Having Fun with the Calendar on December 22nd

 

Each morning as I take my vitamins, I tear off a page on the calendar, a way of reminding myself later in the day that I actually had taken my vitamins.  I get to read a short bit of trivia, something that takes up half a moment and then get on with my day.

Today’s calendar moment, “I am.” is the shortest complete sentence in the English language. I then had to wonder if that were true in, let’s say, Hebrew, referring to the passage of scripture found in the book of Exodus 3:13-15 where we find out what Moses was told on his trip up to the top of the mountain where he met with God.

“And Moses said unto God, Behold, when I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, What is his name? what shall I say unto them?

And God said unto Moses, I Am That I Am: and he said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I Am hath sent me unto you.

And God said moreover unto Moses, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, The Lord God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, hath sent me unto you: this is my name for ever, and this is my memorial unto all generations.”

I’d leave it right there, except… you got it…in Hebrew the name I Am is a bit different. I’ll add what was posted on Facebook sometime back, author was not credited at that time.

“The Name of God YHWH

There was a moment when Moses had the nerve to ask God what his name is. God was gracious enough to answer, and the name he gave is recorded in the original Hebrew as YHWH.

Over time we’ve arbitrarily added an “a” and an “e” in there to get YaHWeH, presumably because we have a preference for vowels.

But scholars and Rabi’s have noted that the letters YHWH represent breathing sounds, or aspirated consonants. When pronounced without intervening vowels, it actually sounds like breathing.

YH (inhale): WH (exhale).

So a baby’s first cry, his first breath, speaks the name of God.

A deep sigh calls His name – or a groan or gasp that is too heavy for mere words.

Even an atheist would speak His name, unaware that their very breath is giving constant acknowledgment to God.

Likewise, a person leaves this earth with their last breath, when God’s name is no longer filing their lungs.

So when I can’t utter anything else, is my cry calling out His name?

Being alive means I speak His name constantly.

So, is it heard the loudest when I’m the quietest?

In sadness, we breathe heavy sighs.

In joy, our lungs feel almost like they will burst.

In fear we hold our breath and have to be told to breathe slowly to help us calm down.

When we’re about to do something hard, we take a deep breath to find our courage.

When I think about it, breathing is giving him praise. Even in the hardest moments!

This is so beautiful and fills me with emotion every time I grasp the thought. God chose to give himself a name that we can’t help but speak every moment we’re alive.

All of us, always, everywhere.

Waking, sleeping, breathing, with the name of God on our lips.”

 

 

Say What?

 

I was in the kitchen helping test a batch of Gingerbread Cookies that had recently come out of the oven when Lucy mentioned that it was time to get the next tray of cookies out of the oven since the buzzer on the oven had gone off.  She opened the door to the oven and extracted the tray while letting them sit for a few minutes atop the stove prior to placing them individually onto the cooling racks.

I hadn’t heard the buzzer go off even though I was standing within a foot or so.  Lucy thought I was joking as she explained that the buzzer had gone off twice.

“You really didn’t hear the buzzer?”  Lucy was busy switching trays while resetting the timer on the over for ten minutes while closing the oven door.

“No, I never heard the buzzer”.  It should be noted that the buzzer on our oven is super quiet and I don’t depend on that one; instead, I bought one at the store that makes a decent amount of noise when it goes off.

This reminded me of the hearing test I took prior to joining the Houston Police Department.  I’d gone through the preliminary steps of the application process and had been scheduled for a hearing test given by the City of Houston at one of their offices downtown.

The woman assigned to give the hearing test remined me of my grandmother, a sweet little old lady who smiled warmly as she placed a set of headphones over my head to cover both ears. 

She explained I was to listen for a ping that would sound in either ear. Upon hearing that sound I was to raise my hand.  I listened intently as the test began and noticed the expression on the little old lady’s face, her eyebrow raising occasionally as if she were the one taking the hearing test.  I hadn’t heard anything yet; but when her expression changed my hand raised up as if I had heard something. She smiled back and even nodded that my hearing was normal.

The rest of the hearing test was completed in much the same way, my watching this sweet little grandmotherly lady’s facial expressions to indicate that I should be hearing something, my hand going up as if I had, and a nod of approval for having finished that portion of the test. I passed the hearing test and, after going through the interviews that followed, was accepted into the Houston Police Department.

I managed to ignore the minor limitations on being able to hear insignificant noises while completing twenty years of service as a police officer.  Now, had I signed up to work in the kitchen, dependent on some silly buzzer, that would have been something altogether different.

Ground Fog, Yeah…Right

 

It was a bit chilly during the night; temperature this morning was 38 degrees.  It was time to light a fire and warm things up as I prepared a small stack of wood in the wood burning stove.  There’s a trick to getting things going, something I’ve yet to master.

The fellow who installed the wood burning stove, Ron Weathers, showed us how to prepare a loosely balled piece of newspaper inside kindling wood and top that off with a piece of newspaper so that the flash of heat will start air flowing upwards into the flue. He reminded me to leave the door to the stove open a bit to permit air to enter the combustion chamber and let the firewood catch properly.

Let’s just say that this morning’s attempts at lighting a fire didn’t go smoothly.  For some reason the paper didn’t catch, at least not entirely.  It put itself out, mostly.  The combustion chamber filled with smoke and began seeping out into the living room.  Opening the door to the stove, an attempt to ignite the partially burned paper, proved to be a mistake.  A ball of smoke rolled into the living room.

I hurriedly opened one of the living room windows, turned on a fan hoping to push the smoke out through the window.  I then grabbed another fan from my office and opened the window enough, so the edges of the window acted like a vice to hold the fan against the screen, sucking a stream of smoke out the window.  It was working so I turned on other fans, directing air flow to the open window. After a few minutes, maybe half an hour or so, most of the smoke had been pushed out the window.

I then went about getting the fire properly lit, another cloud of smoke escaped; but this time a river of air had been established so the smoke exited the house without filling the living room. Thankfully the wood actually caught fire and created a proper draft which went up the flue as it was supposed to.

After things returned to mostly normal, and looking out the window prior to removing the fan and closing the window; I’ve lost my train of thought, I looked out the window and noticed a blanket of ground fog on my neighbor’s field.  I say it was ground fog; perhaps it was smoke from my earlier attempts to start a simple wood-burning stove.

End of an Era, ...not quite yet

 

Tomorrow morning I’ll drive our 1999 BMW Z-3 down to Houston where there’s a fellow who wants to purchase it.  He found out that I had one that was in running condition, a good motor and transmission and generally in operating order.  He’s aware that it needs a paint job and interior work; but is looking forward to restoring the vehicle to its once jewel-like state.

A few months ago, when we purchased our new Subaru Outback, the dealership had the opportunity to take the Z-3 as a trade-in; however, the offer they made was incredibly low, bordering on insulting, so we decided to hold onto the car until somebody who was familiar with the vehicle’s potential and value came along.

I feel in love with the BMW Z-3 Coupe the first time I ever saw one as it drove by our house.  I’d seen the convertible version of the Z-3, the one featured in a 007 – James Bond movie; but the convertible didn't grab my attention, at least not the way the coupe version did with its classic lines.  It reminded me of the 1971 Triumph GT-6 we’d owned.  I took a photograph of that vehicle from the 5^th floor of the Houston Police Department’s Men’s Jail where I was working as a young police officer. 

I went to the BMW dealership over off I-45 and FM1960 to learn a little more, mostly to see how much a new one cost.  Geeezzz, that little toy car was going for around $46,000 or more depending on which optional equipment you wanted.  $46,000 for a toy car was definitely way out of my price range; however, what about a used one?  Maybe that would fit our budget; those were around $36,000; not really something we could justify either. 

That said, Lucy was thinking about getting another car.  She liked the way one of the Dodge products looked, a miniature version of Chevy’s Suburban; can’t even remember what it was called now.  It was built on the Neon chassis and sold for about $20,000 as I recall.  We drove one and were not impressed with almost anything about it.

I suggested, just as a possibility mind you, that we could go by the BMW dealership that was only a few miles away and see if she liked the Z-3 that I’d test driven earlier.  I got one of those ‘eye rolls’, the kind where it’s pretty obvious that she’s being set up.  The salesman recognized me from earlier as Lucy got into the driver seat with me becoming the passenger.  He suggested we go for a spin down FM1960 since the traffic there would let her have more fun.

Lucy familiarized herself with the workings of this fancy little butt rocket and we headed over to FM1960.  Lucy was going through the gears like a pro, enjoying the marvelous burst of power with each shifting of the gears.  We’d only gone a short way as the car eased its way over the bridge that crosses the Hardy Toll Road.  She’d gotten into third gear and was accelerating nicely when I reminded her that going 90mph was a little faster than we should be going.  The look on her face said it all as she responded, “Oh my, this car does drive nicely, I hardly noticed we were going that fast.”  That’s my girl, as she toned down the speed a bit closer to the posted speed limit.

We agreed the BMW Z-3 was a nice vehicle; however, even a used one at $36,000 was out of our price range.  Lucy suggested we look for one on eBay; maybe find one closer to our price range.  That began our journey.  It might be more interesting to understand that in that time period, our use of the internet was via dial-up; the idea of having a constant cable connection may not have been available then, at least it wasn’t for us.  We would dial the number for our internet provider, wait, and wait and patiently hope to eventually be connected.  Once connected to eBay we glanced over the offered vehicles that matched BMW Z-3 Coupe. 

We found one that matched the metallic green that looked like a polished gemstone.  It had a moon roof, leather seats along with a cargo mesh barrier and was only a year old.  The couple offering the vehicle were about to start a family and they needed to find a family car, a two-seater butt-rocket was no longer practical for them. 

We didn’t let anyone on eBay know we were interested as we watched the bidding proceed along with the end of the auction approaching.  The last bid took the price up to around $15,000 with only a couple of minutes left before the auction ended.  Having the dial-up connection and knowing how it might get disconnected for any old reason, we placed our bid with a minute and a half to go.  Our bid was for $25,000, the top end limit as to how much we were willing to spend, or about the price of a fully loaded Toyota Camry. 

In that minute and a half there was a bidding frenzy, different individuals raising their bid a thousand dollars here, a thousand more dollars there and so it went as the seconds clicked away. We were relieved to find our bid ended up being $22,000, just three thousand dollars less than our maximum acceptable expenditure.

We figured out how to send a cashier’s check to the seller by working with our credit union. We wanted to protect ourselves just in case; but that was never needed on this transaction.  The couple met us at the airport in Philadelphia; the car temporarily parked directly in front of the passenger terminal where we signed the transfer papers.  The BMW Z-3 Coupe was gorgeous, every bit as beautiful as we’d hoped; maybe even better.

We drove it down to Washington D.C. where we’d planned to be tourists, a mini-vacation while driving the car back to Houston.  That’s the first photograph we took of the car, Lucy as passenger, sitting in the driveway of the hotel we stayed that first night. 

Fast forward to this morning, twenty-four years later and watching the end of an era.  We’d gotten a call from our son letting us know someone was interested in purchasing the BMW Z-3 Coupe. He’d offered a reasonable amount, knowing the car needed a paint job and work on the interior.  I was prepared to drive it down to Houston on Friday, topped off the gas tank, cleaned the windows inside and out and placed the original owner’s manual back inside the car.

I was in the kitchen this morning filling the ice trays and looked out the window when it dawned on me; this was it, the last we’d see of this wonderful toy car that had been with us all these years.  I took the last photograph of it through the window screen that covers the kitchen window.  That, my friends, might have been the end; except I got a call just now from my son.

The fellow who wanted to purchase the little BMW Z-3 Coupe had his own car crater on him and he needs to fix that car before he can afford to pay us the agreed upon amount.  So, it looks like it will be a couple of months into 2026 before we part with it.  Not quite the end of an era.

 

The Shop Around the Corner?

 

While blasting through Facebook the other day a friend of mine, Roger Saxton, had posted a photograph of the storefront of a small bookstore. My mind immediately brought up memories of the movie, The Shop Around the Corner, which was later transformed into yet another movie, You’ve Got Mail. 

The original movie, The Shop Around the Corner, the 1940 movie was filmed in black and white and starred Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan.  These character’s roles were resurrected in the 1998 movie, You’ve Got Mail, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.  The movies took different paths to match up the two needful individuals down a more meaningful relationship.

Seeing the image of the bookstore’s welcoming appearance reminded me to appreciate the efforts taken to invite such relationships. 

This morning there was another entry having to do with the use of a bookstore to bring about happiness and the necessity of being a useful part of the community. It came from a 72 year old woman whose husband had died and left her alone to meet the challenges of each day.  She had sufficient funds left to her along with a house that was paid for; but being all alone wasn’t life to her, she needed more.

One afternoon while walking she passed a small bookstore with a sign out front indicating the bookstore was closing down at the end of the month.  She entered the store where a young man was busy, not really enjoying the fact that the store wasn’t making financial ends meet and had a stack of envelopes showing overdue bills.

A conversation was begun between the young store owner and the older woman.  Eventually she convinced the young man that she could, with her accounting skills and business abilities, she could help him turn a profit.  She found that there was a storeroom above the establishment that she could use as her apartment.  All she’d need to do was liquify all her assets, sell her house and start working. 

Her son thought she’d lost her mind, but she explained, or tried to explain, that the past two years alone in her house wasn’t living, it was an empty life at best.  She wouldn’t let her son continue trying to talk her out of a major life changing move.

A couple of months went by, lots of effort and her dream of turning the bookstore into a profitable venture had worked. Customers were returning and life was as she had hoped.

All this was running through my mind as I looked at the picture of the small bookstore, an invitation to enjoy life as found within the covers of each book.  Each page containing the thoughts, dreams and wishes of an individual not much different than yourself.

Poisoning the Well Water

 

The way ideas are presented often predetermines the intended response. Each word chosen, presumably with a modest amount of thought, each word lends itself to an understanding based on a presumption that both the speaker and the listener share the interpretation of words based on common experiences and customs.

(Image of Water Well courtesy of Adobe)

This past week I read an editorial originally published by the New York Times, “Are We Losing Our Democracy?”.  The brief screed included twelve bullet points, each of which began with the term, “An authoritarian…” 

1) An authoritarian stifles dissent and speech

2) An authoritarian persecutes political opponents

3) An authoritarian bypasses the legislature

4) An authoritarian uses the military for domestic control

5) An authoritarian defies the courts

6) An authoritarian declares national emergencies on false pretenses

7) An authoritarian vilifies marginalized groups

8 ) An authoritarian controls information in the news media

9) An authoritarian tries to take over universities

11) An authoritarian creates a cult of personality

11) An authoritarian uses power for personal profit

12) An authoritarian manipulates the law to stay in power

Readers would assume the article was aimed at the current administration, specifically President Donald Trump, why else would such an editorial be published at this time, why not when Obama was President, or Biden?  If the editorial wasn’t biased, then why use the term authoritarian? 

Couldn’t it be expressed that Donald Trump has, by virtue of having been elected President under the rules and laws of our Constitutional Republic, wouldn’t it have been accurate to state the as President Donald Trump has the Authority to carry out the duties associated with that office, those duties which are defined and verified by the highest court in the land?

But if you wanted to poison the well water, paint those duties as Authoritarian, something other than Authorized by law, then instead of accepting the lawful duties of President, cast doubt on each action exactly as the New York Times editorial did.

Taking to task radical District Judges who don’t agree with the President’s actions, judges who have usurped powers far beyond their legal scope, presenting this before the Supreme Court isn’t, “An authoritarian defies the courts”, rather the President is working within the constraints of our Constitutional Republican form of government in order to validate his lawful actions.

You could take each of the twelve bullet points expressed in the New York Times editorial and ask the same question.  Is the word Authoritarian used properly or is this a whiney spoiled child’s expression that he or she didn’t get the result he or she wanted.  It’s much easier to blame that worthless no good Orange haired guy than to admit that he actually has the Authority to carry out the lawful agenda he was voted into office to do.

Then there’s the title offered by the New York Times, “Are We Losing Our Democracy?”.  In the first place, the United States of America isn’t a democracy, it’s a Constitutional Republic.  

From The Daily Signal:

“We have all heard the common talking point from the left that conservatives are destroying democracy. The response to this claim is the same time and time again: “We’re not a democracy; we’re a constitutional republic!” This leads us to ask an important question: Are there any differences between the two, and if so, why do they matter?”

“The answer is simple: There are profound differences between a democracy and a constitutional republic that are crucial to every aspect of American life...”   

The article by The Daily Signal went on to quote from Hamilton, Jefferson and Adams; each having expressed warnings associated with governments based on democracy. My favorite was, “Democracy is like two wolves and a lamb voting on what to eat for lunch, but a republic is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.”

“Thomas Jefferson is our second Founder to see profound issues with democracy. Jefferson said, “The republican is the only form of government which is not eternally at open or secret war with the rights of mankind.”

Jefferson recognized the secret war that occurs under a democracy, a war for power and control. The secret war is fought in many political systems. There is a reason Plato said, “Dictatorship naturally arises out of democracy.”

As a matter of interest, it is commonly taught and accepted by scholarly individual that here in America we have a Democratic Republican form of government.  Rather than argue the finer points which serve no purpose, it’s much easier to simply say, “You’re right” and let them feel better about having won their point.

Sounded like Katherine Hepburn

 

How’s that for an interesting title, Sounded like Katherine Hepburn?  I’ll get around to explaining in a bit, but first a little lead up to that preposterous title. This past week I was under the weather, enough to stay home from church last Sunday and then again remain home on Wednesday evening, still not feeling well.  I’d come down with some kind of “bug”, no reason to get particular; sinus drip so bad that going to sleep wasn’t possible for any length of time since I had to clear my throat to keep my lungs clear. 

I took a Z-Pack and some Ivermectin to clear it up and that worked fairly well.  One challenge was that weeks ago I’d promised to cover a Temple Shift for a friend so he could go out of town on family business.  That meant I’d be pulling a double shift, my regular shift from 11:00am until 2:00pm followed by his regular shift from 2:00pm until 6:00pm.  I felt well enough to work at the Temple; but was concerned that my energy levels might be taxed with the extra hours.

Turns out I was right.

I won’t go into too much detail; however, while completing an Endowment Session I noticed my right hand began shaking uncontrollably.  It might have been a bit disconcerting for the sister with whom I was working with; but I don’t think my grip on her hand was too severe and the tremors passed without causing too much concern.

Later in the afternoon while performing ordinances in the Initiatory area it got even more interesting. At first, I noticed my voice changed; sounding as if I’d become much older with a rattling in between spoken words.  As this progressed it became almost comical, recalling how Katherine Hepburn’s voice crackled as her near perfect diction devolved while portraying her character in the movie, Rooster Cogburn. 

I mention this because, as a Temple Ordinance Worker, I make an effort to enunciate each word of these sacred ordinances in such a way as to let the patron hearing these words take in their full importance.  While Temple patrons are acting vicariously for someone who has passed through the veil of mortality; the individual for whom they are acting for, we believe, are attentively hearing these blessings and promises for the first and only time.

So, this past Friday as irregularities with my voice began to become increasingly advanced, as if by age or affliction, I had to wonder what was going on with my health.  I felt my right hand begin to tremble while I continued with the ordinance, a mild yet decidedly rhythmic motion that I couldn’t stop until withdrawing it from atop the patron’s head.  This, along with the alteration of my voice, was more than a little alarming.  I noticed my breathing became more shallow, unable to complete longer sentences without pausing, each word lost perfect modulation and was replaced with highs and lows creating syllables never included in those words.

I finished the shift, grateful to have survived the embarrassing loss of voice control, chalking this up as part of growing older.  When I got home and had a chance to look up Katherine Hepburn’s interesting voice issues, that’s when I found there’s a medical term for what I’d experienced.

Here’s what the Harvard Medical School published:

“Essential tremor is less well known than Parkinson's disease, but it's far more common.

For many, the late actress Katherine Hepburn provided an indelible public image of essential tremor. Her quavering voice and trembling hands unmistakably betrayed the disorder.

Essential tremor affects about 5% of people over age 50. The intensity of the shaking from essential tremor can be mild to very significant. Also the tremor can vary in location, being most prominent in the hands, head or voice.” (emphasis added)

For some reason this information put my mind at ease.  I hadn’t imagined the odd experience, and I was correct in having compared what my ears were hearing with how Katherine Hepburn’s voice sounded later in her career.