Happy Birthday Howard

This morning, the rate of rainfall was nearly an inch per hour. By 1:30 pm, unfamiliar blue skies and sunshine played its happy havoc on the greater Ann Arbor area. My morning decision of a sweatshirt and windbreaker (insufficient for warmth at the time) was fully stifling by the time I had a ten block walk to a vendor’s office in the afternoon. The cliché stands: if you don’t like Michigan’s weather, wait ten minutes.

In the light of Donald Sterling’s racist rant, discussion at the watering hole included reaction to the lifetime ban and of race itself. An African-American friend (and also a basketball coach) said that despite being black, he probably would not have levied a lifetime ban. I for one believe that the NBA did the right thing – any chance we have to turn the page on institutionalized racism should be seized.

On the way home I thought I’d see if my friend Howard was home. I saw his kitchen light on, but no response at the door. On a hunch, I peered into his garage and saw his car. Given the weather, I decided to walk around his house and, sure enough, found him snoozing on his deck with a book in his lap.

He must not have been too deeply asleep as he looked up and, with a smile, fussed about what the “cat dragged in.”

The winter was hard on Howard. He had one overnight hospital stay in February and missed over two months of church services. He explained the hospital stay, “I just couldn’t breathe.” His next line was tough to hear, “I won’t go back.”

Over the next hour, we shared stories of the last few months (yes, feeling guilty that it’s been that long since I saw him), discussed challenges we each were facing, and reported on mutual friends. He was alert, engaged and chatty.

This past week, Howard turned 88. We toasted this milestone but he was quick to add that he didn’t believe he’d see 89. I asked why. “I asked God for one more summer and maybe a fall – that’s all I want. I know I’m close.”

I have too much respect for him to offer platitudes or empty assurances. I asked if I could enjoy the last summer with him – he asked in earnest that I do.

The balance of the visit was filled with reports of his interactions with his doctors, his church community, and his family. We even discussed Pope Francis – Howard is a Congregationalist and has significant respect for the pontiff.

This wasn’t a sad visit – I feel very fortunate that he’d discuss the intimacies of life and death with me. I don’t know if his prophecy will come true; I did marvel at the peace he’s achieved and look forward to finding similar peace one day.

Papal Bowling

Two popes from my lifetime were canonized today in Rome.

While hundreds of thousands converged in Vatican City to celebrate, some pundits pooh-poohed the canonizations for any number of reasons (and, I expect, motivations). One that caught my attention was that Pope Francis somehow was finessing the day by canonizing a presumed conservative, John Paul II, and a liberal, John XXIII and, by doing so, uniting different factions of the church.

Were these men so different? Imagine JXXIII and JPII on the same bowling team – or at least in the same Thursday night league. Maybe sharing a pitcher of beer, they strike up a conversation.

While standing at the jukebox, JPII starts, “I have a sweet tooth for song and music. This is my Polish sin.”

Considering that point, and recalling his own heritage, JXXIII adds, “Italians come to ruin most generally in three ways, women, gambling, and farming. My family chose the slowest one."

Both men laugh and take their turns on the lanes. JPII scores a strike, JXXIII picks up a tricky 1-7 split for a spare. Soon talk turns to family. “The family is the first essential cell of human society,” avers JXXIII. “It is easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father,” he adds.

JPII considers this point, chews a pretzel stick, and replies, “As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live.” He signals the server – it’s his turn to buy a round.

With fresh beers and both scoring spares, they reflect on society at large and the attempts various groups make to achieve change and justice. “Social justice cannot be attained by violence. Violence kills what it intends to create,” suggests JPII.

JXXIII considers this statement, takes a long draw on his beer and adds, “A peaceful man does more good than a learned one.”

The evening continues through three games – JPII scores a 624 series – his highest ever and JXXIII couldn’t quite get into the groove and scores a full 30 pins lower than his average. JPII suggests that the oil on the lanes was a bit off this evening. JXXIII waves off the excuse offered by his friend saying, “The feelings of my smallness and my nothingness always kept me good company.”

They pay their tabs and each notices the other leaving rather large tips. Seeing JPII’s gaze, JXXIII asserts, “Workers must be paid a wage which allows them to live a truly human life and to fulfill their family obligations in a worthy manner.”

JPII agrees, “A just wage is the concrete means of verifying the justice of the economic system… It is not the only means of checking, but it is a particularly important one and in a sense the key means.”

Yes, I only offer a limited sampling of quotes, but I really don’t see where these two men would disagree much let alone devolve into shouting matches that end in accusations of idiocy or racism. I expect that they would have genuine curiosity and mutual respect for each other.

Hopefully, those attributes don't require the patience of a saint.








Quotes attributed to each pontiff from the following sources:
http://www.usccb.org/about/leadership/holy-see/pope-john-xxiii-quotes.cfm http://catholicfire.blogspot.com/2006/04/john-paul-ii-my-favorite-quotes.html http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/p/pope_john_paul_ii.html http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/p/pope_john_xxiii.html

Photo reported in the public domain and from: 
http://www.asianews.it/news-en/Rome-preparing-for-the-canonisation-of-Pope-John-XXIII-and-Pope-John-Paul-II-30708.html

Happy Easter!

I can't out-write this:

The Gospel of Mark:

16:1 And when the sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James,
and Salome, had bought sweet spices, that they might come and anoint him.
16:2 And very early in the morning the first day of the week,
they came unto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun.
16:3 And they said among themselves,
Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?
16:4 And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: for it was very great.
16:5 And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side,
clothed in a long white garment; and they were affrighted.
16:6 And he saith unto them,
Be not affrighted: Ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified:
he is risen; he is not here: behold the place where they laid him.
16:7 But go your way, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee:
there shall ye see him, as he said unto you.
16:8 And they went out quickly, and fled from the sepulchre;
for they trembled and were amazed: neither said they any thing to any man; for they were afraid.

I recommend this link:  Hallelujah!  as an inspired Easter version of a familiar song.

Happy Easter!





Verses from the King James Version of the Bible here: http://www.togetherweteach.com/TCB/New/02Mark/02mark16.htm

Image reported in the public domain and available here: http://publicdomainvectors.org/en/easter-bunny-clip-art-pictures

April 15

The infamous April 15th now carries double duty as a day of infamy: it’s the anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing and the deadline for Americans to slog through a 73,954-page* tax code.

I had some pretty strong reactions to the marathon bombing (see HERE and HERE) and was heartened today to see coverage of the one-year memorial service for victims of the cowardly act of two degenerates. Boston Strong!

As far as tax day goes, what can one say? Our central planners seek to affect behavior by penalizing some and giving breaks to others. Commentator Jay Nordlinger, on National Review’s blog “The Corner” recalls his commiseration with William F. Buckley:

Bill Buckley and I used to share a complaint about the tax code, and this is the way we would put it, when complaining together: The tax code pits Americans against one another. It pits homeowners against renters, married people against unmarried people, people with children against people without children, people with children going to college against people with children going into trades — and on and on. The tax code is packed with social policy, and bias. That’s one reason I say, a pox on it. (http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/375797/hardy-perennial-jay-nordlinger)   

  

That last point is what frosts me – the use of the tax code as a medium of social policy. As a good share (if not most) legislation is written by lobbyists and often not read by those voting – conservatives can bemoan the “central planning” and coercive aspects of tax law and liberals can bemoan the influence of big business on the code.

Okay, I’ll now step down from my soap box.

There are two good things about this particular April 15th. The first is that it happens to be Passover. When I was 21 or 22, my mother and I were invited to attend Seder at our neighbor’s house (one year, we invited the Perelman’s to Easter Brunch at our house – I still remember Leo sneaking bacon when Leona was out of the room and Leona doing the same thing when Leo was out!). This was a wonderful experience for me – I still recall the traditions and food. Also, I remember that Leo insisted that his daughter (probably 18 at the time) and I hunt for the geld! Have I dropped enough of a hint to say I’d love to attend another Seder? Shabbat Shalom!

The other good thing is that this is the fifteenth anniversary of acquiring my farm. The place had been a rental property for 20+ years prior to my purchase and was in need of a lot of love. Every wall was painted a light pink in contrast to the baby-shit brown indoor/outdoor carpeting laid throughout the house. Since moving in – with the help of many friends – the place has been transformed into one of the happiest places on earth. In another post, I estimated that I’ve hosted around 2,000 or so people for dinners, cider pressing, hunting, fishing, shooting, planting trees and general fun. I’ve had a couple of temporary lodgers, hosted surprise parties, bachelor parties and wedding anniversaries, and got to wander the 46 acres with an incredible Labrador retriever named Shakespeare.

April 15th isn’t so scary (of course, it did help that I filed in January!).

*Source: http://finance.townhall.com/columnists/politicalcalculations/2013/02/17/how-many-pages-long-is-the-us-income-tax-code-in-2013-n1514277

Image from:  http://publicdomainclip-art.blogspot.com/2008/03/federal-tax-form-1040.html

Idioms and Baby Powder

I think all families – or circles of friends – have an idiomatic fingerprint. Catch phrases in my home included a saying for high praise (“Not too shabby”), an expression to describe a long, hard day (“I am emotionally spent”) and even one for denying that one was asleep (“I was just resting my eyes”).

One that has made its rounds among a circle of friends defines severe discontent, partial loathing, heavy disappointment or even simple irritation. It’s simple and a bit vulgar, yet it conveys a clear message. When upset or angry with a person, place or life in general, we claim “a case of the ass.” Usage can vary (“I have a case of the ass” “He just has a case of the ass” “She’s starting to get a case of the ass”) but the message is elegantly clear. I’m sure that derivatives include references to chaffing, grinding, or simply “pain in the.”

For the last month or so, I’ve had a case with respect to the several years’ favored watering hole (where I met Howard and a whole cast of admirable characters). The management was summarily dismissed and favored bartenders were treated with disrespect – one even shown the door. The place hasn’t been updated in years; the parking lot is a war zone of potholes, the menu tired and the food quality lacking. We gathered there because of the people: managers and servers who knew your name and your “usual,” a miscellany of good folks who shared a true, keen respect and genuine friendship.

The ownership decided that it was going to clean house (I assure you, only figuratively!) and improve their margins. No argument there – run your business how you wish to run your business. Suddenly, happy hour appetizers were portioned down, drinks were priced $2 – 3 more than previous levels, and threats were levied at the staff in place of sound management (let alone leadership).

The parking lot remains scarred, the receding snow reveals landscaping full of litter, dust layers continue to accumulate. The food is unappealing and the new managers have made no attempt to introduce themselves to us “regulars.”

I’ve voted with my feet – I’m patronizing other restaurants that are far better run. While I miss “the gang” I don’t care to enable bad business practices.

Today, Thursday, was my friend R______’s typical evening shift behind the bar. I hadn’t seen her in some time and thought I’d stop quickly to visit, do a quick crossword and nurse a draft of ale (I can’t justify paying $9 for a drink in a $5 dollar bar). Upon arrival, she gave me a warm hello and a hug and quickly went to the far end of the bar.

She returned and produced an envelope marked “Pete” and handed it to me. I must have twisted my face into the international “what the heck is this” position. I opened it and she said that it was an invitation for a party happening that very moment in the restaurant’s private dining room. I was still confused and she said it’s for Dan’s 80th birthday.

“Go check it out,” she urged.

Wow. There were about 30 people gathered and when I entered, both Dan and his wife brightened like that first spring sun. “We didn’t know if you were coming!”

I explained that I hadn’t been in the restaurant for a month or so (leaving out all chaffing references) – the invitation left for me was two weeks in the waiting . . . had I not stopped, I would have missed the entire gathering.

Over the next hour, Dan’s children entertained us with harmonies and a guitar; stories were traded about how Dan and his wife (fiancée at the time) survived his being stationed in in Southeast Asia and she teaching in the Philippines; and we shared how we all met.

Dan and I met about 5-6 years ago – at the bar – when he suddenly began choking and I helped him regain his breath. He and his wife claimed that I saved his life – I know I helped him, but I don’t think he was in full respiratory arrest. Nonetheless, getting hugs from him, his wife and his children was just about the nicest thing that could happen this week.

I’m not ready to disavow my “case” but I do begrudgingly value the therapeutic talcum of reunions and friendship.




Photo reported to be in the public domain and available HERE