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Thread: Daily Bread

  1. #351
    Senior Member SteveinMN's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by catherine View Post
    People whose faith has compelled them to adopt foster children, or invite refugees into their homes or go to feed the homeless. My own cousin became "born-again" and we can disparage all the evangelicals, but she stops and talks to homeless people and offers help, food, or shelter. Her intervening kept me from losing my home. Yes, many evangelical Christians are very un-Christian, but there are many--many--who are walking the walk.
    I have no problem at all anyone who lives the faith story that makes sense to them. If someone is about caring for people, especially the marginalized and the "other", I don't give a rip if they're a "born-again" Christian, a Roman Catholic, a Jew, a Sikh, a Wiccan, ... The faith story makes it clear what should matters and what should not.

    No version of the Christian Bible with which I am familiar goes into exposition about how a public coffee company with employees of many (or no) religions should design their cups for the month-long bacchanalia that is "the Christmas holiday season". I don't see Eastern Orthodox Christians bashing Southern Baptists for celebrating Easter on "the wrong day".

    IMHO, for people with mature faiths, bearing witness to their god does not depend on whether the women in their congregation wear pants or sit at the back or whether the refugee they're supporting agrees with saying "Hail Marys" for penance. Nothing wrong with following those rules for oneself. But it's a variation on the main theme. And when people try to make their rules everyone's rules, I'm absolutely out of it. If your religion can't stand hearing "Season's greetings" instead of "Merry Christmas", maybe it's time to re-prioritize and keep the main thing, the main thing.
    If Americans expended even a fraction of the energy on civic engagement that we spend on consumer ideology, our democracy would be much healthier. Can you imagine people camping out to vote? -- Charles Roberts, Amherst, Mass., Nov. 25, 2006

  2. #352
    Senior Member Williamsmith's Avatar
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    “This is where Pappy used to play when he was your age.”

    I lobbed a baseball and my granddaughter awkwardly managed to catch it with my signature “Milt Pappas” mitt from the 1960’s. It is one item from my childhood that has survived every move and resides in a box in my garage. Today, we visit great grandma and I want to play catch with my grand baby on the field of my youth.

    While cleaning the garage, I went to the box. It’s flaps were crisscrossed as if to secure the precious contents and as I slipped my hand into the glove.....memories of hot humid days on a dusty ball field with seven neighborhood friends come alive.

    The backstop remains stubborn against the winds of time. Telephone poles soaked with creosote like substance a skeleton for a heavy chain link wall. Home plate never sat square to the pitchers mound and the third base corner always stuck up. The surface is cracked where it origally was bright white. There are metal anchors where each base should be and a metal box with a lock where the bases were kept protected from theft. We brought pieces of beer cardboard found as remains of an adult softball league or even would drawn a base in the dust with our finger.

    ”Me and all my buddies would play baseball games here.”

    She throws the ball back and I am astonished at how hard and accurate it is. This I remember is where we tossed a Roberto Clemente Louisville slugger bat up in the air so the Captain of the other team could catch it and start the process of selecting teams. Bottle caps? Yes. The bat has been broken, glued back together, nailed and taped. Occasionally, we find a broken bat in a burn barrel nearby and rescue it.

    “The snow fence wasn’t here back then. A home run was when we hit it in the gap and rounded the bases all the way home.” I throw the ball back, a little harder this time. It hits her glove and bounces out onto the ground.

    On this field Ray, John, Bill, Leo, BoBo, Dave, Charlie and me spent countless hours playing ball, catching frogs and snakes, and sometimes getting in a little trouble. We bonded and we fought.

    “Didn’t you guys have a coach?” , she asks and whips the ball back a little low but right on the money. “Nope.” I say, matter of factly and leave it at that.

    Im thinking of where these guys are now. To the best of my knowledge Ray is the CEO of a television advertising company, Bill became an accountant and is still bragging only he’s using Facebook to show all the trips he takes, Leo is a Postman, BoBo did twenty years for a burglary that resulted in a murder, Dave is a well off engineer and Charlie made a living playing baseball just like his dad.

    “Are you ready to hit the road?” I turn and look at the field one last time holding the glove of my youth. I bring it up to my nose and smell the leather and chew briefly on the rawhide string. “Let’s go Pappy,”......

    Oh to live on Sugar Mountain,
    With the barkers and the colored balloons.
    You can’t be twenty,
    On Sugar Mountain,
    Though you’re thinking that
    You’re leaving there too soon.
    You’re leaving there too soon.

    Neil Young

  3. #353
    Senior Member razz's Avatar
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    Lovely, WS.

    It triggered memories of a small country schoolyard where we played ball, all 22 of us, in all the grades. The maple trees enfolded the whole schoolyard, surrounded on two sides by gravel roads meeting on one corner and a large field with a stream and distant bank barn and house on the other two sides. I remember a dotted fawn coming to visit through the field to our delight. Cannot remember what happened to it though. I have no confirmed idea what happened to all the kids at that school but farmers and one professor, I believe.

    One rambunctious horse came running down the gravel road dragging part of a wire fence which had terrified him. I remember that he stopped nearby in utter exhaustion and I was able to walk slowly up to him, talking quietly while another schoolmate was able to gently detach the wire entangled around his one hoof. I truly understood panic for the first time and the importance of tenderness seeing that dear horse in such distress. I just now understood why the scene in the live play, Warhorse, with the coiled wire fence and the trapped horse puppet seemed so real to me. The movie, War Horse, never had the same effect as that live play. I was right there on the stage trying to help and willing that horse to calm down. Interesting...
    Gandhi: Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony .

  4. #354
    Senior Member Williamsmith's Avatar
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    I suspect it’s more about the search than it is about the music. At least, that’s how it begins. You have in your minds eye a depiction of some relatively rare record, it’s label and it’s accompanying outer sleeve. You almost never run across the object of your affections on any particular day or at any specific venue. But in the process of digging you run across things you never imagine, that fulfill your needs anyway. Almost always, you enter a place with little expectation of discovering anything only to be surprised. Yesterday, was such a day , as was the day before. A plethora of vintage 60s and 70s classic rock falls into your hands. You can’t believe how lucky you’ve gotten. A stash of records just shelved by the owner and you are the first to sort through.

    More than reasonably priced, you check off a nice block of wanted vinyl in very nice condition. So on a Monday morning, on a whim you just check into a local junk store owned by a hoarder with no expectations. After clawing your way through stacks and stacks of milldewed albums, you decide its probably time to go get a medium twist on a cake cone at your favorite roadside stand. Out of the corner of your eye she is staring at you from the corner of a shelf constructed by two by fours. You recognize her. A 1970s Joni Mitchell release. “Ladies of the Canyon”. Reaching over and picking it up your hopes are dashed by the emptiness of the cardboard. There is no vinyl.

    Shes been abused. Someone has spilled coffee on her. The inner sleeve is there but torn on the bottom and the back cover is split. She’s a ragged bit of her former self. You place her back and turn to leave. Something draws your eye to a stack of records on the shelf below without sleeves. There’s an orange/ tan label with a W7 Reprise label. You recognize it as a first release, much more valuable usually than later releases. It is Joni.

    The vinyl is clear accept for a blow she took on the first two songs of the first side. No matter. You decide to rescue her not so much as a collectible but as a listening treasure. The owner accepts one dollar for her. This record will not spend its life in a box or on a shelf but will be played on the stereo. The B side holds “Big Yellow Taxi” and “Woodstock.” After cleaning her off she slips over the spindle with glee. “Hey farmer farmer...put away the DDT now.....Pave paradise put up a parking lot.” “Don't it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got til it’s gone.”

    She pops constantly, but she plays without skipping. I think I’ll keep her.

  5. #355
    Senior Member catherine's Avatar
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    Signs of the times. I read your post and felt good thinking about Joni Mitchell and some of her songs you mentioned, but I am unfamiliar with the album itself. So, I'm in my office, and from there I yelled out "Alexa!" and when she waved back her blue-green wave I commanded: "Play Ladies of the Canyon." "Playing Ladies of the Canyon" she replied. No skips. No pops. But I'm sure not the same experience, either. Still, nice to hear her voice.
    "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every, every minute?" Emily Webb, Our Town
    www.silententry.wordpress.com

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