarding address. The children plan to scatter Carl's ashes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/gazettenet/obituary.aspx?n=carlton-s-koehler-carl&pid=170936899#sthash.gjk5AC2d.dpuf

Carl requested that there be no service and in his own words, he is leaving no forwarding address. The children plan to scatter Carl's ashes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/gazettenet/obituary.aspx?n=carlton-s-koehler-carl&pid=170936899#sthash.gjk5AC2d.dpuf

Carl requested that there be no service and in his own words, he is leaving no forwarding address. The children plan to scatter Carl's ashes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/gazettenet/obituary.aspx?n=carlton-s-koehler-carl&pid=170936899#sthash.gjk5AC2d.dpuf

Carl requested that there be no service and in his own words, he is leaving no forwarding address. The children plan to scatter Carl's ashes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/gazettenet/obituary.aspx?n=carlton-s-koehler-carl&pid=170936899#sthash.gjk5AC2d.dpuf

the end, the beginning ... or something

Yesterday, I did what I had promised myself I would do -- cleaned, wrapped and stowed in a shopping bag the two Buddhist reminders I had cared for over the years.

One was a many-armed version of Kuan Yin, sometimes referred to as the Bodhisattva of Mercy. S/he had sat on a small shelf in the living room with an incense bowl in front of him/her. The other was the head of an unnamed bodhisattva that sat on top of the refrigerator in the kitchen ... also with an incense bowl, but also with a small cup of water that I would replenish from time to time.

Each representation was done in metal of some sort -- Kuan Yin purchased years ago when I saw it in a shop window and "had to have it!" and the bodhisattva head, with a hole in the back and fitting onto a hand-made pedestal/stand which made me love its creator ... a shop owner gave me the head for free after I promised to care for it.

And each morning, for years and years, I would light some incense -- really, pretty good incense -- for each of these reminders and the slow, wafting smell would reach out into cracks and corners around the house.

Years and years and now no longer.

In one sense, it was like a funeral. I was not sure exactly what was being lost, but there was a sense of loss, as at a funeral ... only more gentle, perhaps. It was time. Why was it time? I really don't know. It was just time to honor what I had honored without adding on any glowing description like "honor." It was time to put aside childish things ... gently and with care. It was time for friends to go home ... and for the memories they inspired to linger on the air, like incense.

I washed and wrapped and placed the implements in a bag and then put the bag on a closet shelf in the zendo. I washed the top of the fridge and made sure it was clean. I replaced the Kuan Yin statue with a lovely carved bowl.

In one sense, removing these old friends saved the money I spent on incense ... and I could use the money. But that wasn't the whole story. There was the attention I had paid and now no longer needed to pay. Attention, attention, attention ... good ol' Buddhism. And there was a sense that these exemplars that I honored would be consumed by the no-attention objects accumulating around the house ... that, as ever, the mediocrities would rise up and wash away something I considered not-mediocre.

But "mediocre" is not exactly the right word -- it's too critical and comparative. I liked these two old friends and appreciated their efforts. I liked them -- it was inescapable. And I defy anyone to show me something that is not inescapable.

I put the bag on the shelf in the zendo. Perhaps it will be found one day and the contents will have a whole new meaning or impact. Something for the tag sale. Something to revile. Something to honor.

Placing the bag on the shelf, I realized I wasn't entirely sure: Was this a farewell or was it another version of hello?

Take your pick. It boils down to the same thing.

Inescapable.

The end, the beginning ... or something.

history

Am I wrong to think that history is as comforting as a page-turner mystery novel, that when it's done, it appears to be somehow magically and completely "done?"

Whether horrific or edifying or spun with wonder, still there is something relaxed and lulling in a history which is, after all, "then." No matter how ornate the links of connection ... still, history is "then," a time of safety and false reassurance.

How hard -- or is it simply impossible? -- to imbue what is known of history with the same faceted, wriggling, wrinkled, wispy possibilities that invest this "now" -- a time that may not be relaxed and lulling at all, but soon enough will itself be "then."

habits, like rabbits ....

As I look around this house that raised three children, I am surrounded by more and more and more stuff. Baseball bats largely unused; boxes of kindling to stoke the fire; pictures; computer paraphernalia; chairs; tables; ballpoint pens that don't work; books ... an unending tsunami of odds and ends. Lotsa lotsa.

And it looks a lot like my mind -- all sorts of habits collected and stored and asking to be dusted off, though I no longer have the energy to dust them: Love that segues to anger, kindness that infuses self-centeredness; spiritual leanings obliterated in a single sneeze; uncertainty dotted with certainties that then return to new and improved uncertainties ... a veritable flea market of shape-shifting personality.

Habits, like rabbits, proliferate. They can be delightful or confounding depending on the time and place and circumstances. Nor is it something to criticize or revise ... revision would just be another rabbit. But...

Maybe it's a good idea to reserve a little space for the place without habits, the place without rabbits ... a nourishing earth that has nothing to do with hip-hopping here, there and everywhere. A place to relax a little.

There's plenty of time to go out and play later.

Just a small habit to add to the other habits.

effort

Angus, my son, gives the discus his best shot as part of the Keene State College track and field team.

Israel adds an enclave

Israel has launched a new enclave in a Palestinian neighborhood.

Palestinians and Israeli critics worry the placement of the academy in such a central location is asking for trouble in East Jerusalem, which has stayed largely trouble-free in recent years compared to the Gaza Strip and occupied West Bank, and which Palestinians hope will be the capital of a future state....

Israel's annexation of East Jerusalem after its capture in a 1967 war has never been recognized, meaning most of the world views Israeli enclaves there as illegal settlements.

Unlike in the occupied territories, most Palestinians in East Jerusalem enjoy Israeli social benefits and looser travel restrictions, making them less motivated to engage in political protests.

Settlement expansion has been a key sticking point in Israeli-Palestinian peace talks, which collapsed in April. But even when Israel froze construction temporarily in 2010, it always insisted the moratorium exclude East Jerusalem, which it views as an integral part of the country.

Does anyone doubt for a moment that when tensions rise, Israel will shrug its shoulders innocently and say, "Moi?" And does anyone doubt for a moment that if there is a party that will be screwed/blamed/disdained/injured ... well, apartheid has its prices.