House of Zathras

Is the lego one really real? Just wow. I wonder how Escher would have felt…

Magnolia Springs is just a hop, skip, and a jump away. BR and I have been kayaking on the Magnolia River that runs through this beautiful hamlet. The mail is even delivered by boat there. An absolutely gorgeous and peaceful place to live.

So when the oil spill threatened the beautiful but environmentally sensitive area, locals first tried to go through ‘official’ hoops to see about protecting this little corner of God’s paradise.

Yeah, we know now about waiting for the Feds or BP to help the ‘small’ people.

So the volunteer fire chief decided to risk jail than to risk doing nothing. Please take the time to read what Mr. Hinton did…it is the actions of people like him which will preserve what beauty can be preserved.

I also read about a Plaquemines Parish president in Louisiana who is using shop vacs to clean the marshes because the purchase of commercial vacs is being held up due to red tape. Again, an instance of not waiting for the powers that be to come and rescue you. Now, it’s not right that folks should have to do this when others are responsible…but they have no other choice.

Lately it seems like bailouts and stimulus money only reach those who don’t really need it. The rest of the ‘small’ people have to get out and do it themselves.

It’s the American way.

As I stepped down from my truck the wind whipped my hair around my face. It also brought the sounds of the American flag fluttering heavily in the stiff breeze and the poignant sound of a mourning dove.

The sorrow ripped at me before I even walked around my vehicle. A young family stood around a heavily-decorated grave…windchimes, windmills, small solar-powered glass globes… They glanced back at me, and I looked down, not wanting to project my sorrow upon theirs. Three young children wandered around their parents. I stayed by my truck, pressed back by the tears that were building.

At last they leave, glancing in my direction. I barely noticed, as I walked towards my painful goal…only two sites away from theirs. I heard the family’s truck start and leave, but by that point I was on my knees at the edge of the weathered marker, staring at the birthdate…today’s date, minus 29 years . The tears are flowing freely, and the weight of choked-back sobs is burrowing deep in my chest. I picture his body down below me…and I can’t stand it. I know it’s just a shell, but it’s my brother and I love him so much…I know it’s not ‘him’, but dammit…he was buried wearing his favorite clothes, and I know it’s all down there, under the weight of the ground.

He was only four and a-half. It was 25 years ago. 25 frikken years, and the sorrow can still rip at my heart and take the breath from my lungs. God, how I miss my little brother.

Robby had the sweetness and character of an angel. His heart condition gave him an almost ethereal essence…the only thought that brought any kind of comfort was that he wouldn’t suffer any of the crap of growing up. Always innocent, always precious, always beautiful.

I finally was able to stand and take a picture of the marker. Then I heard the sound of a bird overhead, close to the small magnolia tree that casts a late-afternoon shadow on Robby’s grave. I see a mourning dove soar to the top of the nearby flagpole. I watch it for a moment, and then it soars off, making a complete circle high in the air, with me at the center. It lands back on the top of the flagpole and bobs it head in my direction.

I had to smile. Maybe it was a message from Robby. I need to look up…he’s not down there. He’s free. I’m the one bound by earthly chains of sorrow. I need to look up and away from that burden.

I still miss him. God, how I miss him. I kneel once more, place my finger to my lips and then place it on his name on the headstone. I love you, Robby.

(His grave is just to the lower right of center, two away from the magnolia tree. Behind the magnolia tree is the site the family was visiting…notice all the paraphernalia around the plaque…their son was only two…)


(The messenger dove, reminding me to always look up….)

Until the past few years, my Dad hasn’t been much for phone conversations. He’s not quite a hermit, but has made sure to live hundreds of miles away from the nearest relative. He can be terse, and will not put up with bullshit from anyone.

When he was still a young officer in the Navy, I was playing with the Captain’s daughter. Apparently she was quite a brat, and my Dad told her that if she didn’t mind her manners, she wouldn’t be allowed to stay at our house. She responded that her daddy was the Captain and stuck her tongue out at him. Big. Mistake. He grabbed her tongue and held on to it, and told her in his house HE was in charge, not her Daddy. She promptly ran home and tattled. Captain-Daddy did come over to thank my Dad for disciplining her because his wife had made her a spoiled brat. Wouldn’t have mattered if the Captain threatened him with the brig, however. Dad wouldn’t have apologized for someone else’s problem.

Fast-forward to last night. My dad actually called me…itself a rare occurrence. We chatted about Eraserhead’s college (Dad manages his tuition program). Then Dad started to reminisce about his Navy flying days when he was a navigator. He told me a story that he has told me several times before. It’s always the same…he hasn’t embellished it over the years (remember, he has no tolerance for bullshit). But Dad is a very engaging story teller, so you don’t mind listening to it again. His favorite, however, is about the time his plane crashed into the ocean (he was flying off the Kennedy). I think it was right after take-off, and it was filmed because it was so close to the ship. The film showed him as the only one who looked around to make sure everyone made it out of the plane.

Rescue was shortly thereafter, and Dad and the rest of the crew found themselves in the sick bay. The doctor asked them if they wanted medicinal brandy, and my Dad said (and here was an embellishment I’d never heard before), ‘F**k, Yes!’. I nearly dropped the phone. In all the times my Dad has relayed his Navy day stories, he only occasionally says ‘shit’ or ‘damn’…and then only when I got into my mid to late 30s or so. My Dad has always been aware of proprieties, even complaining at my sister’s wedding that she dressed the groomsmen and him in TAILS for a mid-day wedding…tails weren’t supposed to be worn until late afternoon/evening. He has always had a very precise code of conduct. Until last night.

He’s 71 now…he’s entitled to let fly whatever he wants to, I guess. And if you’ve been any kind of long-time reader, you know that I let fly with the f-bomb from time to time.

But it’s my DAD, for goodness sake. My DAD said the f-word. It’s like finding out your parents actually have sex and enjoy it. Which kind of goes with the f-word, I guess.

Oh, and for the record, Dad said that the brandy tasted like shit. He accused the doctor of drinking the good stuff and substituting rot-gut instead, and would need to crash three more times before that stuff tasted good.

*********************
My Dad said ‘F**k’. Does this mean he finally sees me as an adult? It makes me kind of sad…I still want to be his ‘little blue-eyed sweetheart’. *sigh*

Thoughts on the universe:

Which of course, leads to these thoughts:

They’re going to the Super Bowl, baby!!!

Seriously…I do not have time to show the speech this week. Seriously.

So…now that the contents have finally been published, I’ve decided what to do. (Sidenote: If this truly was Obama’s original speech, he should have released it long ago. However, given the so-called ‘lesson plans’ that originally came out, this speech is totally revised.)

Sidenote #2: But they won’t be able to talk about it in schools in the next county over. They’re in the midst of a lawsuit brought on by the ACLU regarding prayer in the school district there. Since Obama ends the speech with ‘God Bless You, and God Bless America’…technically, it can be shared, can it? It would be school-sponsored prayer. And one of the local radio stations isn’t letting the ACLU stop prayer at school events. Right before the local high school football games get started, they’re broadcasting a “Prayer on the Air”.)

Anyway…it’s a five-page speech, single-spaced. I’ll print it out, and ask kids if they want a copy of it to take home and talk with their parents about it. Then I’m done. But five pages of text? Aimed at Pre-K to 6th grade or whatever? The kids will tune out rather quickly, Mr. President. This section right here from your speech is all you need for the younger kids:

“At the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents, and the best schools in the world. And none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities.”

That’s it, Mr. President. That’s the most important part, and short enough the kids will stay focused. And guess what…it’s something I’ve told my students time and time again. Thank you for reinforcing what teachers have voiced since education began. I’ll try to ignore the pundits who say that you want us teachers to reinforce the message simply because YOU said it. I just hope you realize that in four or eight years you’ll be gone…but many of today’s teachers will still be teaching, sending the same message even when you’re no longer President. I’ve already taught longer than you can hold the office of President. You do your job, Mr. President, and I’ll do mine. I’ll just be doing mine a lot longer than any job you have ever done or will ever do.

“A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.”
– Henry Brooks Adams

“What we want is to see the child in pursuit of knowledge, and not knowledge in pursuit of the child.”
–George Bernard Shaw

“Education makes people easy to lead, but difficult to drive; easy to govern, but impossible to enslave.”
– Henry Peter Broughan

I saw a post at Bayou Renaissance Man‘s place on stair p*R*0*n. Apparently there is a whole site dedicated to the love of staircases.

In a coincidence, I received an email from a friend about some staircases. Here are some of the pictures of some really neat staircases. They may be featured at the stairp*R*0*n site also, but I haven’t been through the whole site yet.
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On Monday, I will be touring this ship:

(clicking on the picture will take you to the article)

I will be taking Buck and a friend of his to tour the Juan Sebastian de Elcano. I know they’ll be going to look at a sailing ship, to see its workings, ponder at the majesty of a wooden ship, and imagine what it would be like to work below decks.

I’ll be thinking about those things, too. But I’ll also be checking out (only with my eyes) the Spanish sailors. Heh.

*John Masefield, poet

Mother’s Day recap:

*Got a book I wanted (Ambulance Driver‘s “En Route“…thanks, BR)

*Got to see a play I wanted to (I left the house ALONE…Woo-Hoo!)

*Got a phone call from Goob. Goob, with whom I probably spoke 10 civil words the week before he left…mostly screaming matches.  Goob, whom had pretty much been brain-washed by the deviants in Utah to think that their perverted life-style was normal and loving, and I was the anti-Christ who helped to steal them from an adoring family.  Goob, whom had never, ever in the intervening seven years, even with calling his bio-mom ever nasty word under the sun, never said ‘love’ to me in any way, shape, or form.  Goob called on Sunday…to wish me Happy Mother’s Day, and to say “I love you.”

*AND, I got a poem from my younger stepson, Buck.  Buck, whom has a learning disability with language.  For whom writing (which I worked with every summer to the dismay and hair-pulling from each of us) has been the bane of his existance because of his earlier speech struggles…a beautiful poem he wrote in school.  It has typos and unusual phrasings…and it’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever received.  (click to see it*)

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Do you like it?  Hate it?

Let me know! Thank you very much.

Texas.  Everything is bigger and better there.

Yep, it’s true.  Even their hearts are bigger.  Big enough to hold the true meaning of Christmas.

(H/T to Redneck Peril)

So they resolved to retain their weapons, but to conceal them from the flock; to endure their fear and loathing, and even to protect their brethren if the need arose, until the day the flock learned to understand that as long as there were wolves in the night, sheep would need teeth to repel them.

The above excerpt was written by an Indian in 1997…how apropos it is for today.  We have more in common with a country on the other side of the world than I realized.

Be sure to click on the passage above to read the whole article.

H/T to Captain of a Crew of One

I cannot remember where I originally found this picture, but I liked it:

******UPDATE:  Go here to read a funny story related to this picture!******

I snapped these photos a couple of days ago.  In the first picture, the dark smudge near the center of the photo is actually a herd of cows.  I had been watching a dog herd the strays towards the rest of the group.  He trotted off towards home after doing so.  You could almost read his body language:  “Stupid cows.  Where would they be without me.”

The next picture is just a few moments later.  The foreground is now in darkness, but the sky is simply glorious.

A beautiful way to end the day.  And since it’s Sweet Home Alabama, how about this version:

Of course, if Navy had won, I would have posted the reverse.  It’s the one game where I back both sides.

We can never say thank you enough to our Armed Forces Veterans.

via email from BR:

WHAT IS A VET?

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in their eye.

Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg – or perhaps another sort of inner steel: a soul forged in the refinery of adversity.

Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem. You can’t tell a Vet just by looking.

What is a Vet?

He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn’t run out of fuel.

He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.

She – or he – is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.

He is the POW who went away one person and came back another -or- didn’t come back AT ALL.

He is the Quantico drill instructor that has never seen combat – but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other’s backs.

He is the parade – riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.

He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean’s sunless deep.

He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket – palsied now and aggravatingly slow – who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being, a person who offered some of his life’s most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.

He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.

So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You. That’s all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.

Two little words that mean a lot, “THANK YOU”.

(Intro with links to part 1-7 here.)

Grand birthright of our sires,

Our altars and our fires

Keep we still pure!

Our starry flag unfurled,

The hope of all the world,

In peace and light impearled,

God hold secure!

(Kind of sounds like a beauty pageant interview answer, doesn’t it?)

*******************************************************

Amen.  Now go vote.

(Intro with links to parts 1 -6 here.)

Beneath Heaven’s gracious will

The stars of progress still

Our course do sway;

In unity sublime

To broader heights we climb,

Triumphant over Time,

God speeds our way!

(Intro and links to parts 1-5 HERE)

Thy safeguard, Liberty,

The school shall ever be,

Our Nation’s pride!

No tyrant hand shall smite,

While with encircling might

All here are taught the Right

With Truth allied.

“I am proud to be an American kid because there is kind people.“

“I am proud to be an American kid because freedom help(s) the U.S.A. and the other people try to hurt us.  We try to treat other(s) but they still try to hurt us.  If you are in the Military you can fight back.”

**Ed. note:  Too bad some liberals refuse to understand these simple concepts that young kids can grasp.**

(Original post here.)

Our glorious Land to-day,

‘Neath Education’s sway,

Soars upward still.

Its hills of learning fair,

Whose bounties all may share,

behold them everywhere

On vale and hill!

(Can anybody say, teacher’s pets, lol?)

Intro.; Part 1; Part 2, Part 3)

Our fathers’ God to Thee,

Author of Liberty,

To thee we sing,

Long may our land be bright

With Freedom’s holy light,

Protect us by thy might

Great God, our King.

“I am proud to be an American kid because we can have fun.  Then I am excited to be an American because we get toys.  Last, I like my house.”

Isn’t that pretty much the ‘pursuit of happiness’ summed up right there?

Intro.; Part 1; Part 2

Let music swell the breeze,

And ring from all the trees

Sweet Freedom’s song;

Let mortal tongues awake;

Let all that breathe partake;

Let rocks their silence break,

 The sound prolong.

“I am proud to be an American Kid because the Blue Angels mean freedom.”

(ed. note:  I love the kid clapping for the Blue Angels!)

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 “I am proud to be an American Kid because I am free.  And you want to know why?  Because I am a free kid.”

(Original idea; Part 1)

My native country, thee,

Land of the noble free,

Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills,

Thy woods and templed hills,

My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.

“I am proud to be an American kid because I have a good life and I got good friends and good parents and a good sister.”

(Original post here.)

My country, ’tis of Thee,

Sweet Land of Liberty

Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died,

Land of the pilgrims’ pride,

From every mountain side

Let Freedom ring.

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VW just left a comment in the previous post…what can I say.  It’s been one of those weeks.  As VW stated on her blog:

1. You must be 21 years of age to participate or if you are younger, you must be a designated blogger.
2. It is from 7pm tonight to 7am tomorrow.
3. Try to leave a comment on every blog in the Bad Example and Frizzen Sparks family.

Damn…now I’m off to catch up!!!

I’ve never meant for this blog to take the religious turn it sorta kinda has lately.  I certainly don’t want to ‘push’ my faith on anyone…I grew up around too many anti-Catholics who tried to force their views on me that I fear doing it to anyone else.  I don’t mind discussing differences, as long as it’s a calm and reasonable discourse, with respect for differences on each side.

Anyway, on to the reason for this post.  It’s always hard to explain ‘why’ I believe.  Religious faith can be such an individual experience…sometimes words just don’t exist.  But today my son Eraserhead showed me a video he had seen in school.  The video is a very good summary of ‘why’ I believe.

Even my vehicles are scared of this storm.  Look at how they’re huddled together:

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