tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72068660423381699072024-02-20T09:08:12.032-06:00PAGANS AND LUTHERANSA personal journal concerning Lutheran vocation, American culture, arts, literature, movies, and What's Going On in the life of the blogger. I invite your comments.Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.comBlogger379125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-82897882928163757682011-05-24T19:18:00.003-05:002011-05-24T20:00:01.192-05:00PAEAN FOR AN ELDEST SON<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Digging through some old papers yesterday, I came across a form letter I'd sent out to friends about five and a half years after my oldest son was born, which would have been 23 and a half years ago. Strange tune, it. However, it does its fair share of describing young fatherhood and also describes reasonably well my oldest son, at age almost six. Here is some part of the tune:</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">....Colin wants to know what "excessive" means. He wants to know what "Contras" are. He's listening to the world around him. His parents are getting nervous. He wants to know what's the price of Heaven. He knows there is one because he was digging around for that baby bunny we buried last year and couldn't find it. We are glad he couldn't find it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">He's singing songs but changing the words. The Roche Sisters tune "Older Girls" has become "Only Girls" to C. "Wheel me down to the willow ground" becomes "will me down to the wheel ground" when he sings it. He wants to know what the wheel ground is. "Bugs" in his strange lexicon are "bungs." He's listening and learning, storing things away for just the right moment to embarass his parents...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">C is also getting longer. It is getting harder to transfer him from the bed he falls asleep in to the bed he wakes up in. Although no Kareem, he is to his parents still growing like a weed. Ask Deb who tries to keep him in clothing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Clothing. The war cry from Deb these days is..."NO MORE! This is the last time I buy you clothes that you won't wear!" Colin has his own taste in dress. He has definitely started a new trend in fashion that has eclipsed anything anyone has heretofore conceived of. Some of our more interesting friends have taken to observing C and trying to imitate his sense of style and color. It is hard to imitate genius, however. Clashing blues is his specialty, especially when he has an unusually early morning. When given a chance to wake up normally--say, ten o'clock--he is often found sporting three or four long-sleeve T-shirts. Hey! You never know what the weather is like out there! Lord knows you can't trust what your parents tell you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">I took C to one of my Dad's Chanters concerts. This is a group of rather elderly gentlemen, slightly out of tune but singing their hearts out. Not a five year old's ultimate dream. There were a lot of elderly people in the audience of seventeen hundred at this concert. I felt underaged. It was ninety degrees in the concert hall. Colin was wearing, at least to my knowledge, his Karate Kid pajamas (he refuses to acknowledge this) and some corduroys. Ten minutes pass. There is some singing. To my left is my mother. To my right is some serious squirming. C tries to sing along. He says he's hot. Off come the Karate Kids. Under it is a long sleeve shirt. He stage whispers to my Mom that he can take off three shirts and "still not be naked." There are snickers, now, among the elderly. Another two shirts come off. There is a pile in the aisle. He's now down to a short sleeve T-shirt and still roasting. By now the focus of attention around us is, shall we say, no longer on center stage. Intermission is hours away. Any minute a spotlight will be redirected onto my son. During the next song Mom, me, and the Kid bundle out of there with C's wardrobe in my arms...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">...The fact is, ole dance-in-the-nude Colin is The Man around here...He has gone beyond accepted methods of doing business. He's developed a look. He has this dark sideways grump put on when things aren't going so great. The look says it all. It says that my opinion polls are way down. It says that one more morning of being awakened and dumped at the breakfast table without a blanket may be his last. It says that he and the dogs are considering a recall.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Of course he has his better days. Yesterday I picked him up early from school and we hopped on our bikes and did a few miles. It is a trick riding behind Colin. You have to have your wits about you, no doubt! Colin has to talk and ride and jump around and sing about Jesus (he doesn't really know the words) and dodge in and out like the guy in the RAD movie (He's seen it a thousand times). His is a little two-wheel bike that just fits his little shrimp legs perfectly. He is excited! He learned to ride one day about two months ago in the Stoughton High School parking lot, chosen because it was big and at the time, empty. It took two minutes for him to "learn" to ride his bike, and several more days to learn. He still doesn't get on his bike without the help of Dad, or a curb. But once mounted...!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">A month after learning we did a 28 mile excursion along an abandoned railroad bed bike trail. Can you imagine riding 28 miles in first gear? That is about what Colin did on his little bike. Those legs just pumped all day! He didn't do badly on the falls, either. Every so often--and very often toward the end of the trip--he would suddenly veer off the path in the underbrush, completely disappeared but for a plaintive cry for help...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-61665149945596604772011-05-09T22:36:00.002-05:002011-05-09T22:40:48.003-05:00The Perils of Prayer<blockquote>I admire those eighteenth-century Hasids who understood the risk of prayer. Rabbi Uri of Strelisk took sorrowful leave of his household every morning because he was setting off to his prayers. He told his family how to dispose of his manuscripts if praying should kill him. A ritual slaughterer, similarly, every morning bade goodbye to wife and children and wept as if he would never see them again. His friend asked him why. Because, he answered, when I begin I call out to the Lord. Then I pray, "Have mercy on us." Who knows what the Lord's power will do to me in that moment after I have invoked it and before I beg for mercy?<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Annie Dillard, <b><i>The Writing Life</i></b></div></blockquote><div><b><i></i></b></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-44565698309081410762011-05-09T22:30:00.002-05:002011-05-09T22:36:31.243-05:00The Perils of Work<blockquote>The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or perchance a palace or temple on the earth, and at length the middle-aged man concludes to build a wood-shed with them.</blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Thoreau</blockquote>Alas, a good description of the vigor and at-large unrealism of my early days as a woodworker. There was nothing I could not eventually do, given time and the right materials. "Time and love have branded me with its claws," wrote Bob Dylan. Craftsmanship is like this, I think. If you don't start with passion and a vision completely out of sorts with what is possible, you don't end up accomplishing anything. Yet the irony is, what you accomplish is so out of sorts with that original vision, it is difficult to consider it anything but a woodshed. So it goes.<div><br /></div><div><br /><blockquote><br /></blockquote></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-2460806188252598872011-04-20T19:47:00.003-05:002011-04-20T19:55:01.356-05:00CHARACTER<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Ashenden sighed, for the water was no longer quite so hot; he could not reach the tap with his hand nor could he turn it with his toes (as every properly regulated tap should turn) and if he got up enough to add more hot water he might just as well get out altogether. On the other hand he could not pull out the plug with his foot in order to empty the bath and so force himself to get out, nor could he find in himself the will-power to step out of it like a man. He had often heard people tell him that he possessed character and he reflected that people judge hastily in the affairs of life because they judge on insufficient evidence; they had never seen him in a hot, but diminishingly hot, bath...</span><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>W. Somerset Maugham, <i> ASHENDEN</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-63300129085145254872011-04-05T14:25:00.002-05:002011-04-05T14:33:21.025-05:00KLEINIG on SASSE<blockquote>"...I still remember it graphically...it was such a significant point in my life. I still remember, Sasse was there, after a lecture, he had a big pile of books--he always carried a big pile of books into lectures, he never opened them, he knew it all by heart, he'd just have them along just in case...<div>I said, 'Dr. Sasse, do you have a moment?'</div><div>And he said [using a low gruff voice], "Yes?" Ah, ah, very abrupt.</div><div>'Yes, what do you want Kleinig?'</div><div>And I said, 'Ah, look, Dr. Sasse, I've got a spiritual problem."</div><div><br /></div><div>And Sasse stopped walking, and he faced me, and he lifted his finger and he said,</div><div>'Good!'"</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><a href="http://www.johnkleinig.com/index.php/christian-spirituality/">John Kleinig, </a><i><a href="http://www.johnkleinig.com/index.php/christian-spirituality/"> Lectures On Spirituality</a></i><a href="http://www.johnkleinig.com/index.php/christian-spirituality/">, 10a</a></div></blockquote>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-21369380587001915732011-04-04T16:36:00.004-05:002011-04-21T13:12:16.817-05:00John Bunyan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtSzunsW64slKShsqoWJai5CQeZa3UqMplbLhw6ukO7lYUEwxGCqv2WTGyff-m4nDZOiuLlSeOQ8tI_eSOQPy5oQJ4HKcz-EGNgK-XaW57KDoNIje89O9GTMVZuZhcm3pWg32ibEJxVjC/s1600/screen-capture-1.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtSzunsW64slKShsqoWJai5CQeZa3UqMplbLhw6ukO7lYUEwxGCqv2WTGyff-m4nDZOiuLlSeOQ8tI_eSOQPy5oQJ4HKcz-EGNgK-XaW57KDoNIje89O9GTMVZuZhcm3pWg32ibEJxVjC/s400/screen-capture-1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591857322295412338" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>From today's TREASURY OF DAILY PRAYER reading:<div></div><blockquote><div><br /></div><div>I find to this day seven abominations in my heart:</div><div>1) An inclination to unbelief.</div><div>2) Suddenly forgetting the love and mercy that Christ shows us.</div><div>3) A leaning to the works of the Law.</div><div>4) Wanderings and coldness in prayer.</div><div>5) Forgetting to watch for that which I have prayed for.</div><div>6) A tendency to murmur because I have no more, and yet a willingness to abuse what I have.</div><div>7) I can do none of those things which God commands me, but my corruptions will thrust themselves upon me so that "When I would do good, evil is present with me." </div><div>These things I continually see and feel and am afflicted and oppressed with; yet the wisdom of God orders them for my good.</div><div>1) They make me abhor myself.</div><div>2) They keep me from trusting my heart.</div><div>3) They convince me of the insufficiency of all inherent righteousness.</div><div>4) They show me the necessity of flying to Jesus.</div><div>5) They press me to pray to God.</div><div>6) They show me the need I have to watch and be sober.</div><div>7) And they provoke me to look to God, through Christ, to help me and carry me though this world.</div><div>Amen.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-John Bunyan</div><div></div></blockquote><div>Such an old fashioned geezer, Bunyan. So obviously out of step with modern wisdom and psychology. The guy obviously needed therapy.</div><div>And golly, he was so much like me.</div><div>It is interesting to me that when we think of God's grace and the work of the Holy Spirit, we naturally think of God's Goodies: his peace, love, charity, salvation. We don't naturally associate the things Bunyan writes about: tentatio, a dying to ourselves, a profound awareness of our sinfulness; our shortcomings. Naturally we flee from these things, or else go into therapy (I've always flinched at the idea personally. I'd rather fix or outwait my own problems, or ignore them altogether). And honestly, this particular spiritual reality does not market well. It isn't on the outreach agenda. Unless you're reading John Kleinig or Senkbeil and their ilk, you have to go back to Bunyan to find it conveyed. And yet, it is a mark of sanctification, or being made holy. Who would have thought that Romans 7 was just about that very thing? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-48075293642645841512011-03-26T23:15:00.012-05:002011-03-26T23:48:23.123-05:00Some Recent WorkAbout fifteen years ago, I built the library for the common room of Lutheran Church of the Living Christ. Here is half of it:<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduOkOxP5ZC1xs5bSzEH7EtLu7E1K3tbTQoou0ZG0d3CuGcfYS7VV82c-sjswftZxD7bTVA7OtRzPYvwzV7Uw4MP8-LHxk3ESOXrb0wIX7zFwmetv_u2eVsWzw4GmKJfD2FSGQBPJsfoVU/s1600/lclibrary.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduOkOxP5ZC1xs5bSzEH7EtLu7E1K3tbTQoou0ZG0d3CuGcfYS7VV82c-sjswftZxD7bTVA7OtRzPYvwzV7Uw4MP8-LHxk3ESOXrb0wIX7zFwmetv_u2eVsWzw4GmKJfD2FSGQBPJsfoVU/s400/lclibrary.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588610570241293890" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>About five years after that, a member asked me to build a sort of library/entertainment center for his home, inspired by my work at the church. Here it is:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllZH7PSsfz0tivYVPXcEHmjc3sy6a2ufSM2HfWmksQvvsL6t1-Kq64MD00Vn0NGzFOP8ZUg1CU5s1lC05gNEXvliAbeOWWJZqp7UURWvO5-IWVzvm7Wbxe89yYhnC-pyephhARmt38xik/s1600/hubertunit.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllZH7PSsfz0tivYVPXcEHmjc3sy6a2ufSM2HfWmksQvvsL6t1-Kq64MD00Vn0NGzFOP8ZUg1CU5s1lC05gNEXvliAbeOWWJZqp7UURWvO5-IWVzvm7Wbxe89yYhnC-pyephhARmt38xik/s400/hubertunit.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588611027929889970" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>About four years after that, I was asked by another member of that church, who saw the library/entertainment center I built for the other member of the church, to build him an 8' x8' wall library for his home office. Here it is:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YseszxF5Gg_5Ppd4Bf1VZ0rHXoQRJ0SW-1YpvZG7qRUd2wcOVXQmJK3xgf3D1U5wL-uMroMw23cFO94952F2EjDmNLtbsL8BmoN0fVXnVdR7dOjCsDQUAr2cp5uf0KGB4ff1h83BL0Mt/s1600/Photo0012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YseszxF5Gg_5Ppd4Bf1VZ0rHXoQRJ0SW-1YpvZG7qRUd2wcOVXQmJK3xgf3D1U5wL-uMroMw23cFO94952F2EjDmNLtbsL8BmoN0fVXnVdR7dOjCsDQUAr2cp5uf0KGB4ff1h83BL0Mt/s400/Photo0012.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588612175790830466" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A year later, a co-worker of the wife of the guy who had me build his home office wall library called, asking for a wall library of their own. Here are pics of that:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYOMsvXIbFLSFdAgfsrSi2InRf8qD2geAWuZeUHp7rkAcvFVd7xrVKTEHd5MA1bR_obgX9NH7kAcz9JE2Ns4TU8MU51iXNGOU5hS54FR1NulOY8DX2YI_x6lVnEnZmZGZcXeHK7Dy2Y5G/s1600/IMG_4041.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYOMsvXIbFLSFdAgfsrSi2InRf8qD2geAWuZeUHp7rkAcvFVd7xrVKTEHd5MA1bR_obgX9NH7kAcz9JE2Ns4TU8MU51iXNGOU5hS54FR1NulOY8DX2YI_x6lVnEnZmZGZcXeHK7Dy2Y5G/s400/IMG_4041.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588613013411167122" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalT4oqXUh54GN930NZUHjbEMuukimS5s75DTXYC8uv-y9f062c_jhvBFCYPfg_fRZMr7WmAdzAxLYcaAqzWbg8ntgBueXJpt6zyrHx7H_CC2dv18vDIfZ9rsDPBXcU8YXltBLGDc0ZXnJ/s1600/IMG_4037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalT4oqXUh54GN930NZUHjbEMuukimS5s75DTXYC8uv-y9f062c_jhvBFCYPfg_fRZMr7WmAdzAxLYcaAqzWbg8ntgBueXJpt6zyrHx7H_CC2dv18vDIfZ9rsDPBXcU8YXltBLGDc0ZXnJ/s400/IMG_4037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588613351562396546" /></a><br /></div><div>So, here, to date, is my family tree of wall units, serial recommendations over a 15 year period. But wait. The granddaddy of them all was a suite of furniture I produced for an old friend, a NYC attorney who now resides in California. His was the most ambitious:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFcdz8uP_2B16AAX1f0WCzZXrZFLVIALIEuyEm0oozyuHk588iM4xlLTWozkiUMtnkR4RHX2neyY6HDgNrp4geUK6qWKMSo1-kVAZ7ENMpisQOhWdy5wuu5-n1312PMrR-zp_5NZEF7OH/s1600/hammondlibrary.jpg"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFcdz8uP_2B16AAX1f0WCzZXrZFLVIALIEuyEm0oozyuHk588iM4xlLTWozkiUMtnkR4RHX2neyY6HDgNrp4geUK6qWKMSo1-kVAZ7ENMpisQOhWdy5wuu5-n1312PMrR-zp_5NZEF7OH/s1600/hammondlibrary.jpg"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 235px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFcdz8uP_2B16AAX1f0WCzZXrZFLVIALIEuyEm0oozyuHk588iM4xlLTWozkiUMtnkR4RHX2neyY6HDgNrp4geUK6qWKMSo1-kVAZ7ENMpisQOhWdy5wuu5-n1312PMrR-zp_5NZEF7OH/s400/hammondlibrary.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588614526796963234" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, I also finished, a Prie Dieux I have been working at for about a year (mostly just staring at it and wondering when I'd get it done). I had a very patient client:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uUNbd7BsfPT4YjSZEr1WadFMrjInv9-FZ1XaM_aj3PSO_rO4ZIyAChs1Vs1yKUc1oaXXrTSGykQ44mZHWYof7z-mw72dcVOmun5aBlFNVVvJQ4bXAnPFcLMDGh1eV4bG5ShhVpZRg_Qo/s1600/IMG_3915+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uUNbd7BsfPT4YjSZEr1WadFMrjInv9-FZ1XaM_aj3PSO_rO4ZIyAChs1Vs1yKUc1oaXXrTSGykQ44mZHWYof7z-mw72dcVOmun5aBlFNVVvJQ4bXAnPFcLMDGh1eV4bG5ShhVpZRg_Qo/s320/IMG_3915+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588615741211003698" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijF1p_vZcr9dSlpufX5GYB5l9udtGCo-3sBSrh6gmn3OP6w2dzB3wuOeIcHTmLZdVzvQgWQquVtb7xj8LUjSoKWFmHqkrKs_amOhJ4Unh0O5jR8hw6JjtrpTCBtT9WGlALuG1ZH1RhrJr9/s1600/IMG_3913+copy.JPG"></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijF1p_vZcr9dSlpufX5GYB5l9udtGCo-3sBSrh6gmn3OP6w2dzB3wuOeIcHTmLZdVzvQgWQquVtb7xj8LUjSoKWFmHqkrKs_amOhJ4Unh0O5jR8hw6JjtrpTCBtT9WGlALuG1ZH1RhrJr9/s1600/IMG_3913+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijF1p_vZcr9dSlpufX5GYB5l9udtGCo-3sBSrh6gmn3OP6w2dzB3wuOeIcHTmLZdVzvQgWQquVtb7xj8LUjSoKWFmHqkrKs_amOhJ4Unh0O5jR8hw6JjtrpTCBtT9WGlALuG1ZH1RhrJr9/s320/IMG_3913+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588615739198129970" /></a> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There. That brings us up to date. I feel a lot better now...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-68593313702971490732011-03-26T22:45:00.003-05:002011-04-21T13:11:28.525-05:00Sim City and Real LifeI'm catching up on a few back issues of <a href="http://www.firstthings.com/">FIRST THINGS magazine</a>. Even after the death of long-time editor Richard John Neuhaus, I almost always turn first to the<i> While We're At It</i> section at the back---the section Neuhaus always wrote himself and which is now handled by Joseph Bottum. Here's an interesting take:<div></div><blockquote><div><br /></div><div>"'I'm a feminist graduate of an all-women's college who has vowed to never change my name or end my career to raise children full time--though I would never undervalue the work that many women do in their home,' Monica Potts assures us in the <i>American Prospect</i>, but, to her horror, in all of her virtual reality games (and kudos to her for admitting how many virtual reality games she plays) she<i> chooses</i> conservatively. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>'My Sims are conservative,' she admits. 'I'm in complete control of them, but for some reason their lives aren't anything like the life I consider ideal in the real world...My Sims rarely remain single long into adulthood. My wives always take their husbands' last names. They don't just have children; they bear lots of them. And they leave their careers to take on the lion's share of care-giving duties.'</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>It gets worse, or better, depending on your point of view: An expert on <i>Sim City</i>, she reports that 'things function much more smoothly if taxes are low and city government caters to corporate interests,' while 'wind energy is fine in theory, but old-fashioned petroleum and coal facilities really make them run.'</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Potts blames the parameters of the game; they just make it so much easier to be a conservative: 'Having children has the added bonus of extending game time in <i>The Sims</i>, because I get to continue to play the same family as the generations roll by. Maternity leave is mandatory for pregnant Sim women because of a long-standing technical issue within the game..."</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>FT April 2011 issue; P 69</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Art--or virtual reality--imitating life.</div><div>I don't know: if I'm going to dabble in virtual reality games, I suppose I'd try living out a life different from my own. So that may explain this puzzling phenomena. You can't forever blame the parameters of a game. If you know them as well as this lady knows her game, you'd eventually find a way to game the system. But there is a winsomeness to the realization that, if your wives have many children, you get to play "longer." Sweet. </div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-14579902872468592052011-02-20T19:59:00.004-06:002011-02-20T21:14:08.666-06:00O God, O Lord of Heaven and Earth<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">O God, O Lord of heaven and earth,</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thy living finger never wrote that life should be an aimless mote,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A deathward drift from futile birth.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thy Word meant life triumphant hurled,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In splendor through Thy broken world, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Since light awoke and life began, Thou hast desired Thy life for man.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our fatal will to equal Thee,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our rebel will wrought death and night. We seized and used in prideful spite</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thy wondrous gift of liberty.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We housed us in this house of doom,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Where death had royal scope and room</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Until Thy servant, Prince of Peace, breached all its walls for our release.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thou camest to our hall of death,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">O Christ, to breathe our poisoned air, to drink for us the dark despair</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That strangled our reluctant breath.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">How beautiful the feet that trod</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The road that leads us back to God! How beautiful the feet that ran</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">To bring the great good news to man!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">O Spirit, who didst once restore</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thy church that it might be again the bringer of good news to men,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Breathe on Thy cloven Church once more,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That in these gray and latter days</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There may be those whose life is praise, each life a high doxology</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">To Father, Son and unto Thee.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">-Martin Franzmann</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Try singing these powerful words to rich music in a high-halled sanctuary, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">driven by a wonderful organist. Heaven on earth</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-62506431569829026812011-02-15T16:50:00.002-06:002011-02-15T16:56:23.810-06:00Why China Will Soon Own The United StatesI had lunch today with an old acquaintance. She has worked as an R.N. for 22 years in a private hospital locally. In those 22 years she has supported her family nicely , had plenty of vacation time, and built a nice home in the country.<div><br /></div><div>She told me today that she was going to work as a nurse in a federal facility. The job will almost exactly mirror her present position and responsibilities--actually it appeared to her to be a much easier position. Then lowering her voice, she admitted, "They're going to be paying me over $10,000 more for the same position, and about double the benefits!" </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm fairly certain she didn't see the irony in all of this. But I did. Something is terribly wrong with the direction of the country when an equivalent publicly funded job pays that much more than the same position in the private sector. If it isn't unsustainable, it at the very least is unbalanced greed. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-24327985490852693932011-02-02T08:17:00.009-06:002011-02-02T08:56:16.570-06:00Application To Become A Green Bay Packer Fan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD59b0GFs39kJ2Sxhg94cc8Cpu-EEcaHb7TU4N6vY-JfKJYw1m2SJc541DF5KoWFseeYyytKpOXaAOeMxTzdKjVysCWARkco6Q01Wusr4qQn5gvy1I7ND508VWx5bSislTeeSIloq9BMPM/s1600/Packers+helmet.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD59b0GFs39kJ2Sxhg94cc8Cpu-EEcaHb7TU4N6vY-JfKJYw1m2SJc541DF5KoWFseeYyytKpOXaAOeMxTzdKjVysCWARkco6Q01Wusr4qQn5gvy1I7ND508VWx5bSislTeeSIloq9BMPM/s320/Packers+helmet.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569101926913423890" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Name ______________ CB Handle_______________</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Mobile Home Color: __ Two-Tone, Brown & White__Pink & White__Faded</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Neck Shade: ___Light Red___Med. Red___Dark Red</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Model of Pickup Truck_________Size of Tires_______</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Number of Teeth Exposed (With Full Grin)--Upper:____Lower:____</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Length of Right Leg____Length of Left Leg____</span></div><div><br /></div><div><b>______________________________________________________</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Note:To be accepted you must be honest and you must be able to check at least 20 items from the questions below. You may check more than one item per question.</span></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>1.I am in love with:</div><div>____My brother's wife_____Mother-in-law</div><div><br /></div><div>2. My favorite music:</div><div>____Country____Western</div><div><br /></div><div>3. My favorite meal:</div><div>____Head cheese and Old Style</div><div>____Venison sausage and Old Style</div><div>____Cheese curds and Old Style</div><div>____Seven course dinner (Brat and six pack)</div><div><br /></div><div>4.Preferred Weapon:</div><div>____12 gauge shotgun ____Tire iron</div><div>____Forehead ____Chain saw</div><div>____Ice augur ____Beer bottle</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Primary Auto:</div><div>____'67 Ford Galaxy</div><div>____'67 Ford Galaxy with transmission</div><div>____'67 Ford Galaxy with Chevy transmission</div><div>____'67 Ford Galaxy with Chevy transmission and '71 Buick engine.</div><div><br /></div><div>6. I usually greet people by saying:</div><div>____"Ya hey dere"</div><div>____"Dem Packers is playing like a bunch a old women"</div><div>____"Day should take a whole bunch a dem Madisom liberals</div><div> and just line 'em up an shoot 'em!"</div><div><br /></div><div>7: I can count to:</div><div>____Ten (10) ____Twenty (20) (With shoes off)</div><div><br /></div><div>8. Pick one:</div><div>____Someone is helping me read this.</div><div>____Someone is reading this to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>9. Favorite Reading:</div><div>____Fishing Facts ____Beer bottle labels</div><div>____Guns & Ammo ____Tractor manuals</div><div><br /></div><div>10. Things In My Front Yard:</div><div>____Car on blocks ____Transmissions</div><div>____Various kitchen Appliances</div><div>____Deer hanging from tree (In season)</div><div>____Deer hanging from tree (Out of season)</div><div><br /></div><div>11. My favorite female in the world is:</div><div>____My mom ____My sister</div><div>____Both, cuz I think my sister is my mom.</div><div><br /></div><div>12. I mostly wear:</div><div>____Polyester leisure suits</div><div>____Packers belt buckle</div><div>____Packers cheese head hat</div><div><br /></div><div>13. The most memorable event I ever attended:</div><div>____Miocqua moose calling competition</div><div>____OMSGA Outboard Motor Repair Finals</div><div>____Lake Tomahawk Crew Cut Championships</div><div>____Carp Queen Beauty Contest</div><div>____Spread Eagle Proctologists Convention</div><div><br /></div><div>14. My favorite entertainment is:</div><div>____Deer hunting while drinking</div><div>____Watching Green Acres while drinking</div><div>____Snowmobiling while drinking</div><div>____Ice fishing while drinking</div><div><br /></div><div>Signed by:____________________Date:________</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Note: Somebody handed this to me at a Green Bay Packers game party. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">I have no idea who wrote it, but you could probably credit Jeff Foxworthy.</span></div><div>GO PACK!!</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-72241470914737558372011-01-20T21:31:00.001-06:002011-01-20T21:33:29.326-06:00Thank You, Anonymous...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Sec9EI9UOMBcfHiR9xT4f5vP9bXWHSAnef-rhFpL2yw0sZvzJKh6yqnCS2sz5LmDNCGiq9-Nfm0EuRjgHae3mJcb4dO1c4nqW7VfJNbbQT0qYC1Y4qW3wfNQpNmPiBBqHscuJQkOha6h/s1600/IMG_3774.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Sec9EI9UOMBcfHiR9xT4f5vP9bXWHSAnef-rhFpL2yw0sZvzJKh6yqnCS2sz5LmDNCGiq9-Nfm0EuRjgHae3mJcb4dO1c4nqW7VfJNbbQT0qYC1Y4qW3wfNQpNmPiBBqHscuJQkOha6h/s400/IMG_3774.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564477112668373986" /></a><br />...whoever you are...!<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-42497874960782113202010-12-20T21:01:00.001-06:002010-12-20T21:06:02.351-06:00Aunts and Nephews<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz681AoSdovHEJ2Xq07TZYgtuB8KNw0wcHnWn9ojph1e5B2a0W4oTONOZK6k5ufMuwgAjRMy1I2RsnebjAYQw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Robin meets Aimon for the first time.</div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-69358061090957641382010-12-20T20:52:00.003-06:002010-12-20T20:59:28.080-06:00Fathers and Sons and Grandsons<div><br /></div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwGPmxKToQJRosgwkanAj-fBL9BKRLN8NFukZiqHc65xny88kgi2EdvG5seDlnPOY11Zx2ucsWl3fYdYfF4Pw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">A new grandson, Aimon.</div><div><br /></div></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-63343635126154882962010-12-20T19:33:00.005-06:002010-12-20T20:04:04.798-06:00Beggars<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9Zb_oPbZmyaxU0VpoBFVAIevBqka6c-XcSg37vxrEC7XYi_gmrnOYaKE0I0goWf6sG_LQorrLUwETFyou43MphCIATNdACF1W42QM6kfiFmitw7oOF3pExNj-DttDE7MSfKjSomJZn0w/s1600/Begging+Cats.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9Zb_oPbZmyaxU0VpoBFVAIevBqka6c-XcSg37vxrEC7XYi_gmrnOYaKE0I0goWf6sG_LQorrLUwETFyou43MphCIATNdACF1W42QM6kfiFmitw7oOF3pExNj-DttDE7MSfKjSomJZn0w/s400/Begging+Cats.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552943315555206130" /></a><br />It is nearly Winter, officially, but truly it has been with us here in Wisconsin for some time now. I'm tired of it already, unless it snows a lot. The cats have begun their Winter Sojourn. Instead of scampering under the deck, eating grass, hunting voles in the roadside ditches, or chasing rabbits: they sleep, eat, and beg. <div>Long afternoon naps in the bedroom, or in my easy chair, or for Pippin high up on a box near the ceiling in the basement. This is reached by a complex route across my desk, up onto the cherry storage unit, a leap up onto an upright storage unit, and then slinking up into the space above the concrete footings. You can see his ears peering over the top edge of the box. Nossa's deeply rooted cowardice would never allow her to make such a journey. <div> Then the evening campaign begins hours in advance, begging for their dinner. They sit near my shoulder on my desk, eyes wide, so sad, so needy. Such liars.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9Zb_oPbZmyaxU0VpoBFVAIevBqka6c-XcSg37vxrEC7XYi_gmrnOYaKE0I0goWf6sG_LQorrLUwETFyou43MphCIATNdACF1W42QM6kfiFmitw7oOF3pExNj-DttDE7MSfKjSomJZn0w/s1600/Begging+Cats.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI9Zb_oPbZmyaxU0VpoBFVAIevBqka6c-XcSg37vxrEC7XYi_gmrnOYaKE0I0goWf6sG_LQorrLUwETFyou43MphCIATNdACF1W42QM6kfiFmitw7oOF3pExNj-DttDE7MSfKjSomJZn0w/s400/Begging+Cats.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552943315555206130" /></a></div></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-43825310107774607032010-10-17T18:30:00.004-05:002010-10-17T18:35:47.887-05:00Field Trip<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkrJk7GEnMJXL5afIU-ZbCggPCa83Lj0DMoEPyV8FowSHKazH71C_P1U5ZBZn1pdajYFhAopsWeIrDbb77K3GAvHz3E9sXAZKhdDXeVQWv1JxVWWUDfxJiTcfkvYyHbiVTpTb29R3PMtV/s1600/photo-4.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkrJk7GEnMJXL5afIU-ZbCggPCa83Lj0DMoEPyV8FowSHKazH71C_P1U5ZBZn1pdajYFhAopsWeIrDbb77K3GAvHz3E9sXAZKhdDXeVQWv1JxVWWUDfxJiTcfkvYyHbiVTpTb29R3PMtV/s400/photo-4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529162371958146258" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div>I accompanied the Verona High School Science Club to Ski Hi Orchard and a hike at Devil's Lake on Saturday, giving them a quick tour of the orchard (including hands on apple picking which is always a big thrill no matter what the age). Here's a view of the south end of Devil's Lake from atop the bluffs, just above Balance Rock.<div><br /></div><div>Anke the German Shepherd came along, awash in glorious affectionate petting from everyone she met. And to end a nice climb up and down the bluff with a nice wade in the largest drinking pond she'd ever seen! Glory. She slept all the way home.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-43266954436111240092010-10-06T19:30:00.002-05:002010-10-06T19:52:13.240-05:00Apple Picking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplvElrAgF5kZgqlXg9ZKVeUuNyePbiwU0CTju0UOBKMM2qH7XJ3DAjmCbS9QADKq3BOu0GdrBNRjxNRVJsOEhDkLDZiLgve1lFjnoXiEIxyNu5YiPjNWRgqaQVobO-LDdfziYt7n00Fuk/s1600/photo-5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplvElrAgF5kZgqlXg9ZKVeUuNyePbiwU0CTju0UOBKMM2qH7XJ3DAjmCbS9QADKq3BOu0GdrBNRjxNRVJsOEhDkLDZiLgve1lFjnoXiEIxyNu5YiPjNWRgqaQVobO-LDdfziYt7n00Fuk/s400/photo-5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525095414749859682" /></a><br /><div>Early October means a quick trip to the Baraboo Hills, to Ski Hi Orchard for our annual picking frenzy. Having worked here years before and having a friend in the owner, Betty Thiessen, I get to go out into the orchard and browse around, picking my own. Ribs and Deb along, we trounced down the old gravel road in search of apples! </div><div><br /></div><div>Our first stop was in the Golden Delicious aisle, where we loaded up in preparation for the Annual Applesauce Day, a tradition in the fam. Um. A tradition for Dad that is, although I do manage to talk my spouse into helping out. The kids duck out and await the results. Golden Delicious applesauce needs no sweetener, and we make about 30 quarts a year, to freeze and bring out for the eating throughout the long winter. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next, we moseyed down past the Cortlands and Jonathans and hit up the Honey Crisps, a hybrid the likes of which we didn't know back in the Day, when old Art Bassett roamed the orchard in his War Two vintage jeep, keeping an eagle-- and I mean eagle--eye on those who were privileged to pick his apples for him. That was sort of the arrangement. Honey Crisps are, whoa, sweet and crunchy! Some apple researcher hit paydirt with this apple. Two bushels' worth.</div><div><br /></div><div>George, the orchard foreman, a grizzled old veteran of Who Knows What--but grizzled nonetheless--came rambling down in the same old Massey Ferguson on which I used to roam the orchard. "I remember you from last year! Thought you were just pickin' Goldens." </div><div>"Yeah, we mosey around a bit, pick a few other things as well." </div><div>George didn't shoot us, having been warned off by Betty. Last year was a closer call, since Betty forgot to tell him we'd be invading his orchard. You don't get anything past ole George. </div><div>George and I chatted about the crop. "Yeah, we gotta color pick those Crisps. Damn things keep fallin' on the ground. Next year I'm just gonna pick 'em clean once!" </div><div>Color picking means just that: pick over the best looking apples and leave the rest to redden and ripen a bit more. It isn't a practice pickers enjoy, because it slows the picking, and if you're being paid piecework, that slows the income. </div><div>It appears to have been a nice crop of apples. George's parting shot was to tell me that if I wanted to pick apples, to pick Cortlands. "We ain't pickin' any more of 'em. I got a cooler full. You can have as many as you want!"</div><div>I'm coming back up in a few weeks with a local high school science club. Every two years I give them a tour of the orchard and the old log cabin homestead. This year I think we'll venture into the orchard, and if those Cortlands haven't frozen, by golly I think we'll send the science club kids home with some pie-making apples.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the way back up we topped up our bushel boxes with some Jonathans and Red Delicious, as well as the Cortlands with which to make pie filling. I picked a mixed bushel for Ted Gullixson, a local Lutheran pastor, and on the way home we dropped them on his doorstep. We hope he finds them!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-3730632573102806032010-08-11T18:12:00.005-05:002010-08-11T18:39:42.793-05:00The Need For BooksEthan Bartlett, Son of Neil, erstwhile member, and still member-at-large, of the No Inklings Book Club, <a href="http://stormman.blogspot.com/2010/07/open-letter-to-barnes-and-noble.html">recently wrote a screed</a> in which he decried these newfangled electronic readers every book merchant is seeming to come out with. One of his points, if I get his point, was that a book-in-the-hand was better than 37,000 on the screen. At our most recent book club--which was actually a Mexican food pigfest followed by a little reading and great discussion followed by an attempt--deftly deflected--to roast Ethan and his baby bro Zeke as they prepare to depart for college (truly a Franzmannian sentence going on here)--a distinguished and much beloved member of the book club (he supplies us with mounds of food each time we meet, nudge nudge, wink wink) presented Ethan with a large dorm-room-suitable poster of part of the screed imposed electronically into a Kindle reader. Or was it a Nook? I forget. Ethan was duly roasted.<div><br /></div><div>In today's Wall Street Journal letters section, someone named Anthony Mirabile of Philadelphia wrote an amusing rant of his own, commenting on a recent article about "the subtle joys of communing with books". To wit:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div>Sven Birkert's poignant prose evokes the subtle joys of communing with books in the company of fellow book lovers ("Bye-bye Bookstores," op-ed, Aug. 6). No less a public figure than Sir Winston Churchill took comfort in the midst of books when he urged, "If you cannot read them, any rate...fondle them. Peer into them...let them fall open where they will...Set them back on the shelf with your own hands...If they cannot be your friends, let them at any rate by your acquaintances." A bookstore browser expects freedom and, despite the public setting, some basic privacy. No Big Broher scrutinizes choices for thought crime, wheile the browser peruses this title or turns away from that. And the browser assumes that the books, unlike their digital substitutes, cannot be edited as they wait to be browsed.</div><div>Reaching for a book is a symbolic and literal grasp at freedom, untethered to the whim of some cyber-gate-keeper. It is bearing arms oneself versus surrendering their use to an impersonal authority. It is driving one's own car where the spirit leads, regardless of where and how the elites think you should go. It is the gesture of a citizen, versus that of a slave. It is opening one's mind to the wide field of ideas and information without the risk that one's mind will be shut off at the flick of a switch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm bitterly clinging to my books.</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>I like that last. The editors titled the letter in part, "A PANEGYRIC ". That's fancy talk for "a letter to the editor. The word, however, seems like it ought to mean something like....</div><div><br /></div><div>...screed.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The--completely unrehearsed--Gee Library</span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NsY7Qwlk4mtSXG3mAEr4uzQbinNqgWYiMek3UvEJqWQYnLhzXiDNJLkf2bL0w8hkMoZPG3nbhRGzktdCs9gODtUAttKxU-Bu63VkmDee68inQQGV18B0BuY-9hFDz83JsLT7wpLR4VGc/s1600/IMG_3399.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NsY7Qwlk4mtSXG3mAEr4uzQbinNqgWYiMek3UvEJqWQYnLhzXiDNJLkf2bL0w8hkMoZPG3nbhRGzktdCs9gODtUAttKxU-Bu63VkmDee68inQQGV18B0BuY-9hFDz83JsLT7wpLR4VGc/s400/IMG_3399.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504298682383990386" /></a></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-57547099957941711262010-06-16T22:03:00.001-05:002010-06-16T22:12:17.160-05:00The Amazing, Spiral-Turned, Steam-Bent, Woven Back Cherry Rocker<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilF42T99XM9RhYZpkLOfSgQkZR57u3pyrvY_M7CZNefY77_ezglBWgGPyN3aSD-IDKHSbYZLgMlEUsvaN4yW-e6-8vVKCKZUErZiul9wPQzJn3wppoXDfKSyQZL7UiusIK9NOGEVqT4EYo/s1600/IMG_3267_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilF42T99XM9RhYZpkLOfSgQkZR57u3pyrvY_M7CZNefY77_ezglBWgGPyN3aSD-IDKHSbYZLgMlEUsvaN4yW-e6-8vVKCKZUErZiul9wPQzJn3wppoXDfKSyQZL7UiusIK9NOGEVqT4EYo/s400/IMG_3267_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483572665157387154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have the most amazing rocking chair in my shop. You've never seen anything like it. <br /><br />I also have a request: I have written a very brief survey on a project I'm working on (I wasn't really abducted by aliens, but after I get going on this project you'll wish I had been). Take you two minutes to fill it out. And as a <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">SPECIAL BONUS</span> for taking the time, I've written an essay WITH PICTURES about this amazing (Did I say<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">amazing</span>?) rocking chair. Did I mention the essay comes complete with <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">PICTURES</span>?? Ah, guess I did.<br /><br /><br />You can take the survey, and grab a link to the essay, by just clicking on this:<br /><br /><a href="http://survey.constantcontact.com/survey/a07e2xhg3ufgadau5jf/start"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:180%;" >SURVEY</span></a><br /><br />Many thanks, and be kind. Be kind.<br /><br />Oh, and comments. I love comments. In the survey.Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-25407522373029835922010-06-16T21:40:00.002-05:002010-06-16T21:52:57.600-05:00I'm BackWhew, that was weird.<br /><br />I mean, I was just standing in my shop, spaced, trying to remember what tool I was looking for or why I'd just walked from the staining room to the millshop, and suddenly...<br /><br />...that's right. I was abducted by aliens. What day is it? Who mowed my lawn? Why are my golf clubs in the garage? And what is all of this strange furniture doing in my shop? <br /><br />You wake up in the morning, grab your face, say: "My name! What's my name??"<br /><br />This getting old is serious business.<br /><br /><br />Meanwhile, a daughter has gotten her temporary driver's permit. I'm just sayin'. A son is talking about coming home from the Mexican wars for a spell. Another son has more schemes and plans than Mr. Obama hisself. Most have to do with glory and fame, but in the meantime, he's waiting tables. You got to keep the money moving. <br /><br />I'll keep you posted.Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-60438497870598161132010-04-14T20:03:00.002-05:002010-04-14T20:08:59.951-05:00Benedict, ReferredA good post from Paul McCain on the current worldwide controversy regarding child abuse in the Catholic Church. While I appreciate those who have pointed out the hypocrisy on all sides, I think the angle pastor McCain is pointing to is the best. To quote and summarize: <div><br /></div><div><blockquote>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, 'BitStream vera Sans', Tahoma, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 17px; ">Here’s the point: It is precisely the wrong response to go on the attack against the media. The only response that should be made is to express total and complete outrage and complete and very public remorse for the sexual abuse of children at the hands of priests. Period. And keep saying it. Over and over, ad naseum. Back the words up with actions and provide the proof of action. An absolute zero tolerance policy on these behaviors must be adopted everywhere and applied every time."</span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, 'BitStream vera Sans', Tahoma, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 17px; "></span><br /><div><br /></div><div>That doesn't mean I'll take down my earlier post on the controversy. I still think my friends will benefit from reading the post by John Stephenson. Even if what he has done is exactly that: "...go on the attack against the media...". Ah, well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nevertheless, read <a href="http://cyberbrethren.com/2010/04/12/the-wrong-way-to-respond-to-the-media-assault-on-the-roman-catholic-church/">this.</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-19024105898882059392010-04-14T19:08:00.002-05:002010-04-14T19:14:20.070-05:00Quote du jour<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; color: rgb(16, 16, 16); line-height: 44px; "><blockquote>The psychology of uncertainty really does matter. As long as those in industry and commerce hear that the government is the solution to the problems that they supposedly created, browbeaten individuals will not take risks and begin hiring. All the populist rhetoric, all the sympathetic statistical gymnastics from the liberal pundits, all the euphemisms of “jobs saved,” still won’t change the fact that American business believes Mr. Obama wants to take more of their money to redistribute rather than empowering them to hire and make a profit.</blockquote></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; color: rgb(16, 16, 16); line-height: 44px; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-Victor Davis Hanson</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;color:#101010;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 44px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;color:#101010;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 44px;">The dialogue between my wife and me, during this past quarter when my gross earnings as a self-employed individual were the lowest they've been in 30 years, has centered around the profound uncertainty injected into not just the business community but the consuming public, as a result of the extensive indecision on healthcare (and its playout, which I think is obviously disastrous), and just about all of the rest of the current admin's agenda. You may like the agenda, but it has played havoc with earning a living. The psychology of uncertainty has to be the prime theme of Obama's first year and a half. </span></span></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-64238527127530668242010-04-13T21:52:00.003-05:002010-04-13T22:29:08.333-05:00WOMANI can remember when I was a teenager, at the height of the cold war between my father and me, both of us suddenly one day standing back in awe, as we simultaneously became cognizant of the glue job my mother was doing of keeping flock and fold together. It was a serious revelation for me of her hard work and dedication to the family, and as unhumblable as I was, it served to humble me.<div><br /></div><div>I'm reading THE PLOT AGAINST AMERICA by Philip Roth. Yes, THAT Philip Roth. He's gotten to be a pretty good writer in his old age. Here is an interesting quote that took my by surprise last night. He is describing a late 1930's New Jersey small-town Jewish community, but actually also describing America everywhere at that time:</div><blockquote><div>"The men worked fifty, sixty, even seventy or more hours a week; the women worked all the time, with little assistance from labor-saving devices, washing laundry, ironing shirts, mending socks, turning collars, sewing on buttons, mothproofing woolens, polishing furniture, sweeping and washing floors, washing windows, cleaning sinks, tubs, toilets, and stoves, vacuuming rugs, nursing the sick, shopping for food, cooking meals, feeding relatives, tidying closets and drawers, overseeing paint jobs and household repairs, arranging for religious observances, paying bills and keeping the family's books while simultaneously attending to their children's health, clothing, cleanliness, schooling, nutrition, conduct, birthdays, discipline, and morale..."</div><div>P.3</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah. I'll take the men's job. </div><div><br /></div><div>And this, from a Stephen Vincent Benet poem, describing a mistress of a plantation, as a woman able:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div>To take the burden and have the power</div><div>And seem like the well-protected flower</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>The women in my life--wife and mother and grandmothers all--have shown this multi-talented multitasking skill that men frankly don't regularly notice. Our egos tend to blind us. They hide their talents in plain sight, and shake their heads when we take them for granted. So it has ever been.</div><div><br /></div><div>One has to wonder which of Solomon's wives he was thinking of when he (ok, purportedly; perhaps) penned these words:</div><blockquote><div>An excellent wife, who can find?</div><div>She is far more precious than jewels,</div><div>The heart of her husband trusts in her, </div><div>and he will have no lack of gain.</div><div>She does him good, and not harm,</div><div>all the days of her life.</div><div>She seeks wool and flax,</div><div>and works with willing hands.</div><div>She is like the ships of the merchant;</div><div>she brings her food from afar.</div><div>She rises while it is yet night</div><div>and provides food for her household</div><div>and portions for her maidens.</div><div>She considers a field and buys it;</div><div>with the fruit of her hands she plants</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>a vineyard.</div><div>She dresses herself with strength</div><div>and makes her arms strong.</div><div>She perceives that her merchandise is</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>profitable.</div><div>Her lamp does not go out at night.</div><div>She puts her hands to the distaff,</div><div>and her hands hold the spindle.</div><div>She opens her hands to the poor</div><div>and reaches out her hands to the needy.</div><div>She is not afraid of snow for her household,</div><div>for all her household are clothed in scarlet.</div><div>She makes bed coverings for herself;</div><div>her clothing is fine linen and purple.</div><div>Her husband is known in the gates</div><div>when he sits among the elders of the land.</div><div>She makes linen garments and sells them;</div><div>she delivers sashes to the merchant.</div><div>Strength and dignity are her clothing,</div><div>and she laughs at the time to come.</div><div>She opens her mouth with wisdom,</div><div>and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.</div><div>She looks well to the ways of her household</div><div>and does not eat the bread of idleness.</div><div>Her children rise up and call her blessed;</div><div>her husband also, and he praises her;</div><div>Many women have done excellently,</div><div>but you surpass them all.</div><div>Charm is deceitful, and beauty in vain,</div><div>but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.</div><div>Give her of the fruit of her hands,</div><div>and let her works praise her in the gates.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Proverbs 31</div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-83623170613642213792010-04-01T13:53:00.005-05:002010-04-01T14:39:21.922-05:00It Must Be Holy Week!<div>Throughout Christendom, this is the week of weeks, the celebration of the "fullness of time" when Jesus Christ went to Jerusalem, taught (and, you could say, taunted) in the temple courts, instituted his Holy Supper, and then proceeded to be put to death "for the sins of the whole world" (1 John 2:2), to be raised again on a Sunday morning.</div><div><br /></div>However, something about this week seems to bring out the wackos. This year <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/25/world/europe/25vatican.html">they are specializing</a> in wacking Pope Benedict, for his alleged crimes vis a vis the priest sex abuse scandals. While not wanting to reduce in any way the severity of these crimes, I have read in the past few days a couple of articles that defend Ratzinger/Benedict from the misinformation afloat out there. They are, in fairness worth a read. At least one may also be eyebrow raising for old, settled, staid Lutherans (I've not been one long enough to be staid, but I'm old and settled).<div><br /></div><div>The first, from <a href="http://www.logia.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=121&catid=39:web-forum&Itemid=18">Logia magazine</a> is entitled </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px; color: rgb(61, 37, 24); font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:15px;"><table border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td valign="top"><table class="contentpaneopen" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; width: 630px; border-collapse: collapse; "><tbody><tr><td class="contentheading" width="100%" style="white-space: normal; line-height: 29px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-bottom: 6px; color: rgb(45, 89, 25); width: 576px; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-color: rgb(233, 229, 208); "><a href="http://www.logia.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=121&catid=39:web-forum&Itemid=18" class="contentpagetitle" style="color: rgb(71, 7, 5); text-decoration: none; white-space: normal; line-height: 29px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-bottom: 6px; "><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The dictatorship of relativism strikes back—and goes nuclear</span></i></b></a></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></span><div> by John Stephenson of St. Catherine's seminary in Canada. He does a wonderful job of revisiting the career of Ratzinger, and gives us confessional Lutherans this rather nice quote:<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(61, 37, 24); line-height: 30px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“The Lutherans are to Ratzinger what the Orthodox are to John Paul: the separated brethren he knows best, and for whom he has the greatest natural affinity.” John Allen, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Cardinal Ratzinger</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, 231</span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></div><div>Stephenson doesn't mince words, but I find his article a balancing act against what you'll find in what he calls the "quality" press. </div><div><a href="http://www.vatican.va/resources/resources_card-levada2010_en.html"><br /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.vatican.va/resources/resources_card-levada2010_en.html">The second article</a> is a more direct defense of the NYT article cited above. It is written by Cardinal William Levada, Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. Again, a balancing read if all you've seen is the Times article and its trickle-downs. He begins:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';font-size:medium;"><blockquote>In our melting pot of peoples, languages and backgrounds, Americans are not noted as examples of “high” culture. But we can take pride as a rule in <b>our passion for fairness</b>. In the Vatican where I currently work, my colleagues – whether fellow cardinals at meetings or officials in my office – come from many different countries, continents and cultures. As I write this response today (March 26, 2010) I have had to admit to them that I am not proud of America’s newspaper of record, the New York Times, as a paragon of fairness.</blockquote></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Book Antiqua', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">May your Maundy Thursday be yeastless, and your Easter full of rediscovered joy at the peculiar, surprising story of God-become-man, and his deeds of redemption for us, for us, for all of us.</span></span></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7exbkZ6J_HGq2gy2KUY9l9ALGWPItnUtXIb7WoLPSAYj4zjx_4_ZMe98rJyAyjOg7KfMQSdbc-vm7LLFgpjkz9K-qABN23bTNC9t_ZRZnXDFcBfW2_tuWXCdjJ5lRnIqWBQTFJcrG5gM/s1600/crucifix.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7exbkZ6J_HGq2gy2KUY9l9ALGWPItnUtXIb7WoLPSAYj4zjx_4_ZMe98rJyAyjOg7KfMQSdbc-vm7LLFgpjkz9K-qABN23bTNC9t_ZRZnXDFcBfW2_tuWXCdjJ5lRnIqWBQTFJcrG5gM/s400/crucifix.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455253593596259506" /></a>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7206866042338169907.post-62497476512151375382010-03-27T11:47:00.003-05:002010-03-27T11:49:29.567-05:00Pop and Son<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KfS13qXiNrSkxDAxcItiMJJKU7d9ceRDbCeYOV9qI-3UfpO5fXOXxsVIrPFVEIIyyZUKIXTuXxhW1M3Pzh6by2_8Du2onaGaJddxsagY5GliIuUPOTR8fwkiIvOM7Y4IUO5e8ewI3_0c/s1600/IMG_4368.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KfS13qXiNrSkxDAxcItiMJJKU7d9ceRDbCeYOV9qI-3UfpO5fXOXxsVIrPFVEIIyyZUKIXTuXxhW1M3Pzh6by2_8Du2onaGaJddxsagY5GliIuUPOTR8fwkiIvOM7Y4IUO5e8ewI3_0c/s400/IMG_4368.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453356475824357890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Hanging out in Boulder with Jeremy</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Is...is that a CIGARETTE in his hand????</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Bruce Geehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18140478955080857310noreply@blogger.com3