Do Not Go Gentle

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

This is the last line of a poem written by Dylan Thomas. I know that he wasn’t meaning what I am about to share. My thoughts are disgusted about the evolution of politics of today. The election is long past and there are many who are disappointed that their candidate didn’t win the White House, but never in my sixty-nine years of existence can I remember such hatred, such malignancy, and such rancor being expressed by any losing party. I am sickened that the elected officials from an opposing party are now encouraging violence against every voter, every supporter and every one of the winning officials. I can’t believe that the sting and embarrassment from the loss has overridden all reason and the losing officials are using their position to instigate open rebellion and insurrection. This vitriol comes from a group that prides themselves on tolerance and transparency.

I am disturbed that they have turned their backs on what is good for America and have embraced positions of opposition to unity and a widening of division of race, class, and religion. They have turned their backs on those who have served our country faithfully here and abroad, to protect our freedoms and are trying to remove as much of our liberty as they can.

The media has also used their influence on television, radio, and in print to disparage the election results by changing facts, cherry-picking words and phrases to alter the official’s meaning, or by outright reporting of outright untruths.

It has gotten so bad that the judicial and investigative officers of the law can no longer be trusted. The Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Department of Justice, and even the Internal Revenue Service have been caught egg on their respective faces. People who were to be in positions known for their integrity have proved themselves untrustworthy and unreliable.

I believe that term limits could minimize the stranglehold that a career politician has on Congress. Politics was never meant to be a lifetime appointment. When these officials are in Washington D.C. for so much time, they lose contact with their constituents and become influenced by lobbyists, fellow politicians, and the beltway crowd. Rage, rage, rage; never have I seen such seething discontent.

The Three R’s

When most people hear the three R’s, they think of the ones in the ditty song, “School Days:” Reading, ’Riting, and ’Rithmetic, but I want to comment on three other R’s that are of concern to me and are seemingly being lost in today’s society: Reason, Respect, and Responsibility. Great men of the past have commented on these three ideals, so I will share their words in my post.

There are two others Rights and Religion, but they are God given and should be kept inviolate as did our founding fathers. They listed them as parts of our country’s foundational precepts that were set forth in the Constitution and Bill of Rights of the United States of America. People, who were much wiser than I, wrote these ideals to form the foundation of our nation.

REASON is the first R I’d like to address. Edward Counsel said, “Reason is a pillar of the mind.” Sophocles wrote, “Reason is God’s greatest gift to man.” The words of God Himself say to mankind, “Let us reason together.” Scientists say that reason separates man from the animals. Reason tempers emotion to make rational decisions.

RESPECT is the second in the trilogy I want to share. Billy Graham said, “A child who is allowed to be disrespectful to his parents will not have true respect for anyone.” Respect is shamefully absent in much of society today and Laurence Sterne said, “Respect for ourselves guards our morals, respect for others guides our manners.” What has happened to being polite? H. M. McGill wrote, “One of the most sincere forms of respect is actually listening to what another has to say.” Shouting down another person’s point of view or feeling offended and needing a safe place if someone doesn’t agree with our point of view is the norm in society today.

The third ideal is RESPONSIBILITY. A right without responsibility is anarchy. “A definition of responsibility: a commitment of head, heart, and hands to fix the problem and never again affix blame,” was described by John G. Mills and Robert L. Joss said, “Real leadership is not about prestige, power, or status. It’s about responsibility.”

I don’t know how many will agree with my view on this subject, but as I have said, many men mush wiser than I share the same perspective on reason, respect, and responsibility.

A Stirring of Memories

Last evening I was watching one of the nature channels. The television program was of an explorer that goes about trying to find animals that are thought to be extinct. His quest took him to Newfoundland looking for a white wolf that was thought to be extinct for over thirty years. He first met an 80 year old man who lives in Newfoundland and kept two wolves, but not ones indigenous to the Island, but was familiar with wolves.

The two set out exploring one arm of the eastern coast, but when they were unsuccessful there, they moved their operation to the northern part of the island. After several more days of searching, they found tracks, scat and several thermal images that prove there are still wolves in some isolated areas of Newfoundland.

I have said all of this just to say much of the scenery was familiar to me. Quite a few years ago, Tim a young man wanted to see what Newfoundland and Labrador was like. He was thinking of establishing himself as a missionary to this area of the globe. My good friend Norman Lee Johnston was our Pastor at the time and very keen on supporting missionaries. He decided to take the young man to scope out that part of the world. My son Andrew, daughter Amanda, and I were fortunate enough to make the trip with them driving from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania through the northeastern United States into Canada. We camped in Maine before crossing into New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, taking the ferry to Newfoundland.

Back on dry land, we motored the length of Newfoundland from the southern coast to its northern tip. All of this was to say that much of the scenery that was shown on the television program brought back those memories of a dear friend that has recently passed away and of friends that we met on the trip. I miss my dear friend Pastor Norman Johnston. I also miss a missionary couple that we met on our trip, Buzz and Judy Ferguson. Just to let my missionary friends and families know that they are thought of and that they remain in my prayers.

Another Week in the Can

It’s been another busy week and I’m feeling just a bit sore and tired. Laundry on Monday, Tuesday was finishing spading one hole closed in my backyard and opening another to find the opening in my septic tank to have the local honeydipper visit and clean out the sewage and made the call to set up an appointment. Wednesday, I visited my dentist for my teeth to be cleaned and to have a filling replaced. On my way home, I stopped at my brother’s place. He wasn’t home. Next stop, the barber, then at a local grocery store where they still have a meat department where they will do custom orders to have a special ham loaf ground. Later in the evening I attended Wednesday evening prayer services at church.

Thursday as I waited for the honeydipper to arrive, I continued the seemingly endless chore of stacking the firewood. When the truck arrived, I talked to the man who opened the concrete vault as he suctioned the mess from the depths of the tank and learned a few valuable tips. The waste in my tank was difficult to remove because it was more solid. He said routine cleaning at a family dwelling should be every 5 to 6 years. If not the solid waste will ruin a leach bed causing more problems. It had been at least 20 years since my last cleaning.

Later, because I hadn’t mowed my neighbor’s grass the last time I mowed mine, I decided to mow his lawn. He and his wife are good people, but due to his age and physical condition, it’s difficult for him to do. While I was mowing his lawn, I noticed that now, my lawn looked ragged and shabby, so I swung the mower around and finished nearly 2/3’s of mine. The back side of my lawn is lower and with the recent rains, the ground was soggy and unsuitable to mow.

Tired, I came in to relax and cool off. I fell asleep in my recliner. I showered and began to do some writing. I missed my writers meeting. I looked at the calendar in my office earlier, but because I hadn’t flipped the page, I was looking at May I mistakenly thought there wasn’t a meeting.

Today, there is a different writers meeting. I should attend, yet there is still a lot to do at my home. More wood to stack, the remaining hole in my yard needs filled, vacuuming and dusting needs done. We’ll see. I haven’t been engulfed in a dust storm or been attacked by savage dust bunnies yet.

Honey of a Job

I’ve been managing with only using my upstairs to limit the water going into my septic tank. It became filled when my downstairs commode had a steady leak causing my water bill to soar to nearly triple. For several weeks, I have been using the water saver commode in my newly remodeled upstairs bathroom and avoiding the downstairs toilet. It’s been more wear and tear on my knees, but it was necessary if I wanted to the necessary room.

During this time, I have been searching for the concrete septic tank buried in my backyard and the removable trap door to gain access to have it cleaned. A friend volunteered to open an area where I thought it might be, but to my chagrin, it was the wrong spot and the backhoe only managed to break the exit sewage pipe to the tank.

After repairing it, I continued the quest for the “prize.” By following the now repaired pipe, I spaded a trail toward the elusive goal. The actual tank and my ultimate target was about three feet away. Only one yard from where I directed the friend break ground and eventually break my sewer pipe.

My spading was delayed because the tank and door was under the pile of dirt that was removed by the backhoe and my earlier shoveling. My dig to the tank’s opening was delayed while I returned the dirt to its original position. Much of it was clay/soil mixture that was heavy under normal circumstances, but with the rains it was clumping and very backbreaking work. With the hole filled, I quickly spaded downward to the tank top and door.

I placed a call to one of the local honeydippers to have the tank emptied. Honeydipper is a term for the men who used to hand shovel the waste products from outhouses and who hauled it away. As I grew up, the honeydipper was the butt of many stories and jokes.

I am hoping to solve the septic problem on Thursday. I have an appointment with a honeydipper. I’m just thankful that they come to me and not the other way around.

Learning the Alphabet

Saturday, I was asked to be docent at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and since my day was unclaimed, I agreed. I would have probably been there anyway. No one else had signed up and rather than to have the facility closed if anyone should show up, I decided I could open it up. Although I don’t know all of the ins and outs I am learning and often able to direst people with questions to the correct information.

I have been trying to close up the loose ends with sorting, filing, alphabetizing, and rearranging thing into a better type of arrangement in an attempt o make things easier to store and find. The task that was left undone was to sort and alphabetize the cards that the funeral homes give out to those who visit and pay last respects. There were about eight boxes of semi-sorted announcements. I say semi-sorted because someone had started until the system broke down and the pamphlets were just shoved in, in no order. Names with W were in with G’s and so forth.

Using the first and second letter of the last names, I began the task of labeling and placing them into piles in order. Once the cards with the same first 2 were in stacks, they were placed in their file boxes for easier access.

In four hours I managed to get names from A to Mc sorted and stored. In the checking of names, I was saddened by the number of people I was related to and to those who were friends. Some older from fellow church members, one in particular my dad would pick her up so she could attend church with us. She had no other way.

Other very familiar names came and went in a seemingly endless parade. So many cards passed through my fingers. It reminded me of my own mortality and that a person’s entire life could be reduced to a few faded lines in a folded note.

The other thing I got from wading into this gigantic task is allergies. Whether it was because of the dust or the inks, I’m not sure, but after I came home, I began to sneeze and my nose became so  congested. I now whistle when I breathe, but at least…I’m still breathing.

Wood I

It’s that time of the year again. I just bought my first of several loads of wood to stockpile for the cold (Br-r-r) winter months. Believe it or not, I have grown more intelligent over the thirty years I have lived in my house and raised my family. When I first began using wood to help warm the house, I thought the pile of uncut wood was ugly. It detracted from the beauty of my home. I placed the wood pile at the back of the one acre lot. What I didn’t understand was that the spot that I’d chosen wasn’t the best place. Between the woodpile and the house, several drifts of snow would form during the winter storms, making the task of hauling wood to the back porch a formidable task. I tried a wheelbarrow, then a toboggan, but it got to the point a light bulb finally went on in my head, “You can make this a lot easier.”

So, I moved the delivery point to the now empty garden plot. The harvest was all in and it seemed like a good idea. Cutting and stacking was closer to the house and partially hidden by several oak trees. Again I was worried about the looks of the pile. The snow drifted there too, but it was just about ten feet closer to the house, thinking there would be less distance to drag the firewood. Not so. It was just as difficult.

The very next year I decided to put the pile on the other side of the house, near the bushes and tree line there. It was about another fifteen feet closer. By now, I was hauling wood into the basement. I had a new wood burner and I put it in the cellar to limit cleaning up from the dirt from the bark and ashes. The wind and snow didn’t care. There were still drifts, smaller but there were more.

For the last six years or so, I have the wood delivered right outside my basement door. Who cares if it looks unsightly? I’m older and tire more easily, and hopefully it shows I am smarter by choosing a place close to the door.

Well, the first load is here and slowly I will stack it on my pallets to continue to age until it is needed to warm my home on the cold windy days of winter.