Papal permutations: a hard habit to break

So, the Pope Emeritus Benedict is flown off to a papal retreat.

Forgive me, but why did the image of the ex-pontiff in a Olympic pool-sized hot tub with nuns doing synchronized swimming around him, and "pool monks" in flipflops waving billowing censers over his emeritus papal pate flash before my eyes?

Twisted imagination. It's a hard "habit" to break.

OH! Cassocks and conundrums!

Alzheimer's and Mom: Of the living and the breathing dead

I made one of my two weekly calls to my folks today and realized, belatedly, that my last meaningful, even understandable conversation with my mother was sometime in the past.

Truth be told, it probably was a couple years ago.

My folks are in Assisted Living in Spokane, Washington. Mom has Alzheimer's disease, a form that has rapidly deteriorated her ability to reason, understand or even speak without referring to every noun as "that place" or "that thing." 

 

Half the time, she has to think hard to remember who I am, her only son. The other half of the time, she thinks I am her grandson, or her brother, John.

She has forgotten how to use the phone, and as her vocabulary has evaporated along with her ability to think, the conversations have disappeared.

Two years ago, Mom could talk your ear off. If I called home, I knew I needed to have emptied the bladder beforehand, because 45 minutes was a short conversation.

She was articulate, interested, sharp. This is the woman who got me through math in high school, for crying out loud.

Now, she doesn't know the difference between $100 bills and a quarter, she has forgotten how to use a washer, or the TV remote; she gets lost in the hallways of their facility, and floods their unit regularly when she tries to wash clothes in the sink . . . and leaves the water running.

All that is left for her are emotions, and a resolute stubbornness. That stubbornness got her through a childhood that saw her going to work at 15 to help support a Montana preacher's family of 14. . . and raise her own family during times of hardship and too little joy.

And now with Mom 85, my 62-year-old developmentally disabled big sister -- who has the mental faculties of a 4-5 year old and lives in a group home -- has more on the ball.

I hate Alzheimer's. It has robbed me of my mother, while leaving behind a poor, fading reflection of her.

In all the ways that matter, my mother -- the vibrant, optimistic, natively intelligent person she was -- has not-so-gradually passed away. All that is left in a breathing, emaciated shell of a confused woman, a shadow, a wraith that bears her name.

All that is left is to love her, on an increasingly primal level. Even her ability to return love is fading, as her world continues to implode, retreating back to . . . what? A psychic womb? A spiritual ovum?

Where has she gone? How do I find her?

No answers. Just faith that what is Katherine Powell Mims is being safeguarded in the arms of the Eternal, to live again.

Nanny State: Get over it. The Big bad world doesn't owe you a thing

St. Paul, upon learning some folks were gaming the new Thessalonian Christian community and living off its charity -- thus robbing those who really needed a helping hand -- wrote, "If a man will not work, he shall not eat." 

Primitive social welfare policy? Not really. Remember, a primary command of Christ was to provide for the poor and widows and orphans. So, Paul's admonition was to the point. Those who could work, should; those who could not, a loving community had your back. 

Today, though, many folks truly feel entitled to the proverbial something for nothing. They won't work because it is too stressful, or not their "field," or doesn't pay enough to supply both their WANTS and their needs. 

You need food, shelter and clothing. You may want a big screen TV, new car or a house no lender in his or her right mind would give you a mortgage to buy. If you cannot work for legitimate reasons, we should help with the former -- not the latter. Your needs do not include taxpayer-underwritten entertainment, the best ride on the block or a $500,000 home when you need to rent an apartment instead.

In what many call the "Nanny State," though, we continue to pay regardless -- those who do work, through taxes, and those who truly cannot work due to illness, disability and honest crises, they pay through harder-to-get aid already taken by the undeserving. 

The attitude of entitlement goes beyond the easily targeted "welfare fraud," though. Do something stupid, you can shift the blame on anyone but yourself; be lazy and end up with your just rewards -- little or nothing -- or fail to study hard enough and get a C-plus, you can sue for a better grade that you deserve (a Lehigh student did this, and lost, but still tied up the courts doing so).

It all makes me want to sing, no shout, no scream the lyrics to "Get Over It" by the Eagles: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1H-Y7MAASkg

It's not always complicated . . . or rats in the walls

I wonder if this is a gender thing. 

Our main TV, in the living room, lost its cable feed. The one in my office did not. Hmm. 

So, last night I'm troubleshooting it. Checking the connections, turning gizmos off and on, changing the "source" settings, etc. 

Convinced a rat in the wall must've gnawed through a cable leading to the big screen, ready to call Comcast and/or electrician techs. 

Barb comes out, grabs a remote, selects "03" . . . and fixes it with a muffled, "Mennnnnnn."

Well, it could've been a rat in the wall.

It could.

Next time, Apple, I'll just Shuffle past your store

I recently bought an Apple iPod Shuffle at Walmart.
Yeah, I know, that's like buying a BMW at one of those low-number, downtown side street used car dealer lots.
But it was new, and I got the service plan with it. So, the Shuffle went "stem up" (an Appleism I invented there). Walmart tells me, "Call this 800 number and they'll set you up."
The 800 number, after a 20-minute wait, says "Oh, just walk into any Apple store and they'll fix you up."
So, OK, the nearest one is at the Fashion Place Mall. I walk in. There's a nearly empty store, but still a young man stands at the front, a gatekeeper. I make the serpentine approach through nonsensical, airport-like chutes, feeling like livestock on the way to be branded.
An apt metaphor, as it turned out.
"I'm here to have my Shuffle repaired or replaced," I say.
"Do you have an appointment?" he sniffs, looking me up and down. I'm feeling like I should've worn slacks, pastel shirt and a sports jacket with some expensive kicks, all of a sudden -- definitely not a hoodie and jeans.
"Appointment? There's hardly anyone here. The service folks said to just drop by, drop this off and you'd fix or replace it," I say, whipping out my service agreement.
"OH. WAL . . . Mart," he smiles with ill-concealed derision. "No, you have to have an appointment, sir," and he waves me toward a nearby terminal.
So, the appointment is made for NEXT Saturday. To drop it off. To be repaired or replaced. Sheesh.
Effete, elitist Apple Jerks.
He wasn't that big, this Apple gatekeeper. I coulda taken him. It's not like he's the doorkeeper at a Queens night club, OK?
But, well, I didn't. It's a one-inch-square iPod Shuffle, for cryin' out loud. And you can be sure, it will be the last Apple product I buy.
Hey, I'm getting older. I'm entitled to unreasonable, vindictive consumer behavior.
Now, if it had been Android, I'd probably have been welcomed into the shed out back, offered ribs and brew, a new player and been offered a look-see at Bubba's classic shootin' iron collection.
... and, I wouldn't have paid $55, either, plus gas, and the irritation.
Grrrr.

Friends, foes and in between: Diamonds in plain sight, or in lumps of mud

Had a nice breakfast with an old friend, former pastor and occasional writing client Saturday, Arni Jacobson.  But friend is how I best describe Arni after a quarter-century of knowing each other.

Good to catch up with someone who just accepts you, flaws and all... and to offer the same back. Over the years, we've explored all facets of those things.

As you get older, you appreciate people more, see them for who they are underneath. Sometimes, the treasure you find is not totally unexpected; you suspected it was there and now, voilà,  there it is, exposed to the bright light of day, in full view. Confirmation.

With others, you have to dig through the mud a bit, pull out that lump of something, wash it off and discover you have had a big old raw, uncut diamond all along.

Each person in your life is a gem to God in some way. If we, as flawed mortals, are able to discover the treasures in our lives by peering under the mundane expectations a lifetime of cynicism brings, we touch the heart and mind of God.

So, as we split a Village Inn breakfast -- I took the scrambled eggs and fruit cup, he the french toast and bacon -- my friend and I talked about what we've learned in our relationships with others -- friends, family, professional acquaintances and colleagues.

It comes down to loving more, forgiving more, and letting resentments go. You come to appreciate, rather than regret the scars. 

I'm a living metaphor for that epiphany.

At least, I do believe I'm getting there.

I'll let you know, from time to time, how that works out.

Common sense is the first casualty of 'gun control' debate

The current "gun control" debate is maddening for its logical fallacies, both circular and "Straw Man" in nature.

I fully understand the angst over the deaths of the innocents in the Sandyhook school shootings and others in the past years.

In all cases, though, these have been mentally ill perpetrators, and in almost all cases, they were using stolen firearms . . . that is, illegally obtained weapons.

Still, some folks are using the shootings as an excuse to "control" legal gun purchases. Some argue for repeal of the Second Amendment, claiming we no longer need it.

Pesky Constitution. Maybe the First Amendment (free speech and expression) should be the next to go? Speak out for the Second, it seems, and you certainly will be slandered and shouted down.

Some insist that "assault weapons" should be banned, when what they really mean is anything that looks scary -- i.e. "military" -- should be banned. The whole term "assault weapons," which applied to civilian models of firearms like AR-15s and AK-47s, etc., is misleading, even dishonest.

The AR-15 is a semi-automatic rifle (one trigger pull, one shot). An M-16, which it resembles, is capable of three-shot burst and fully automatic firing, i.e. a "machine gun." The former is legal, the latter is not for civilian but military use.

I own a .22-cal rifle that holds 20-some shots in a tube inside the stock, a very common weapon for the past 50 years. It is semi-automatic, like most rifles -- except "bolt action" models -- are these days.

Why would that .22 not be an "assault rifle?" Because it doesn't look scary, i.e. it does not have a pistol grip.

So, much of that argument is specious, and simply semantics. Take a pistol grip off the AR-15 and, I guess, it's not an assault rifle any more? Well, it never was.

Then there's the capacity of rifle clips. Some want to limit it to 10 rounds instead of 20 or 30, etc. Really? In Vietnam, my generation's soldiers simply taped one clip to the other, upside down, and it took about a second to flip, lock and load.

Again, a capacity based solution is really an ignorant solution.

But the biggest point the gun control crowd seems to miss is that you can restrict, control, ban, etc. firearms -- but criminals will still have them. That's what a criminal does, after all, break the law. Regardless how many restrictions are passed, all they would do, ultimately, is leave the law-abiding less able to defend themselves.

That is Insane.

But what is also insane is not enforcing background checks for those seeking to buy firearms. Felons, minors, the mentally ill, those with violent records should not be buying firearms. Period.

How anyone could argue with that, I don't know.

Are you listening to that, NRA?

Of church music and the Walking Dead

Had a guest worship band visit today at church. From Athens, GA., Julian Drive is the name.

Nice, hard-driving Southern Rock style. Soulful lyrics, great drummer, lead guitarist, lead singer has good range. . . but he also is a dead ringer for Sheriff Rick in "Walking Dead." 

Slap khaki pants, a badge and slouch hat on him, add couple more days of beard and strap a .44 on his hip and they could be twin brothers. 

An odd image to have in one's head, zombies drifting down the sanctuary aisles amid "Holy, Holy, Holy." It was only a brief mental detour, though. The music was that good. :)

The singer's name is SHANE. Sheriff Rick (actor Andrew Lincoln) has a deputy and best friend named Shane, who unfortunately goes zombie and has to be put down.

Yeah, I have a weird mind. It tends to take little diversions, and at the most inappropriate times.

What can I say? I'm a work in progress.

So, to wrap this up in something of a sane, faith-promoting manner . . . consider that without Christ in our lives, we are all the walking dead. Life and love are in Him.

Maybe the best 'revenge' really is forgiving?

I could only laugh, with not a little bitterness -- tempered by the survivalist humor I've learned to cultivate as an observer of human nature -- when I read of a columnist in my home state of Washington citing commentary on his writings as part of the reason he's hanging it up.
More to the point, Steve Kelley of the Seattle Times referred to the tendency of commenters, protected by anonymity, to slither into the depths of human meanness, cyber-stalking and character assassination. This has become predominant in many of the so-called "public forums" newspapers provide online for their articles.
Most papers have moderators assigned to identify and delete the most egregious comments, and some commenters even get the boot for repeated personal attacks, profanity, racism or bigotry. But it is an easy thing for them to recreate themselves with new "handles" and resume their diatribes.
Such is the case with a former boss of mine. Almost 15 years after I tendered by resignation and left him in his black cloud of impotent rage, the man periodically shows up under various identities. At one point, a moderator at our paper found he had created no less than six identities to comment negatively on every story I wrote.
Each account was terminated and yet he would return. Eventually, his IP addresses were identified and blocked. But it is no difficult thing to change IP addresses, and he has. His most recent identity was that of a faux female, but as always, his bipolar (diagnosed) arrogance was his undoing. Too many little hints dropped in comments here and there.
This time, though, I have asked his account not be deleted. Part of the reason is realization that doing that only feeds his anger and desire for retribution for imagined wrongs. But the larger reason is pity.
His unrelenting hatred, expressed in the comments, gives me regular practice at forgiving. And in a world where so many people act on perceived slights to the harm of themselves and others, at least this is a real, repeated offense.
Life gives us malevolent mysteries, does it not? Instances where we endure the ill-will of someone and never quite figure out, Why?
Sometimes, there is no answer. There is no logic to mental illness, no reasoning with psychosis. So, what else is there to do but forgive?
Maybe Kelley has his own cyber-stalkers and has just decided enough is enough.
As he puts it: “The level of discourse has become so inane and nasty. And it’s not just at the Times, it’s ESPN, everywhere – people, anonymous people, take shots at the story, writers, each other. Whatever you’ve achieved in that story gets drowned out by this chorus of idiots.”
I understand the sentiment. Still, I have to work for a living: Too many people depend on me to just give up.
And, it's just not my nature.
What goes around, comes around. That will happen all by itself; I don't need to push it along.
So, I will continue to forgive. It's been well past Christ's "seventy times seven," in this case.
But the lesson was this: Strike back, hold hatred or offense, and you not only feel the pain of the blow, but you allow it to cripple you spiritually.
And the lesson is this, now: To one for whom much has been forgiven, much forgiveness is expected.
That's me.

Whew. Missed the fiscal cliff. Sorry about the "rich"

OK. No tax hikes for people making $400K individually, or $450K as a family. 

Whew. I was really sweating that. I came THIS close -- a mere 700 percent raise away! Thank goodness there have been no raises at work for several years. I applaud the fiscal insight corporately applied. I do. Honestly.

Well, fine. Not honestly. Sarcasm, dripping and rolling down the chin sarcasm there.

It is good to be employed at all. That is seriously true. I remind myself of that, because so many in my industry no longer have jobs.

They are struggling to survive, while I can whine about years of inflation, price hikes, etc., having shrunk the real dollar value of take home pay by 12 percent or more (not to mention gasoline prices nearly tripled in the past five years, and health insurance premiums more than doubled).

So, dead seriously, I can't feel too much angst for those folks who may have to hold off on that third or fourth car in the garage to pay what they paid when Clinton was president.

Not that taxing the rich does anything to alleviate the fiscal mess our nation has created with waste, fraud, bloated social welfare programs far extended in purpose beyond their original intent, and skyrocketing debt. 

We have to arrive at the point where we realize our government cannot be the nanny for everyone who fails, or in some cases don't even try. We have to allow some consequence for failure. The idea of those who refuse to work, if they are physically able, to avoid the results via the public dole has to be rethought. 

And if Americans are living longer, their work years extended along with their life spans, then does it make sense to have Social Security retirement kick in at an age (65) that was just a few years shy of life expectancy in the 1930s . . . but now is 15-30 years out?

Do we continue to bail out banks and investment firms that game the system, giving millions in bonuses to CEOs who FAIL? Do we continue to borrow to underwrite decades of warfare that extend far beyond their initial, specific goals?