White After Labor Day is Good for You, In Moderation

Up here at the Old Place most folks keep a seasonal schedule.  The new year starts on Labor Day and ends on August 31st.  We hold autumn to be the start of the new year because of college football. Sure, the "Boys of Summer," still have two months to go, but even they would not start the new year in March. The start of college football season is a confirmation of expectations. The months of recruiting and the promises implied at the spring game are brought to a conclusion, for good or ill. So why do we leave a couple of days at the start of September? I suppose it is just to finish up summer. The Old Colonel uses those days to change his clothes: pastel shirts, white linen and seersucker suits join white buck shoes Monet' and sailboat ties in retirement until spring. The reds, oranges, browns (And purples) are starched and wait patiently to be ironed. So, what's it got to do with safety?

The annual ritual of change comforts and reassures. It invests us with a feeling of solidarity and gives us something to look forward to, even when there is little else. Autumn paints our homes and ourselves with the colors of changing leaves and of course, in purple and gold. Straw, Indian corn and pumpkins find their way into our preparation rooms while an ambush of anything striped turns the den into a Bengal tiger's hunting ground. The tailgating gear is pulled out, the giant "Gumbo" pot is wire brushed and the butane tank refilled. Almost any excuse will do to buy that three foot spoon with "LSU" molded into its handle.

October settles in, and the prep room is emptied of it's autumnal fruits and veggies. The works join pale skeletons and gingham clad freckle faced scarecrows on the mist covered veranda. Dark trappings of the "Wizarding World" take on a second life as witches, ghosts and giant spiders inculcate their blacks and greens into the mix!

Before you know it, pumpkins magically transform themselves into Thanksgiving pies and earthy colors steal away with the ghosts and mist. Red poinsettias and green garlands herald the start of Advent soon to spread joy filled wings across the lake. Children rake up piles of dry leaves only to leap laughing and scattering into their midst. Tired witches and wizards, now in muggley clothing, ply their brooms against multicolored detritus covering the sidewalks. 

Sure, white is okay if you are trying to stay cool, but does not the tie-dye change the white shirt for the better?  Do not purple and gold stripes make a plain white shirt into an LSU jersey?  Does not a fat man in red velvet suit, trimmed in white, make us all feel like children again?  A little bit of white does go a long way or would you rather shovel sneaux?

Sitting in a rocker at the Old Place, I am, Col. Jim

Spiritual PPE

The denizens are aging up here at the Old Place.  Some like a fine whiskey slowly mellowing to perfection, others like a favorite pair of shoes becoming softer and more comfortable. Our values were forged in the old days, by the old ways.  All perfect, proper ladies and gentlemen. . . oh, not hardly. We have someone who drinks too much. We have someone who went to prison, oh all right, he was the assistant warden. We even have one Weather Underground radical who is hiding out. Look, I make "magic" wands.  We're eclectic.

How is it then that all these so-called "pedophile priests" are Catholic?  The obvious answer is that priests are, after all, pretty much exclusively a Catholic thing. However, if you change the moniker from Catholic priest to Christian minister, well, gee whiz, there just do not seem to be any pedophiles among any other Christian leaders, at least no reports of any by ABC, CBS, NBC, CNN, BBC, or PMS-NBC. (Local news? There are plenty, but none on big media.) Here is the telling part: there has not been one report of any Islamic imam, Siik, Shinto, or Buddhist pedophile on any of the Big Cs, only Catholic priests.  Are Catholic priests really the only ones?  Now, why do you think that is?  If you wanted to ruin someone's reputation, undermine their character, bring down their business, and destroy their lives, what would you do? Easy, get some dissatisfied group or person, real or imagined (Islam, Radicalized women, LGBTQP, etc.) to make an accusation, then get the help of the wealthiest, most powerful people on earth, the Big Cs TV news media.

Think about it, how do you beat the biggest gang on the block?  You subvert their leaders. Start rumors, tell stories, get their followers to become suspicious, to doubt their ability to lead. Then you get one to turn on them, and before you know it, the leaders and the gang are down. Where is the best place to punch? The head, of course.  A sniper shoots the head, not the body.

History tells us that every other Christian "church" (45,000 by last count) was formed by someone who became dissatisfied with the church of which they were already a member. "I'll teach them a lesson. I've had a revelation from God. I'll start my OWN church." How does Satan tap into this dissatisfaction?  He wants to destroy Christ's Church on earth and send everyone to hell, so what does he do? He whispers in the ears of priests and bishops. "God understands confession, but you must first protect the church." Satan subverts some of Christ's Catholic priesthood, undermines their character, and destroys the flock's trust, their faith in the shepherds. Satan wants everyone to abandon Christ's Church in favor of any of the scattered, weaker ones. Satan is not going to waste time with the weaker flocks. He is going to bring down the Royal Priesthood of Catholic shepherds that have protected the flock from the wolves for 2,000 years! So, what's it got to do with safety? 

If we abandon the bride and her shepherds (Our Personal Safety) to Satan, then damnation (Injury and Death) becomes "quicker, easier, and more seductive." The Catholic Church is our Spiritual PPE. Right now, it is Christ's yoke (Safety Plan) that is easy, His burden (Safety Compliance) that is light.

Now Woa-Up, Wait a minute!  Before you burn up your keyboard, this is not a defense of the disgusting and criminal actions of pedophiles and their protectors. This is not a Catholic problem, it is not a Liberal problem or an LGBTQP problem, it is a problem of people, imperfect, sinful people... all people. Like the man said, "Maverick, it's not your flying, it's your attitude. You may not like the people you fly with; they may not like you, but whose side are you on?"

Sitting in a rocker at the Old Place, I am Col. Jim

Here’s To The Good Old Ways

It is the start of a new year on the calendar.  I have often felt that time stands still up here at the Old Place.  Pretty much everyone keeps to the old ways, the good old ways.  We have a general store, run by a retired Marine.  It also serves as the post office and first point of contact for strangers to the area, usually lost because their navigation app was inscrutable.  Older, and more able to appreciate the good old ways, we welcome them as long lost friends.  Our police department is a park ranger station whose “Major Crimes Division” handles nothing more exotic than a band of masked marauders cavorting about in someone’s attic.  (Raccoons)  So, it came as a surprise when at 6:00am on December 31^st my short wave radio began to crackle; it was Ruth.

            “Mornin’ Colonel,” she said, “Sorry to bother you, but you have an overseas telephone call.”

“Really, at six in the morning, now that’s strange Gunny,” I replied.

“Oh that’s not the best part,” Ruth chuckled.  “Despite all our travels, this call is from the one place neither you nor I have never been to before.”

“I’m listening,” said I.

There was a brief pause from Ruth, then, “Come on over.”

This was intriguing.  I went out, hopped in the old Tornio and drove to the store.  As I walked in, I could smell the coffee.  Ruth put a big mug, laced with real cream and sugar, in front of me, and went off to unlock the front door.

            “Hello?”

The heavily accented Micronesian voice on the other end replied, “Kukuri Menaái Ririki maiia Kiribati*, Colonel Jim!”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” I replied, “but it’s not New Years day yet,” or was it?  I began to think and to muse.  Kiribati was a name I had not heard in a long time.  Long before MaryHannah was born, way before I met Melinda, indeed while I was still in short pants, Sister Claire Germane had taught our 2^nd grade class about time zones.  This phone call was from the future!

It is now, almost 18 hours later, on a chilly New Year’s Eve night.  Folks across the globe are partying their way through the waning hours of 2017.  The Old Colonel is curled up under a Biederlac in front of the fire.  Audrey and Molly are in my lap as usual while the gliders bark and glide around the Old Place and throw bottle caps, a cute but noisy ruckus.  I sat there and contemplated how this day had begun and what I should learn from it.  I had received a call from the future, but if so, then the other person had placed a call to the past!  We all know that it is possible to go back in time Einstein proved it, in theory.  So all I had to do was take a phone call from Kiribati and all of sudden I was much more clever than Einstein.  This was fantastic!  I could go back in time, back to the good old ways. . . .  WOAH hoss, not so fast.  When I received that call at 6:00am on December 31, 2017, from the tiny island of Kiribati in the Pacific Ocean, there it was already January 1, 2018.  How?  Kiribati rests astride the International Date Line on the opposite side of the world.  On one side today, on the other side, tomorrow!  Disappointed?  Don’t be.  We have an entirely new year full of new days and new months, to live, to learn, to share, to love.   

Sitting in a rocker at the Old Place I am, Col. Jim.

* Happy New Year from Kiribati.