In the news this week...
From Hollywood:
A cosmetic surgeon thinks botox injections are just the thing for smaller-breasted women who want a little boost without surgery. He injects the drug into muscles in the upper chest, causing the muscles to relax. As a result, the muscles in the upper back work harder. This causes better posture and it looks like the breasts have been lifted.
Apparently it's easier to pay $500.00 a pop for botox injections, than to learn to stand up straight. Once again Hollywood proves that it is fuelled by a mix of greed, vanity and total lack of common sense. I guess they've found an inexhaustible energy supply.
***********************
From outer space:
An article in Nature suggests that an asteroid the size of Alaska may have slammed into Mars about 4.4 billion years ago. Some scientists believe this would explain the drastic geologic differences between the planet's northern and southern hemispheres. An MIT researcher pointed out that a similar impact on our planet at about the same time is credited with splitting the moon from the earth.
So, one day God was shooting some pool...
"Asteroid in the solar system banked off Mars into Earth leaving a moon in orbit."
Moral of the story - never bet against God in a game of billiards.
***********************
From Montana:
A herd of about 130 bison escaped from their enclosure during a thunderstorm. The animals belonged to the St. Labre Indian School, where they were raised as food for the students.
The story took a sudden and dramatic twist when Pamela Anderson offered the bison political asylum in her back yard.
***********************
From Australia:
A crocodile walked into a bar...
Sounds like the opener for a joke with a punch line containing the words, "That's cold-blooded!" Unfortunately I don't know that joke.
But a small crocodile really showed up at the Noonamah Tavern about 25 miles from Darwin, Australia. I think that's like saying 25 miles from the middle of nowhere.
Anyway, no one seems to be sure what the little guy was doing there. My theory...
"Just wanted to heft a pint to the memory of me old best mate, Steve-O. To hell with stingrays! Oy!"
I'll drink to that...
***********************
And finally, from Germany:
A Colorado woman hiking in the Bavarian Alps slipped and fell from the path and landed on a ledge over 15 feet below. She badly bruised a leg and dislocated a shoulder in the fall. Unable to climb free, she spent the next 70 hours alone there. To signal for help, she tied her sports bra to a steel cable that passed near the ledge. The line is used to move timber down the mountain. When a worker started the machine, he saw the bra and sent rescuers up the mountain to rescue the stranded hiker.
Lucky for her she was in Germany. In America, she'd still be on the ledge and some guy would be sitting in a bar saying to his friends, "You'll never guess where I found this-here sports bra!"
***********************
And that's my take on the obscure news of the week. See ya next time!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Coconut Ice Cream
Pam and I have long enjoyed coconut ice cream at Thai restaurants. Sprinkle a few salty peanuts on top, and you've got an amazing dessert. We saw some for sale in a local Asian market the other day - something like $4.69 a quart. More than we care to pay!
So we dug out our old ice cream maker - unused for over 6 years at least - and tried an experiment. We substituted canned coconut milk (89 cents for 14 ounces) for the half-and-half in the "Philadelphia" no-cook ice cream recipe. Turned out great.
If you're in the mood to give it a whirl, and you've got or can get an ice cream freezer, here's the recipe:
1 quart canned coconut milk
3/4 cup sugar
1 Tablespoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
Mix all ingredients together and stir until smooth. Pour into freezer and freeze per instructions.
Some notes:
If you can find cans labelled "coconut cream," the contents seem to have a stronger coconut flavor.
We used turbinado, a minimally-processed sugar. Highly recommended. It's coarser than regular table sugar, so it takes more stirring to make the mixture smooth before freezing, but it will get there.
We tripled the recipe (served it to company!), which just filled our freezer to the "fill" line.
Try it and let me know what you think!
So we dug out our old ice cream maker - unused for over 6 years at least - and tried an experiment. We substituted canned coconut milk (89 cents for 14 ounces) for the half-and-half in the "Philadelphia" no-cook ice cream recipe. Turned out great.
If you're in the mood to give it a whirl, and you've got or can get an ice cream freezer, here's the recipe:
1 quart canned coconut milk
3/4 cup sugar
1 Tablespoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
Mix all ingredients together and stir until smooth. Pour into freezer and freeze per instructions.
Some notes:
If you can find cans labelled "coconut cream," the contents seem to have a stronger coconut flavor.
We used turbinado, a minimally-processed sugar. Highly recommended. It's coarser than regular table sugar, so it takes more stirring to make the mixture smooth before freezing, but it will get there.
We tripled the recipe (served it to company!), which just filled our freezer to the "fill" line.
Try it and let me know what you think!
Friday, June 20, 2008
A visit with some friends
Warning - if you are new to my blog, you might want to read April 2nd's post - "My Village" - to get some context for this entry.
I was sitting at a table sipping mojitos with Three Fingers McCoy and Wild God Guy. They were commiserating with me over the loss of Cody. That's the nice thing about the folks in my psycho-village - I don't have to spend a lot of time telling them how I feel or what I'm thinking, or what's going on in my life. I just have to decide that they already know it, and Bob's-yer-uncle, we're ready to talk.
Three Fingers sang a little snippet from Mr. Bojangles -
"...He spoke through tears of 15 years how his dog and him traveled about
The dog up and died, he up and died
And after 20 years he still grieves..."
"You know," he continued, "When Jim Stafford did his version he said something like 'it don't seem fair that a dog can be so young and yet die so old.' "
"Yeah," I replied, "But I don't think I'll be grieving for 20 years."
"Nope, I s'pose not," Three Fingers nodded, "But I've outlived a few dogs in my time. It's pretty hard losin' 'em without much hope of seein' 'em again."
Wild God Guy set his glass down sharply. "Why wouldn't you have that hope?"
OK, I'll bite. "Because animals don't have eternal souls?"
"Well, maybe not, in the sense you're thinking," Wild God Guy agreed, leaning back in his chair, clearly preparing a lecture. "The Bible doesn't really tell us much about animals and eternity, so we just pretty much assume they don't exist forever. It's always easier to make a neat-and-clean doctrine than to think there might be a messy one."
"So," Three Fingers interrupted, "You sayin' all dogs go to heaven?"
"Not exactly. But look, the Bible says that God breathed into Adam, and he became a living soul. I know it's neat-and-clean to say that's what makes man live forever - the result of God's special breathing into him. But maybe God just breathed into mankind the ability to live forever, separate from Him. Maybe everything else, including animals, exists only within God. But man can exist forever outside of Him - evidence Hell. And since God is truly eternal - no beginning or end - can anything that is within Him ever truly pass out of existence?"
Three Fingers and I needed a long sip of mojito at the same time. We both suspected that WGG had already drunk a little too heavily from his.
"Anyway," he finished, "Wouldn't surprise me if someday, when we can experience God without the limitations of our physical existence, we might just find He encompasses some long-nosed furballs with names like Chipper and Lady and Cody."
He got up to leave. "Not a doctrine. Not even an opinion - just a thought."
"Probably wishful thinking at that," he tossed over his shoulder on his way out the door.
"I hope not," Three Fingers wished over the rim of his almost-empty glass.
Me, neither.
I was sitting at a table sipping mojitos with Three Fingers McCoy and Wild God Guy. They were commiserating with me over the loss of Cody. That's the nice thing about the folks in my psycho-village - I don't have to spend a lot of time telling them how I feel or what I'm thinking, or what's going on in my life. I just have to decide that they already know it, and Bob's-yer-uncle, we're ready to talk.
Three Fingers sang a little snippet from Mr. Bojangles -
"...He spoke through tears of 15 years how his dog and him traveled about
The dog up and died, he up and died
And after 20 years he still grieves..."
"You know," he continued, "When Jim Stafford did his version he said something like 'it don't seem fair that a dog can be so young and yet die so old.' "
"Yeah," I replied, "But I don't think I'll be grieving for 20 years."
"Nope, I s'pose not," Three Fingers nodded, "But I've outlived a few dogs in my time. It's pretty hard losin' 'em without much hope of seein' 'em again."
Wild God Guy set his glass down sharply. "Why wouldn't you have that hope?"
OK, I'll bite. "Because animals don't have eternal souls?"
"Well, maybe not, in the sense you're thinking," Wild God Guy agreed, leaning back in his chair, clearly preparing a lecture. "The Bible doesn't really tell us much about animals and eternity, so we just pretty much assume they don't exist forever. It's always easier to make a neat-and-clean doctrine than to think there might be a messy one."
"So," Three Fingers interrupted, "You sayin' all dogs go to heaven?"
"Not exactly. But look, the Bible says that God breathed into Adam, and he became a living soul. I know it's neat-and-clean to say that's what makes man live forever - the result of God's special breathing into him. But maybe God just breathed into mankind the ability to live forever, separate from Him. Maybe everything else, including animals, exists only within God. But man can exist forever outside of Him - evidence Hell. And since God is truly eternal - no beginning or end - can anything that is within Him ever truly pass out of existence?"
Three Fingers and I needed a long sip of mojito at the same time. We both suspected that WGG had already drunk a little too heavily from his.
"Anyway," he finished, "Wouldn't surprise me if someday, when we can experience God without the limitations of our physical existence, we might just find He encompasses some long-nosed furballs with names like Chipper and Lady and Cody."
He got up to leave. "Not a doctrine. Not even an opinion - just a thought."
"Probably wishful thinking at that," he tossed over his shoulder on his way out the door.
"I hope not," Three Fingers wished over the rim of his almost-empty glass.
Me, neither.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Best Kind of Friend
Cody was the kind of friend who sometimes drove you nuts and other times seemed like the only thing standing between you and insanity. He lived life full-tilt, as though living meant riding a wild river of experiences without hesitation or doubt. But over the past few years that river has steadily slowed, and today the water finally ran out.
With a lot of tears we said good-bye to our old friend as he slipped away into sleep for the last time. But the sorrow his death brings will not even come close to outweighing all the years of laughter his life provided.
He didn't leave a whole lot of "stuff" behind - collar and leash, brush and comb, water and food dishes, and some uneaten dog food and treats. But he also left behind some big, wet nose-prints on the hearts of the many folks who loved him. The family, of course, and Pam's voice students, and our house-church, to name a few.
God, may I live even half that well!
Bishops' Da Capo Al Coda ("Cody"): 3/4/93 - 6/14/08
(Photo is Cody on his 15th birthday)
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Some Thoughts About Turning 51
Well, I've been 51 for almost a month now, so it's time to set down my deep musings about this milestone...
...
...
... Yeah, I got nothing.
I did read today that a group of astronomers has decided that the Milky Way Galaxy weighs about half of what scientists previously estimated. Way to go, Milky! What's your secret? And how many dress sizes is that, anyway?
Oh, actually I guess I did want to mention that the years seem to go by more quickly the older I get. My brother-in-law, Virgil, used to say that time seems to move faster because each year that we live represents a smaller percentage of our total lifetime than any year before. That's a very logical and well-reasoned argument and it's probably true.
That doesn't stop me from blaming Daylight Savings Time. All those hours of daylight we save every year have to come from somewhere, and I think we're just taking them from the future. That way, every year we enter has already been shortened by the number of hours we daylight-saved from it. And every time we run into a short year we have to borrow even more time from the future, so we're draining hours at an accelerating pace. This is really distressing for those of us who live in Arizona and don't switch to Daylight Savings Time - we're paying the price for all those extra hours everyone else gains.
...
...
... Yeah, I got nothing.
I did read today that a group of astronomers has decided that the Milky Way Galaxy weighs about half of what scientists previously estimated. Way to go, Milky! What's your secret? And how many dress sizes is that, anyway?
Oh, actually I guess I did want to mention that the years seem to go by more quickly the older I get. My brother-in-law, Virgil, used to say that time seems to move faster because each year that we live represents a smaller percentage of our total lifetime than any year before. That's a very logical and well-reasoned argument and it's probably true.
That doesn't stop me from blaming Daylight Savings Time. All those hours of daylight we save every year have to come from somewhere, and I think we're just taking them from the future. That way, every year we enter has already been shortened by the number of hours we daylight-saved from it. And every time we run into a short year we have to borrow even more time from the future, so we're draining hours at an accelerating pace. This is really distressing for those of us who live in Arizona and don't switch to Daylight Savings Time - we're paying the price for all those extra hours everyone else gains.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
What's in a name?
They were staring at me like I was some sort of animal believed to be long-extinct but which suddenly turned up very much alive. Or maybe like they understood my words but couldn't make heads or tails of the way I arranged them into sentences when I spoke. And to me it seemed like such a simple question!
I was visiting with a few of the folks living in my head, and I innocently asked them where they went to church. I found myself wishing for the chirp of a lonely cricket to break the resulting silence. Sidelong looks and puzzled frowns were their only immediate reply. They all looked as though the answer to my question was so large and complex that they had no idea of where to begin or how to proceed with a response.
"Ummmmm," began a young lady whose facial features clearly identified her as a Campbell, "We don't ... that is, why would ... well, what do you mean, 'go' to church?"
"You know," I replied, "What church do you belong to?"
More confused looks and uncomfortable silence. I'm quite certain I did hear a cricket chiming-in to accentuate the dearth of conversation. The wind whistled a forlorn melody as it kicked a loose tumbleweed past where our little group stood miscommunicating. OK, that was just too much, even in my head. Mentally I told the wind to knock it off. Maria (pronounced like 'Mariah' of course) laughed, but she knocked it off. She knows I can always rename her Matilda, and then she wouldn't have that song ... but I digress.
"What's the name of your church?" I demanded desperately.
"Ohhh," smiled a nondescript fellow who looked like he could have been named Carl - or anything else, I guess, "That's what you mean! Our church doesn't really have a name."
"No," chimed in the Campbell girl, "Giving something a name is a way of owning it."
"Controlling it," added the young man standing next to her. Standing significantly close to her, in fact. He didn't look at all like someone named Carl. Why didn't I know these people's names?
In the background America could be heard singing, "I been through the desert in a church with no name..."
Campbell-girl's boyfriend continued, "Names can be really significant - more than we often realize. Names create an identity, which isn't always a bad thing. But that identity can become a way of separating one congregation from another, drawing attention to differences rather than likenesses. It can become a symbol of ownership - my church, my pastor, and so on."
"But when we say 'my church,' don't we mean that in a membership way, more than an ownership way?" I argued.
"Membership!" Carl spat. "We don't need no stinkin' membership!"
The background music changed suddenly to Billy Preston singing, "I know a church that ain't got no membership; How can I describe it to my friends...?"
The Campbell girl looked at the guy-who-might-be Carl and said, "Your name's Carl, right? How come I don't know that? Anyway, it isn't really like we don't believe in membership - we just look at it a little differently." Turning to me, she continued, "A lot of people define membership in terms of allegiance to a given set of doctrines and by-laws and rules and stuff. You have to give your time and money to that particular organization in order to be a good member."
"We," Carl broke in, "See 'belonging' in the sense that we belong to God. Sometimes the members of God's church serve God together in one place, and other times we serve Him together in all different places. But as long as we serve Him, we're serving together, even if we're ages and continents apart."
"So, you see," boyfriend said in a tone of voice that conveyed his certainty that I did not, in fact, see, "We don't go to church at all. Church is not somewhere to go, it's Someone to be a part of. Membership isn't by allegiance to the rules or doctrines of a group of people who meet in a certain building. It's participating in the life - work, play, thoughts and feelings, and so on - of the Body, which is Jesus living in the world. So we don't see a need for giving a name to the group of people who meet to participate in how Jesus is living around here."
"OK - so how do you handle offerings and salaries and stuff?" I wondered.
"We encourage folks to give their offerings directly to charities that help people physically and spiritually, as God directs them," Carl informed me.
"Some of us help others on occasion, and sometimes as a group we take offerings for particular needs we see. I know those gifts aren't tax-deductible, but that doesn't seem too important to most of us," boyfriend added.
The young lady finished with, "No staff. We let people lead with their gifts. Maybe someday we'll need to figure out how to pay some folks in order to free up enough time for them to use their gifts properly, but that hasn't happened yet."
Billy sang, "I seen a church that ain't got no staff...Gonna just let Jesus lead them around..."
"That's really getting annoying!" boyfriend snapped. "Who keeps playing that music?"
That comment drained the fuel, oil and water out of the engine that drove our conversation; it clunked to a fatal halt. They all looked at me suspiciously. I think the cricket was trying a chirped rendition of "When You Wish Upon a Star." Where was that damned wind when you needed it? No, not in my face - blow the other direction! That's better!
"OK, that's just weird," the Campbell girl pointed out, unnecessarily.
"Hey," her boyfriend broke the eerie not-quite-silence, "You know who this is? This is the guy with the head!"
I had only a moment to be thankful that for once I was not the recipient of everyone's what-planet-did-you-fall-off-of stares.
"No, really," he continued, "This is the guy with the head we all live in. He's real after all!"
All gazes once again turned my way. This time it was like a group of intrepid Arctic explorers arriving at the North Pole to find Santa busy in his cheerful little workshop. A myth found to be true. Disappointingly so. Santa repackaging toys made in China.
And then they started debating boyfriend's theory. Maria and the cricket joined them. Even the tumbleweed got in on the discussion. I waited patiently, plotting out suitably vengeful literary fates for each and every one of them.
Finally, Carl said, "Wow, I think you're right. Who'd've thought the village was created by the idiot?"
"Give him a break," the young lady defended me, "He lives in the outside world. A church like ours would never work out there."
She's probably right. But I'm going to get Carl for calling me an idiot!
I was visiting with a few of the folks living in my head, and I innocently asked them where they went to church. I found myself wishing for the chirp of a lonely cricket to break the resulting silence. Sidelong looks and puzzled frowns were their only immediate reply. They all looked as though the answer to my question was so large and complex that they had no idea of where to begin or how to proceed with a response.
"Ummmmm," began a young lady whose facial features clearly identified her as a Campbell, "We don't ... that is, why would ... well, what do you mean, 'go' to church?"
"You know," I replied, "What church do you belong to?"
More confused looks and uncomfortable silence. I'm quite certain I did hear a cricket chiming-in to accentuate the dearth of conversation. The wind whistled a forlorn melody as it kicked a loose tumbleweed past where our little group stood miscommunicating. OK, that was just too much, even in my head. Mentally I told the wind to knock it off. Maria (pronounced like 'Mariah' of course) laughed, but she knocked it off. She knows I can always rename her Matilda, and then she wouldn't have that song ... but I digress.
"What's the name of your church?" I demanded desperately.
"Ohhh," smiled a nondescript fellow who looked like he could have been named Carl - or anything else, I guess, "That's what you mean! Our church doesn't really have a name."
"No," chimed in the Campbell girl, "Giving something a name is a way of owning it."
"Controlling it," added the young man standing next to her. Standing significantly close to her, in fact. He didn't look at all like someone named Carl. Why didn't I know these people's names?
In the background America could be heard singing, "I been through the desert in a church with no name..."
Campbell-girl's boyfriend continued, "Names can be really significant - more than we often realize. Names create an identity, which isn't always a bad thing. But that identity can become a way of separating one congregation from another, drawing attention to differences rather than likenesses. It can become a symbol of ownership - my church, my pastor, and so on."
"But when we say 'my church,' don't we mean that in a membership way, more than an ownership way?" I argued.
"Membership!" Carl spat. "We don't need no stinkin' membership!"
The background music changed suddenly to Billy Preston singing, "I know a church that ain't got no membership; How can I describe it to my friends...?"
The Campbell girl looked at the guy-who-might-be Carl and said, "Your name's Carl, right? How come I don't know that? Anyway, it isn't really like we don't believe in membership - we just look at it a little differently." Turning to me, she continued, "A lot of people define membership in terms of allegiance to a given set of doctrines and by-laws and rules and stuff. You have to give your time and money to that particular organization in order to be a good member."
"We," Carl broke in, "See 'belonging' in the sense that we belong to God. Sometimes the members of God's church serve God together in one place, and other times we serve Him together in all different places. But as long as we serve Him, we're serving together, even if we're ages and continents apart."
"So, you see," boyfriend said in a tone of voice that conveyed his certainty that I did not, in fact, see, "We don't go to church at all. Church is not somewhere to go, it's Someone to be a part of. Membership isn't by allegiance to the rules or doctrines of a group of people who meet in a certain building. It's participating in the life - work, play, thoughts and feelings, and so on - of the Body, which is Jesus living in the world. So we don't see a need for giving a name to the group of people who meet to participate in how Jesus is living around here."
"OK - so how do you handle offerings and salaries and stuff?" I wondered.
"We encourage folks to give their offerings directly to charities that help people physically and spiritually, as God directs them," Carl informed me.
"Some of us help others on occasion, and sometimes as a group we take offerings for particular needs we see. I know those gifts aren't tax-deductible, but that doesn't seem too important to most of us," boyfriend added.
The young lady finished with, "No staff. We let people lead with their gifts. Maybe someday we'll need to figure out how to pay some folks in order to free up enough time for them to use their gifts properly, but that hasn't happened yet."
Billy sang, "I seen a church that ain't got no staff...Gonna just let Jesus lead them around..."
"That's really getting annoying!" boyfriend snapped. "Who keeps playing that music?"
That comment drained the fuel, oil and water out of the engine that drove our conversation; it clunked to a fatal halt. They all looked at me suspiciously. I think the cricket was trying a chirped rendition of "When You Wish Upon a Star." Where was that damned wind when you needed it? No, not in my face - blow the other direction! That's better!
"OK, that's just weird," the Campbell girl pointed out, unnecessarily.
"Hey," her boyfriend broke the eerie not-quite-silence, "You know who this is? This is the guy with the head!"
I had only a moment to be thankful that for once I was not the recipient of everyone's what-planet-did-you-fall-off-of stares.
"No, really," he continued, "This is the guy with the head we all live in. He's real after all!"
All gazes once again turned my way. This time it was like a group of intrepid Arctic explorers arriving at the North Pole to find Santa busy in his cheerful little workshop. A myth found to be true. Disappointingly so. Santa repackaging toys made in China.
And then they started debating boyfriend's theory. Maria and the cricket joined them. Even the tumbleweed got in on the discussion. I waited patiently, plotting out suitably vengeful literary fates for each and every one of them.
Finally, Carl said, "Wow, I think you're right. Who'd've thought the village was created by the idiot?"
"Give him a break," the young lady defended me, "He lives in the outside world. A church like ours would never work out there."
She's probably right. But I'm going to get Carl for calling me an idiot!
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