Shabbat Shalom -- Searchlight Tonight

Searchlight Tonight, Sarah Palin tomorrow.
Yes that's the Israeli flag in Our Governor Mrs. Todd Palin's office.

Searching For Robert Stacy McCain in Searchlight

I fibbed this week. Not quite fibbed but skirted true truth in an opening correspondence with a beloved nepehew. (I want to say here life is sweet but that's not good enough. Life is full of life's blessings. Uncle blessings. Thanks to my sisters.) In our back and forthing I mentioned to M that I have a tkt to see Ann Coulter in Henderson (that's next to Vegasbaby) Saturday night and the tkt price was so low that I paid for a coveted parking space at the venue and it still came in at under thirty-seven bucks so I won't be out any money worth mentioning if I skip the show and if I don't go I'll just call it a donation to the sponsoring organization -- Nevada Tea Party, I think. I told him I also have a hotel room booked in Henderson for Saturday night but I've been trying to talk myself out of going because I'll be driving over there on Easter Sunday and that makes two trips in two weeks. Nothing wrong with that, but blah blah blah.
Nephew told me of his appreciation for the Coulter wit and said I oughtta go. What I neglected to tell him -- and here is where the sin of omission fib enters -- is that before Ann Coulter speaks in Henderson just a few hours earlier and a few miles south of Henderson Sarah Palin speaks in Searchlight ........ So the truly true purpose of my trip is to see Our Governor Mrs. Todd Palin. It's all tea party all the time and why would I not go -- even if only to get a sense of things? I feel not like defending the Palin this week, she needs no defense by me, and he seems to have an immediate negative-from-the-right reaction to the mention of her name, so I skirted my happy focus'o'the'day.

Coulter is a supreme bonus, to be sure, but yeah, I'm driving five hours tomorrow (today, now), perhaps sleeping in my truckette, to see Mrs. Todd Palin. Wonder if I'll get close enough to catch a glimpse. Add: Mr. Todd Palin. Trig Palin. Any accompanying Palins. Andrew Breitbart. Robert Stacy McCain. All supersizing attributes of a day in Searchlight. Eskapay's packed, almost. Weekend roadtrip!

Have to be back home by Sunday night. I've been through Searchlight several many times in the past four years but it's not been my destination. If I could pull up pics from that supplemental hard drive over there I'm sure I have Searchlight pics because among other singular draws Searchlight has the McDonald's with the slot machines in it. Nah, I never went in to see, mostly because I've not felt punk lucky and because I've not been hungry when motoring through, but I did pull over and snap shots of the signs outside. Probably shot the same shots every time I've driven through. Probably shoot them again this trip. Creature'o'habit is me.

I don't know if I'll really go. It's all about my mood when I get off of work, but my guess is I'll be feeling it. Plus I'm happiest en route -- that's a gift from dad. My email sleuths tell me that no camping is available this weekend on the Colorado River, but I called an RV place in Searchlight and talked to Virginia and said "I'm coming to Searchlight," and she said "We just had some cancellations," and I said "Virginia. I just have a small SUV, no RV, and I probably won't even pitch my tent. I just need a spot to park overnight and a place to shower." Virginia said "I'll have a place for you to park. Ask for me. If I'm not around tell anyone who's here that Virginia said you'd have a place to park." I said "I can't wait to see you in Searchlight, Virginia." And she said "We can't wait to see you." It was such fun that not to show up would be a serious breach of phone affection.

What's with that angry rhetoric: Showdown In Searchlight! Bet the place'll be crawling with raaaaacist haters. I'll fit right in.

Bonus Picture

The Other McCain:

Read & Obey -- From the Dog Files

Big thanks to faithful reader JG for permission to reprint from our personal correspondence. She's heard about La Nook and she's asked for some stories. Here's today's:

I never thought about it but a few months ago when I told KCD about the time I passed out and woke up with my head bouncing off the pew in my neighborhood Roman Catholic church in Fort Green (Brooklyn) on Good Friday (1984?) and the ushers hustled me out of there and drove me home -- good souls, they assumed I'd been fasting -- if only -- don't ask -- but when I told KCD the story he said two things 1) "You never told me that story before." and 2) "You haven't started repeating your stories yet. Keep 'em coming!"

I mention that only because now that I'm aware of the looming potential for age-related repetition degeneration I have to give fair warning that I mightcould start repeating myself, especially when I dip into the Dog Files.

Once when I lived in San Diego one of the volunteers who worked with me handed me a Christmas present and when she read the pleasure on my face she interrupted my thank yous to say "Don't get too excited. That's for Nanook." She was so right in her blunt approach to me and that story still makes me laugh. And it's more evidence that Nanook had her own fan base entirely separate from any connection to me. I merely basked in the filtered glory of La Nook mystique.

Nanook (Requiescat in pace) and I lived at the beach, well, two blocks from the beach, in Ocean Beach, where Dog Beach is -- dogs off leash 24/7/365 -- and Nanook loved the water so she got lots of baths after her swimming and sand-rolling and the present that she got from her devotee was a big old bath towel with "Nanook Only" embroidered on it.

Still have the towel and I never used it on myself.

Read and obey, that's the way I roll.

Kill Your Television -- Jim Geraghty Files

Paragraph of the month:

When did every television channel forget its purpose in life? MTV doesn't show much music, the History Channel shows programs that have little or nothing to do with history, there are non-animated shows on the Cartoon network, and SyFy's new spelling fits because its programming directors appear to have no interest in science fiction. Comedy Central isn't all that funny, plenty of A&E's shows seem neither artistic nor entertaining, and you can watch hours of The Learning Channel and actually lose knowledge. (Any given program on Lifetime only feels like it drags on for decades.)
Yet Fox News has plenty of foxes

NRO Newsletters . . .
Morning Jolt
. . . with Jim Geraghty
March 25, 2010
Join the Morning Jolt mailing list here.)

Water Won't Work On This Witch -- We Need A Flying House

Fresh favorite Grandpa John sends us to TrogloPundit for this timely and fine artistry.

Tethered To The State -- Mark Levin

You know I saw Mark Levin at the Reagan Library a few weeks ago. March 5th, I think. Hey, sure it was a Friday evening, but F. Lee was there, he does not come out of the underground bunker that often, and Jew or Christian, some weeks you just have to break Shabbat.

At one point in his learned and somber speech, Levin interrupted himself to say "I bet you thought I was going to get up here and rant and rave." We all laughed. "Well, I may yet do that," he added, to our cheers. He never did, not really, rave or rant. Damn.

He did say, clearly moved to be there -- as most of us are every time we visit:

"The Reagan Library...this is a spiritual place."

It surely is.

He also said:

"Remember, liberty and property are inseparable."

"Plunder is the business of the statist."

"Their purpose is to tether the individual to the state."

Couldn't help but think of Mr. Levin last night as I watched the results of the creepy, statist, plundering Congress voting to tether us all to their vile vision of the state, tether us cradle to grave -- though they're shy neither about killing us before we reach the cradle nor hurrying us along toward the grave once we're no longer cost-effective.

Some'o'my friends are truly pleased with this whole fool thing, but mostly it's those who run on feelers rather than disciplined thought. The duped dopes don't even notice the ankle braceleting that's coming their way.

I normally don't speak up during attendance at events such as Mark Levin's speech, but I would have that night. Alas, I never got a microphone or I would have asked him to say "Get off of my mike, ya big dope!" That would have been frosting on the cake.

Thank you, Mrs. Reagan; and thanks Mr. Levin.

Next Up: Bread and Circuses! What? I don't have a right to various boutique breads and a cirque or two?

Art Interlude -- Old Glory Critical -- Bosch Fawstin

Critical.

Scripture of the Day -- Pisseth Files

Pelosi-Obambi-Frank-Emasculatorium
Obamacare passes and words fail, so let us turn to the Holy Word:
1 Kings 16:11
And it came to pass, when he began to reign, as soon as he sat on his throne, that he slew all the house of Baasha: he left him not one that pisseth against the wall, neither of his kinsfolk, nor of his friends.


--KJV

The fatherless son of a Kansabitch bows and bows and we're left to curtsie. Or not.

Thanks hopeychangey votrons.

Thanks, La Barnie Dems.

And men-men: You just sit down to pisseth. Not only will you get used to it, you'll get to like it!

Hatikva for AIPAC -- Musical Interlude

Macho Sauce -- ZoNation -- Zo Punks Punk Damon & Punk Penn

Thanks, Mr. Rachel.
Via Big Hollywood.

How To Close A Door Properly -- Loretta Young Files

Yes, there are plenty of lessons to be learned from today's clip, but let's focus on door etiquette.
Watch. Repeat. Practice.
Watch again as needed.
We should sense, rather than hear, your entrance.
Focus on your action, on what you are doing, like Miss Young does.
Be in the moment. Be in the second.
Pay attention to your details.
Respect your door, respect your self.
Interior grace = exterior grace.
No need to shake the walls.
Think Loretta Young, not Ma Kettle.
Be Loretta, not Ma.
We should sense, rather than hear, your entrance.
Home or office, this Youngian method is effective.
Use the same door etiquette, in reverse, when you exit.
Car doors, bathroom doors, French doors, kitchen cabinet doors, driveway gates, trash can tops, doors -- and drawers -- of all kinds, all good.
Gentlemen, think Cary Grant, not John Rambo, and this method works for you too.

Next up: How to do stairs the Lana Turner way.
.

Great Moments in Billboarding -- Peanut Farmer Files

Well, Jimmah, you're tied for worst. Guess that's a step up in Rosalynn's eyes.
Via: Israel Matzav

Persian New Year

Happy New Year, friends.

A good day for some Rumi:

I died from minerality and became vegetable;
And From vegetativeness I died and became animal.
I died from animality and became man.
Then why fear disappearance through death?
Next time I shall die, Bringing forth wings and feathers like angels;
After that, soaring higher than angels -
What you cannot imagine, I shall be that.

--Rumi

 

A good day for some Saadi:

Of one Essence is the human race,

thus has Creation put the Base;

One Limb impacted is sufficient,

For all Others to feel the Mace.
-- Saadi
Saadi for my faithful readers who know the languages of the region:
بنی آدم اعضای یکدیگرند،
که در آفرینش زیک گوهرند.
چو عضوی به درد آورد روزگار،
دگر عضوها را نماند قرار
_________________________
Google Does Persian New Year's:

Persian New Year -- I'm With Stupid Division

Happy Persian New Year -- Rule 5 Division

"Models" courtesy of Bodazey Persian Models.

More models here.

And hey, Persian male models here. You know you want to.

Shabbat Shalom -- But You Don't Look Jewish At All

Fantastic Four.
The Thing.

Benjamin Jacob Grimm

Thank G*d it's Shabbat.
I was home Thursday evening, doing my evening stuff, thinking it was Friday evening.
I posted a Shabbat Shalom message a day early.
Some'o'you may have seen it Thursday night.
How does one slip out of time a day early, summon that oasis in time ahead of time, slip into Shabbat where/when one normally is not?
It's a good thing, don't get me wrong. A rare blessing.
Guess I'm a Fifth Day Adventist.
Shabbat Shalom.

Pictures Don't Lie -- Twice

Corn, Rye, Wheat, Barley & Kindle

I was sitting with three Kindles this morning, two new ones and my beat up busted old one, trouble shooting for La Jeffe, trying to find out what was wrong with her new ones when a kid came up to talk to me about Kindle.
I've seen him around for four years but we never spoke before, not really, unless he was his twin brother, to whom I may have spoken a time or two.
Anyway, he said his cousin and his uncle have Kindles and they like them; do I like mine?
Well, yeah. Had it for a year and I'm reading again like I hadn't for a few years and like I'm known to do by any who've known me long.

Can you share your Kindle books?
Well, yeah. With up to five other people. Then we can all share the books we buy, just download them to our own devices. But we all have to be on the same account using the same credit card.
How's that work?

Well, my friend JMax is on my Kindle account, so when she buys a book she has to log-in to my Amazon account to order what she wants, have it sent to her Kindle and it all gets charged to my Visa.
That sounds tricky.
Nah. I don't mind paying for her books.
You sure?
Well, yeah. I buy her books and she buys my liquor.
The kid laughed.
And I drink more than she reads.
The kid laughed again.

And hey, she buys top shelf.
If I'm shopping, I don't buy top shelf. Maybe second from top. But at that point, one may as well go bottom shelf.

The kid thinks I'm working this Kindle thing about right.
Me thinks so too.


____________________________________________________________________________
And yeah, again. There was a bottle of Hudson in my Christmas stocking. Year: 09, Batch 6, Bottle 497.
Thanks, JMax.
Haven't opened it yet, but you gotta like that hand crafted stuff.
Hudson.
Amazon.

Kenyan Mensa Meet-Up

Noah Pollak at Contentions
reports that the White House Whiz Kidz:

. . . near the President say that, for one thing,
Obama doesn’t think that Netanyahu is very bright,
and there is no chemistry at all between the two men . . .

Kindergarten through Life; Affirmative Arrogance at work, Punahou division.
_____________________________________________________________________________

Updatery: Okay, the not bright Jewish (what's wrong with that assumption?) Netanyahu, went to high school in Pennsylvania, then, in 1967 after he graduated high school, he returned to Israel to enlist the IDF -- like any youth on the way to real manhood would. Netanyahu served as a combat soldier (where did Obama serve? Oh, yeah, as a wussy "community organizer" in wussythugsville) and Netanyahu served as a commander in the elite special forces unit of the IDF Sayert Matkal (look it up). During his community organizing military service Netanyahu participated in different operations including the hostage rescue mission from the hijacked Sabena Flight 572 in May 1972. Netanyahu was wounded during the operation. In 1972 Netanyahu left the Israeli army while at the rank of captain. 

After his community organizing military service Netanyahu returned to the United States and earned a degree from MIT. Got that? MIT -- known for lax, non-bright entrance standards -- in 1975, and an M.S. from MIT Sloan School of Management, got that? MIT in '77, and studied political science at Harvard and MIT.

Meanwhile, fatherless, motherless, really, non-Jewish, parentally-abandoned Kenyan/Kansan Barry Hussein Obama, left with his "typical white person" grandmother, was affirmative actioned through his entire sheltered, Punahou, preppy, bright, pretty-boy boy-life.


I know who I'd choose to have my back in an alley fight, or as Commander in Chief. 

___________________________________
Adapted from Wikipedia.

Great Moments In Billboarding -- Ronaldus Maximus

Another great billboard in Minnesota.

Previous great moments in billboarding.
via Jonah's Mom
via cbs

Fury -- Peter Graves, Brother of Marshall Matt Dillon

Requiescat in pace, Peter Graves.




Thanks, CB, for the heads up.
With the Broken Wheel Ranch and your son Jim -- and your brother Marshall Dillon over on that other show, you taught us plenty.
Gunsmoke.

Grandpa John's -- Find'o'the'Week

Clifton B., over at Another Black Conservative, sent us to Grandpa John's. 

Thanks, CB.

Grandpa John's

This is a blog site dedicated to fairness. Laissez-faireness.
Waiting for Grandpa John to post is like waiting for Godot. But we still believe he exists!

DeeDee, always a cheerful and hard worker at Dutchland Dairy, says "Grandpa John's is probably America's Dairyland's finest blog."


I had a crush on DeeDee when I was a kid. Still do, it seems. Could be the hat, dunno. Anyway, I'm certain that my most faithful reader(s), stll frozen in the Northern Interior, will agree with DeeDee.

1000 Words -- Our Governor Mrs. Todd Palin

Shabbat Shalom -- Biden In Israel -- Feeling Safer Yet?

On a happier note, Plugs Biden left Israel -- yesterday.

Yeah, I'm wordy today. Want to make something of it? These people are wearying.

More of the always perfect Jennifer Rubin:  The No-Good, Horrible Biden Visit.

Sample Biden here, here.

Thugs Get Lonely Too -- And Dems And Ballerina-Progressives Too -- Massa

Rum, Sodomy and the lash:

Clifton B at Another Black Conservative says:

I found that I had made up my mind about Massa in less than 15 minutes. He is a liar.  One of the things that became immediately clear to me in those 15 minutes was that Massa is a closeted homosexual. Furthermore, he isn’t very good at hiding in the closet either. All his talk about tickle fights, tussling a guy's hair, naked shouting matches in the showers and so on all came off like poor attempts to make closeted gay behavior sound innocent.

So it comes as no surprise to me that we learn today that Massa was groping and something called “snorkeling” back in his navy days.

Tu Pac: Thugs Get Lonely Too

Previous Thug Luv

Sarah Palin's Hand Speaks To Me

You, too can do this: Hand of Mrs. Todd Palin


Thanks, Texas4Palin, for the pointer.

Gas Guzzler

Homiletics

I have a friend, a young entrepreneur, about to jump into professional success with his artistry and his business acumen.

He sometimes calls and says “I’m hungry; got time? Let’s go eat.” So we sometimes eat together and talk together. Or, we both eat and he talks while I listen. I pipe up now and again, at which time he generally gets what I’m saying, rejects it, or (more likely!) grabs it and runs with it, leaving me, appropriately, to listen anew while watching a fine young mind at work.

I’m old enough to be his dad, surely; perhaps his granddad, I'm not sure, and don't want to do the math; so beside the affection that’s between us there’s also the pleasure I experience that a young man spends time with me, asks me from time to time what do I know, what do I think, what should he do, all the while reminding me of, and sharing with me, and letting me witness the sweet realities of growing into an intelligent, ordered manhood while figuring things out.

Yes, I like that he seeks me out, I like that out of nowhere, thank God – he says that a lot: Thank God – that out of nowhere a new friend arrived in my world. Mysterious ways, yes?

Recently we met for coffee, sat for a few hours, talked a little about his personal stuff, then for a long time about his business and his business plans and ideas, then went to eat some dinner. When we walked into the restaurant all the youngish workers there smiled at his arrival, some said his name, called out to him, greeting him happily, welcoming him back, all were glad to see him again. Such is the pleasing, effortless effect his grace has on those around him.

He asked what was good that night, what was fresh, ordered his food, stepped aside for me. I asked for the same and added a bowl of soup, please. We took a table and sat to talk some more.

Shameful Aside: He is the only adult I know here in my current world – besides my beloved Aunties – who stops to say grace before a meal taken in public. This both pleases me in its rightness and shames me for my own gratitudinal laxness. Yes, I do better in this regard since knowing him, thank God, and yes, I still remember how. Thanks, Mom.

During our dinner conversation that night, among other topics, and while dipping his spoon into my bowl of soup, he said to me, said aloud for the first time, said as if trying out the words, said: that he's considering becoming a pastor.

Here I’ll skip some of this part of that night’s story, except to say that I knew this from the first day I met him. I sensed since day one that he is doing the internal discernment dance, that he may be on his way to becoming a pastor. I could have told him myself. But I’ve been waiting for him to feel it and know it enough to say it. I’ve been waiting a year and a half to hear him say it aloud, to hear those words moving on his breath

When he told me that night of this possible direction in his life I thought and I said several many things. But what I most remember saying is: "Then you have to finish college and you have to get a Masters degree."

He said "Why?"

I'm afraid my response was less than satisfactory.

The next day I wrote to a trusted friend, an Episcopalian priest who I first knew decades ago, who was at that time in her own discernment process, and who is now a priest in Oklahoma. I gave her the sketchiest of backgrounds, and asked her to give me my answers to his question: Why?

Backgound: This young man goes to a church that is evangelical and fundamental and probably mostly Hispanic and I doubt that there is any denominational affiliation. I think his uncle is his pastor. He is totally involved in his church life. [Again shaming me for my own lax attendance at Mass.] I've spent hours listening to him tell stories about his church – how worship and his church-family center his life. It was a huge, huge exception for him to open up his business on a Sunday evening after church to give [Blank Blank Hollywood Celebrity] access to his expertise a few weeks ago. I don't know and I could be wrong but I kind of doubt that any pastor he knows has the whole college and seminary training path in his background. This is not a bad thing, it just is what is.

I do know that I’m not the only one of his clients or customers or friends or family members who has suggested he get himself to school. And no, I don’t think it’s necessary for everyone, and yes college is wasted on many, college is overrated, college is overpriced, college is blah blah blah. But for him? Degree yourself, hermano menor. Anyway, here’s how my Rector of Choice replied:

Hmmmmm. Why does a priest/pastor need to be educated? Probably has a lot to do with the kind of denomination and church where the ministry will take place. Most Episcopalians are well-educated, so it would be hard to be an Episcopal priest and not be well-educated.

But also, as an Episcopal priest, I'm expected to know all kinds of things I would have a hard time picking up on my own – besides knowing theology, scripture, church history and polity, etc, etc, I have to know about management, psychology and human development. I need to know how to put together educational programs. I need to have finely tuned diplomatic skills. I need to know how to handle human "cremains" (HATE that word!), get bats out of the building, and drain the boiler. I have to be able to relate to PhDs and toddlers. I would have a really hard time doing this without my seminary education [Sewanee], but on the other hand, I had a friend in seminary who was a 60-something boat builder from the Gulf who never went to college, and only spent a semester in seminary. Terry was called to be a chaplain on an Indian Reservation in Alabama. He didn't have a BA or MDiv, but he was the most Jesus-like soul I ever met, and his people didn't miss the degrees.

In a different denomination with a different structure, the pastor may not be expected to do most of those things. In some churches, all the preacher really does is preach and pray with people.

In some churches, the only thing the preacher is expected to know well is the Bible, and in fact, the church may be leery of the study of theology and other traditional seminary subjects.

In a lot of non-denominational churches, the pastor/preacher has a day job too.

So I guess maybe the real question is, why do YOU think he needs more education?

It may not be required in his religious world, but maybe it's because you know the value of having it for it's own sake, about how much it opens up your world?

Maybe you sense that he needs to do that for his own sake?

I have a feeling this isn't really just ticking a box on your list of things to do before ordination. It's somehow more than that.

Not to pigeonhole him, or limit him, not to assume anything about someone I don’t know, and regardless of anything I’ve already said, if he's an evangelical and Hispanic, it wouldn't hurt to suggest he go talk to someone at Fuller. They have all kinds of programs and an Hispanic Center.

M.A.+

See why she’s my long-distanced pastor? I haven’t seen her since her ordination, back in South Bend, but I still seek her out when I need an answer. And I’m pretty sure I make a much-needed appearance on her personal prayer list from time to time.

And hey. Discernment? Calling? Ministry? Pastoring? There are all kinds of ministries, all kinds of pastoring. Even an honest businessman doing honest business can be a witness for the Holy.

However this goes, what ever he does or does not do -- MDiv? MBA? Neither? Both? -- I’m glad, thank God, I'm glad I'm called to be here, if only to watch, to break bread, to listen.

The Real Hurt Locker

From Foreign Policy magazine, excellent pics of the real hurt locker:

Welcome to the hurt locker: The improvised explosive device, or IED, has long been the weapon of choice for the insurgency in Iraq and now, increasingly, in Afghanistan. To take care of the threat, groups of elite explosives specialists, called Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) teams, are called in to dispose of, or safely detonate, IEDs.

The Real Hurt Locker via The Corner

Luv My 4 Grlz -- With Musical Interlude

Every ten years or so I go to university. That would make me about on target for campus reentry. Slackers Ph.D. anyone? Another useless Masters? Studying as a hobby? Who cares.

A survey of my life might show that no not all but yes several many of my longer lasting intimacies commenced there on various campi. Judy. Charles. Charles. Christine. Marcus. 

Dunno. I'd have to recheck the specifics. I do know that a few weeks ago my friend Marcus visited my home, from Japan, with his wife and their three perfect sons. Humbled that I was on their to-do list -- and thrilled that we've re-upped our connection past the ether-point -- we've done face-to-face for the first time since his oldest was in diapers. Sweet. 

I met Marcus in Latin class in college. University of Iowa. 1990. He alone is responsible for (academically) kicking me onto the Dean's list. Thanks, Marcus. But more importantly: He is responsible for the friendship that occurred. Sweet again. 

I have a blog. 

You know that.

I like it. I like my little blog.

There's no raging purpose, but it's not dear diary either.

It's unfocussed, to be sure, but so what?

Perhaps focus will occur. Perhaps not. 

I don't like the word blog. 

I use the word, but I don't like it.

I do like the word friend. 

I use it.

And I like it. 

And I don't use it lightly. 

My friend Christine just started a blog. 

She calls it Luv My 4 Grlz

Where does Christine find any time to blog? 

Dunno. 

She has four (4!) daughters (daughters!) under nine (9!) years old. 

My friend Christine.

We met in college. Circled around one another in various classes. Listened to the same professors. Spoke up in the same classes -- some of 'em big classes, some of 'em more intimate. We respected and loved, yes, loved the same la professora. We wrote papers on the same topics. We heard one another's explorations and thinkings and feelings expressed in our classrooms. We heard others and we heard each other. We looked around: There she is again. There he is again. 
We made eye contact. 
Talked to each another. 
Studied together. 
Libraried together.
Walked together. 
Laughed together. 
Ate together. 
Shared tales together. 

Again: University of Iowa. Christine ran Cross-Country for Iowa. Big-time Hawkeye. I was (merely) a big-time Hawkeye fan, sometimes standing next to her beloved mom on a Saturday morning, yelling Go Hawkeyes! Go Christine!

Old dogs and new tricks: 
What was I doing there in Iowa City? I was probably the same age as her mom. Can't remember and does not matter, methinks.  I was what they called a "non-traditional" student -- non-trad -- that's college admissions jargon for an old dog going to college kinda late-late in life. Only in America. God bless America. Hey, I was on time for me, but late in the more normal American timeline. Nevertheless, Christine and I became friends. Remain friends. Who's to question the mysterious ways in which the Infinite works? Not me.

Friendship is sacred here in Boom3.

How to describe that? Sacred like the concept of neighbor in the Gospel of Luke. (Luke 10: 25-37) 

What did The Man say? Oh yeah: "Now which of these three would you say was a neighbor to the man...?" 

Asked and answered. 

The one who did right. 

The one who showed mercy.

The one who lived love. 

He was the neighbor. He was the friend. 


(I some times think of neighbor as a verb. But that's just me.)

Around here we try to avoid the sentimental, and we nevah give in to nostalgia, evah, not even when contemplating the truer sense of friend and neighbor. 

Friendship and neighbor. Sacred relationships. 

Which of all bloggers is a neighbor to Contento? 

Which is a friend?

Asked and answered.

She who loves those four girls. 

Hey. Xtine. Got time for a Musical Interlude?

Other faithful readers know that, sure, we all prefer the Thanksgiving 1985 version of this pop-perfect duet, but no one has good video.