” Ah! Moon of my delight, that knows no wane,/The moon of Heaven is rising once again!/ How often, in times after, shall she look/Through this same garden, after us—in vain!”
—Fitzgerald, The Rubayiat
Tonight is the June full moon, known as the strawberry moon, and indeed the wild strawberries must be just on the verge of ripeness.
And, the fireflies are almost at peak activity. I’m hoping they’ll be at their most active for my Solstice Party this Saturday, and we can walk down to the bonfire through a field as full of twinkling stars as the sky.
O Ratty, I wish you were here!
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Today was the opening ceremony for Fuerzas Comando 19. This year, the competition will be held in Chile. Special Operators from about 19 countries from the Caribbean, the US, and Central and South America will square off to see who will be the Fuerzas Comando champion.
It’s a week of suck. Don’t come if you don’t want to hurt. You can follow the competition on Facebook via the SOCSOUTH page.
I’ve posted this before, and I’ll do it again. If I can keep up, I’ll post updates here.
Probably the best FC promo made, and not just because it’s got a little Mongo in it.
The Doctor: “I never tell anybody how long they have left to live—I might be wrong, and that’s embarrassing.”
“ I specialize in the skin and its contents.”
”With babies, I always ask the mother, what do you think? and then I agree with her.”
”There’s one thing we doctors have got going for us: most things will get better on their own!”
”SometimesI feel disgusted by the things my patients do. But then I remind myself: what am I thinking? They’re all God’s children!” (With an air of relief and joy.)
The horseman: I once leaned down from my saddle to kiss him hello, and I said, “ I always wanted to kiss somebody from horseback!” And he shot back, “Well, that’s where I’m from!”
” Most important rule when riding: keep the horse between yourself and the ground at all times!”
In my most recent article, Into Our Own Hands: Citizen’s Arrest In Pennsylvania ( The Pennsylvania Lawyer, ,January 2019) i wrote about how he had come downstairs one day to find a guy walking out the door with our antique clock. ( Our front door is always wide open in summer.) “What are you doing?” he thundered. “Put that down! And sit right down there while I go upstairs and get my gun!”
My father could speak in an Olympian timbre; he seldom employed it, but when he did, to hear was to obey. The perp collapsed bonelessly onto our sofa. Dad came back downstairs, armed (though I know he didn’t point the gun at the cowed crook—he would never have risked anyone’s life over a temperamental ol’ timepiece) and they waited for the police.
How we miss him, departed this life in God’s faith and fear (and in agony). ..
“There were giants in the Earth in those days, the mighty men of old, the men of renown…”
Honor thy Father, today and always.
O Ratty, do you know what these are? I was told as a child that they’re called “Indian Paintbrush”, but when I look up that sobriquet, none of the (many) flowers pictured are these.
There are yellow ones and red ones. They have a long, hairy stem, and several bud clusters grow from the stem. But I love ‘em because of their smell! The yellow ones have no odor, but the red smell like fresh-baked cookies! When I smell them I’m back in my little 7 year old body again, my long hair tangled with twigs and leaves, my bare legs scratched by brambles, lost in olfactory ecstasy…
It had been two months since I heard anything about Notre Dame de Paris. Immediately after the fire I read about various proposals for ….well, not restoration ,but reconfiguring, Of the place. An aviary. An apiary. A Pei dome à la Louvre. If they’ve made any decision, it hasn’t been announced, as far as I can discover.
But I did read that the first mass since the fire will be celebrated there tomorrow, in the Crown o’ Thorns chapel. Only 20 worshippers and they all, and the celebrant, I assume, will be wearing construction helmets. (Talk about yer “Gospel armor”…)
Who are the lucky 20, the Vingt Valoureux, one might say? We dont know. I hope there will be film!
And isn’t it amazing how quickly we’ve forgotten about the fire, this event which seemed so apocalyptic, a civilization-killer, a creed-crusher, just two short months ago?
Indulge me if you will, and read the article at the end of this link:
Trade Chess With China
Sundance runs a good site and is one of the few who have followed the economics and strategy game afoot.
Please remember, Trump is playing against the Chinese ‘One Belt, One Road” empire plan, the short term players in the west I call the Global Grifters and the entire entrenched political establishment. It amazes me he has gotten this far.
While we can fret about the staffing of questionable holdovers in many agencies, his trade team is top notch and having way too much fun. I do believe that has always been his main game.
It is nothing less than changing the entire flow of world civilization at stake. Can one man make that much of a difference?
He will have no similar successor, but if he can move the momentum to economic nationalism and true fair trade , he may make successors have no choice.
Last summer I wrote a post, one of my first as a Ratburger: Summer with Sister Jenny. I’m sure you don’t remember it but I just re-read it and…well it’s really good, though I say it as shouldn’t!
It was about my relationship with my body. And here we are, Sister Jenny and I, on the cusp of another summer. She’s been good, no cheating on me, no incomprehensible or humiliating betrayals.
When my husband falls into bed beside me each night, cool smooth dense well-muscled flesh, I thank God for his robust vigor, his solidity. Because surely we stand in sight of spindleshank territory, slippered pantaloon territory.
i hosted a young priest at a gathering once. As hostess I felt bad for him; two other people there had recently lost close relatives in painful agony, and mere dinner-party etiquette could not prevent them from asking him the obvious question ? Why?!?
The young hierophant said suffering is “salvific”. And I reckon thats why the Christian devouts mortified the flesh, with cinctures, hair shirts. It was to make them realize they were not the flesh.
But really, wouldn’t that have the opposite effect? Wouldn’t it reduce the “I” to nothing but pain? Has anyone who has ever endured physical agony, or a constant “thorn in the flesh” as St Paul put it, not been totally obsessed with the goad itself?
Arent we freest to contemplate the sublime when our bodies are functioning so well we needn’t give them a thought?
What is the relationship between (at times orthodox) mortification of the flesh to attain spiritual bliss, and cutting , burning, and other acts of self harm which seem to be so common today?
i revere my Jenny, I value her strength, I rejoice in her (to date) congenial company! I dont know how much time we’ve got, but I shall revel in it. And do you likewise, O Ratty! Summer is here: rejoice!!
I’m on an Archie Bunker kick. Maybe I just miss my dad (who sounds almost exactly like Archie). It’s amazing how all the stuff Old Norman Lear imagined his parents generation complaining about, coming out of the mouth of Archie, we are still compliant about today. I guess Meathead’s utopia never really panned out all these years later.