the society for the prevention of hostility toward unabridged dictionaries

where have all the unabridged dictionaries gone

long time a passin

where have all the unabridged dictionaries gone

long time ago

where have all the unabridged dictionaries gone

gone to dumpsters every one

when will they ever learn?

when will they ever learn?

When I  was in school, the unabridged dictionary sat like an alien death weapon on a podium too small for the monstrosity. Most of the boys and girls in my class were afraid to even touch it. The librarian treated it like some kind of ancient relic from Remulac.

Then, one day, it disappeared. It was piled in a gargantuan book-pyramid with numerous other dishonored lonely books. The speckled-faced librarian gathered them in a wheelbarrow and positioned them behind a hideously wide red truck.

In the morning, as I walked to school, I saw the red truck parked haphazardly upon the mound beyond the northern end of the school building. I walked over, peered into the bed. Below the truck bed, a few pieces of browned paper lay scattered about,  I reached down and found they crumpled into dust when touched.

The unabridged dictionary- along with other notable books- met their death that day…before I found the remnants of ash-like fragments.

I confess today that I do not own an unabridged dictionary. Some day, I will buy one….in secret. But for now, it has become a problem.

It is because I get words stuck in my head and often have to search to find their meaning.  So many times I cannot find it in any of the mamby-pamby dictionaries online or any in the public library.

In fact, while I was writing my last post, I got a word stuck in my head. Not like a song stuck in my head, but an “unknown” (for best effects, please pronounce with a Scottish accent) word. I flung open my dictionaries, scavanged the online dictionary venues, to no avail. I nearly flailed myself upon a piece of plastic to buy a subscription to the unabridged dictionary…OK, I am exaggerating…but repented when I did some cost analysis.

The word was…

parsipitous

Yes, that’s right. Not precipitous. Not parsimony. It probably has something to do with “to parse” I imagine. But I do not know.

But surely I would know if I could just find an unabridged dictionary…somewhere.

Return to me, and I will return to you

Return to me, and I will return to you. That is the message in the first part of Malachi 3.

Way before the Lord speaks about the tithe in the latter part of Malachai 3, the Word speaks of Christ coming. This Messiah does not seem to be all cuddly here. In fact, it states quite plainly that He will refine, purify, those who seek to offer sacrifices so that they will be righteous before God.

When this happens, it states that God will act. But you have to go back to Isaiah 58 to understand how to get into this acceptable place of acceptable sacrifice.

True fasting is found in Isaiah 58. The definition of fasting has been obscured by traditions of men- just as God revealed through the prophet Isaiah. God desired that each of us walk humbly with God, and:

* Repent of sin (turn away from being in any state that keeps us from a close relationship with God. “God, I am sorry. I want to do things your way.”)

The next action requires complete submission to God as you need to be willing to be a spiritual warrior (if you are a follower of Christ, you will know what I mean).

* Loosen the bonds of wickedness (Now “wicked” is not good, it is cruel evil- when someone is attacked by a cruel evil, we are to help that person under attack. In fact, God tells us so many times not to be wicked. If you follow Christ, you are to do what you can – in action and in prayer. This is part of an acceptable sacrifice, part of an active fast)

*Break every bondage (Bondage is anything that has a hold on you- it might be drugs or another kind of addiction, but it may also be emotional bondage- baggage- or even mental bondage.)

*Free the oppressed.

*Divide your food with the hungry.

*Bring the homeless poor into the house. In fact, if you are homeless and your relatives ignore you, Isaiah 58 insinuates that your family members who turned you away are totally out of touch with God, therefore, in sin.

*Clothe the naked.

*Be available to family- do not turn them away. See above.

*Do not accuse anyone. If you accuse, you are doing the same thing that satan does. So, stop it. Yes, we are to reveal the works of evil…but not be an accuser.

*Satisfy the need of the afflicted.

So, it seems to me from this passage that we have a lot of work to do. If you say you are a Christian or a Messianic Jew, and you believe you have no time to act like this as you live out your daily life, check your pulse. You are alive. God gave you life again today. Are you ready to walk humbly with your God?

A detour on the way to destiny

I’ve heard enough preachers in my day to do a full two hour stand-up routine with about every variety and denomination featured. I’ve heard some great phrases, one liners, and simple truths in those sermons too. I’ve boogied for Jesus with the grooviest dudes in Hackensack, and have sung a nasal chorus with Brother Moses the cross-eyed preacher, in a building so deep in the black hole of Nowhere, it lacked a sign, a heating source, and indoor plumbing. I’ve watched a deranged man coo at his congregation until one man nearly fell off his seat in laughter. And I have heard such a powerful sermon that throngs of people were affected. I’ve sat under the best, and I’ve heard the worst. You could say I have seen and heard a mighty big crowd of witnesses in my time.

So when I say I have been on that “detour on the way to destiny, more than once,” I am hoping I’m not using another preacher’s sacred sermon phrase. That detour on the way to destiny has caused a lot of problems in life. I have seen it in my own, when I missed a road sign from heaven and ended up in the second best football field ever. Now, I’m heading for that best football field ever. Too bad the fog was too thick to see the gate entrance until now…

But now I have my ticket…

It seems strange to the world, but God does work in such unusual ways that it confuses those who do not know Him. They’ll think that they are running the show, they are destroying their enemy, but in reality…..God will take their evil and twist it around for our good- for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose. The Imposters, and the ones following their own selfish desires….think they have a victory when everything seems to be going their way. But then something impossible will happen- the one following after God’s heart will suddenly come through the mess on the other side with a better job, better living conditions, a better group of people to work with, a better home, a better wife or husband, a better day to day existence, and even a better reputation, You can count on those poor unrepentant sinners scratching their heads till Judgment day…unless something changes.

I’m going through what seems like an impossible situation…but God has already promised me a victory and a new situation better than what I have had before now. If He will do it for me, He will do it for you. You have to “put all your chips on the table,” telling God “you’re all in.” When you move all of your trust over to God, like in poker when you put all those chips on the table, it is no longer you trying figure it out.

Think about it…then go do something about it….and you’ll be blessed…(no, no pastor’s quote there, just yer man from the mountains).

PS I don’t play poker, but when I was younger…

I am a Patrick

Of all the people this world has seen in the thousands of years, of all the mortal men and women who have walked on this globe, few have a life that resonate more with my heart than Saint Patrick. I never tire of his story, never tire of his example, and never tire of Saint Patrick’s Day, no matter how pagan people try to make it…because I know his example shines like a light in a lost and confused age.

His dedication to the goal- a vision years in preparation- are an example to me, since I too have been years in preparation for the next step. He did not fit the mold either, and although there were others before him who were successful, it is likely his passionate spirit, and his unique understanding, that separates him from Columba and the other equally great evangelists of his time in the area.

Patrick, like Saint Brendan, one of my other heroes of the faith, was a man with a story, woven by the constant need for reliance on God, in a way that would challenge anyone today. His writings reveal that he, like Brendan, possessed a Pentecostal-like fervor and insight many Catholics would rather not admit; it is in the lives and writings/stories of these two men that the Catholic church would do well to heed in this era of trouble filled with people drowning in feelings of hopelessness, confusion, and emptiness.

I celebrate Patrick, my predecessor and example, by trying to walk the walk Patrick walked…in the spirit. And if I ever get the chance that many have, I too will climb Croagh Patrick and the mountains he and Brendan climbed, going away to a lonely place to get direction.

So, when the morning wakes and the day begins, contemplate what our Brother Patrick would have been doing if he was alive today. I do not believe he would be in a pub eating corned beef, even lamb, and drinking green beer, because he had nothing to do with them. For those who are celebrating it that way, it is time you search for the real life story and writings of the man- you will be shocked by his witness. I can think of few with such a great witness…in the history of the world following the birth of Christ.

My dog can read…why can’t yours?

I love government, sometimes they show us just how intelligent our pets are. I was minding my own business one day, bound for one of the most challenging hiking experiences in northeastern West Virginia, when I came upon this sign with challenging instructions for every type of visitor possible…well, just about.

Following instructions for backpackers, bicyclists, and horse-bound riders, the happy trail sign makers added instructions for the most intelligent creature known to man: your dog. It even concluded with shouting instructions, warning the literate creature to “Leave no trace!” This, as you know, is one command a dog can understand- when depositing a load on the trail, the dog can indeed promptly consume it- also leaving no trace behind.

I am wondering just who did commission this Bush-era sign for the Spring Ridge Trail, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the artist was formerly known as Prince…I mean was formerly a department of education employee. As a devoted American-based educator, I can honestly state that as educators, we are all so thankful that Laura Bush explained to us how all children can learn. And since all children can learn, it is not too far of a stretch to say that all dogs can learn.

Following that premise, the construction of this relic of wisdom commenced with a flourish, as is obvious by the happy font of warning that is leaning forward. With concerted effort and thought, the artist carefully constructed lettering appealing to the eye and every potential reader. It might also be noted that the leaning italic font employed in the warning makes it easier for dogs to read, since they often turn their heads slightly to one side. I used to think this was a sign of stiff neck, however, I now realize it was just a habit dogs follow in order to better read print.

It might also be noted that although this sign in West Virginia addresses dogs, Virginia does not have signs addressing dogs. I can only deduce from this variation that only West Virginia dogs can learn, as in Virginia it is difficult for a dog to learn new tricks. This would explain a lot of things, including why West Virginia has voted more creatively in primary elections than in Virginia…obviously with the help of these literate voting creatures.

This brings up all sorts of issues, ones that congressional staff employees will surely need to study in order to give informed advice to those sage representatives who have no time to do such things. West Virginia congressmen (and congresswomen) will need to propose legislation allocating money for these worthy projects. It is incumbent upon the hard working members to lend their support for these projects to determine the inherent rights of these literate citizens, including their rights to a fair and speedy trail, presumption of innocence, and the right to poop in public. It is imperative that we give these government officials time to investigate, to do ten year follow-up studies of dogs who read trail signs, comparing them in longitudinal studies with their owners. In the long run, we can trot out some statistics that will prove once and for all what these sign makers knew several years ago- dogs really are deep thinkers.

The holy cat

This is a story about a cat who sinned at Catholic school and remained unrepentant until he traveled home with my father. ‘Tis only after my grandmother poured holy water on his head that he so changed, that the cat found himself acting like a holy cat the rest of his days…

There was a time in this world when many a boy would pack his books in his trombone case and walk the mile or so to school, all the well knowing that an irritable woman dressed in a penguin-black outfit was waiting for his unrepentant soul…to thrash the living daylights out of him. Forget about the priests, they were too busy genuflecting…or vacuuming up the broken body of Jesus, who lay waiting on the sanctuary floor. ‘Twas the nuns one worried about, those frustrated globular women who looked like they’d all been baptized in a vat of ugly. Oh yes, of course, an occasional Sister Mary Margaret found her way into your heart, but for the most part, the nuns of Purgatory Place…or Saint Patrick’s…dispensed with discipline in the same manner as the Spanish inquisition. But I digress…

For this story is really about my father and the family cat. The latter set out, with much malice, to detain my father on his way to school. It had a habit of attempting to sidetrack him into the woods…or into town…well, generally, into trouble. And, as cats often do, it followed him into the school building on more than one occasion. Which is just where the cat played as my father found his seat in the classroom. Although played may not be the proper word, for the family cat had other ideas. Which is not a good thing when you are in a school where other boys and girls walk to school accompanied by their family cats. Especially when nuns are present…

For the nuns in those days did not, in fact, cater to cats. No, one might say they were quite ruffled with the idea. It was one thing to discipline children, another to corral a wayward cat. To make matters worse, the family cat left a present in the hallway…then  disappeared into a room with another cat where it proceeded to do what cats do best- hiss, claw, and fight. The astonished nun appeared in the doorway just in time to nab the family cat, grab it by the neck and hurl it out of the room. By now the whole of Christendom…I mean the classrooms on that floor…followed my father into the hallway…as one startled cat fought with the nun and the family cat ran quickly through the crowd of curious schoolchildren, down the old gray steps and down the block…

After school my father walked home, into the house, and slammed the screen door. The family cat just sat on the floor staring up at him. When my grandmother walked into the room, she brought the fruit jar of holy water. She unscrewed the lid and poured a generous dose of the blessed stuff onto the cat’s head…as the cat just sat there. My father says that the cat was never the same after that- it never returned to school, never got into fights, and never made cross remarks…hissing sounds…to anyone…even the nuns. And that’s the story of how my father’s family cat became a holy cat and lived many years in peace and harmony with all the world…well, where my father could see….

Reflecting on Floyd Collins

“Floyd Collins,” an off-broadway play that debuted in 1996, is one of the most intricate performances imaginable. It is a choreographer’s nightmare combined with an awkward musical score…a challenge for any actor. Still, tonight’s performance at the state theater proved memorable, particularly for some superb acting and singing from young Katy Nichols, a theatre graduate from Bethel College in Indiana, and Bob Bonhage, an actor originally from the Philadelphia area. While I expect good performances from seasoned actors- which I saw- it is particularly satisfying to see younger actors perform at a higher level…

It is when I see such performances, in spite of the shortcomings (or poor writing) of the playwright, that I am reminded of my duty to create a play that instigates a vivacious performance with ease, with a flow. Writing a play may be quite different than writing a book, but without flow, both never reach the level of communication and effect that their author intended. And that, dear ones, is why I was revising today, to return to the flow, to recapture what my imagination created months ago.

And so I reflect, and review, and return, as always. It makes me a better writer, and better person. For every time I revise, I am reminded that writing reflects life, and the need to reflect and revise every day. If we are not growing, if we are not becoming better people, then we have not learned how to revise, nor have we understood the truth of the essence of creative communication. We become as awkward as a poorly constructed play, with movement that causes us to be confused or misunderstood.

I admit that being an author and playwright helps me to be more aware of who I am and where I am going. While there is a price to pay for every dedicated professional writer, at least the revising process keeps me in line…unlike a young celebrated misadventurer who died deep in a Kentucky cave…

A marker, a crayon, and a tax form

You gotta love the federal government. Yeah, the same people who insist we warn our children that peanut butter may contain peanuts, because the gunk was processed in a facility which may process peanuts. This is the same group of wonderful people who insist a cigarette package be labelled with a warning, but who require no warning label on a fifth of Jack Daniels. Here in West-by God-Virginia, my state government does not provide many of the same services the federal government does, it makes do on much less- our label budget is dwarfed by the federal label pool. You could say that West Virginia is “leaner” and “not necessarily meaner.”

This may explain why West Virginia tax filing instructions do not resemble the federal tax jungle, especially the instructions for non e-filers. One is instructed to make letters and numbers similarly to the non-electronic letters and numbers insisted by the federal bureau of tax instructions for cyber-challenged individuals (FBTICCI, or Fabuticci). And one is reminded of this and of that, just like the federal tax instructions. However, it is the next series of statements that separate the men from the boys (down in Washington). For there in plain black and white one reads that you should not write with “colored pencils, or markers…” and one must “place it within the lines.”

Creative people rarely like to color within the lines, and some even resort to strange tools to do their work (like the artist who uses a trowel to layer-paint his works with icing-splotches). I suppose we Mountaineers are more colorful folk, which is why we tend to use crayons and markers on our tax forms. Besides, there’s too much white space, not enough expression…

Somewhere scattered among the people of towns like Bergoo, War, and Pickle Street, our artists are gathering their colored pencils, sharpening them, ready to show the state just how creative we are. For at the heart of all West Virginians, we have an independent streak, an expressiveness few can match. We post our tax forms on the walls of our schools, cover our refrigerators with IT-140 art, and bathe in the aura of fine spring art showings where our works compete against the greatest artists of the east. We are simply a culture within a culture within a…trying to express ourselves…

Well, actually, we just like to color. Is there any law against that?

Ask and you shall get…snow!

Thank you, God! A nice big fat snowstorm with five inches of fluffy stuff- good enough for a mental break from the merry-go-round- one snow day of solitude. It gave me time to vacuum the carpet and flooring, and cook a wonderful meal…for one.