Personal bloggers retire every day. It happens in waves in my Google Reader. Two down here, two down there. No one wants to fill the internet with the inane details of a day anymore. Unfortunately, that’s still what I like to read. I call it “The Curse of Knowing Who Eric Nies Is Syndrome,” or “Coming of Age at the Onset of Reality Television.” More than status updates and Tweets and links on Google+. I’m a sucker for the “And then we went to Trader Joe’s and I couldn’t find my car keys and.”My pledge to you, the national and international reader, is to continue personal blogging as long as there's weather to write about!
Watched the movie "The Cutting Edge" on Ham of Bone's recommendation. Bone has a real soft spot for class-conscious movies where you have a shrewd boy from the hinterlands attempting to woo an upper-crust snob (see "Titanic"). I'm less enamored of that plotline but the movie eventually delivered. At first I thought it was watchable but kind of made-for-TVmovie-ish. And a tad unbelievable. Turns out this hockey player is a bit too good at trading witticisms, even asking her where she "matriculated". And I thought the part where she challenges him to hockey a bit much. No one is that out of touch that they think they can beat a hockey player at hockey. But then it picked up steam and was touching.
Certainly got my exercise this weekend what with following 2-year toddler Sam around, playing basketball with him (more or less), jogging, and engaging in a beautifully choreographed 40 minute walk with our dog. We went first through the handsome forest, full of canopied refreshment ("cool and green and shady," as Johannnes Denver once sang), and then enjoyed the fruited expanse of the ponded park, with a water sprite (a fountain) spurting water in the distance like a poor man's Old Faithful. It was an enjoyable stroll in the heat-provided privacy.
Took him the following day around the beautiful lake (big pond? when does a pond become a lake? When does a bill become a law?) at a bigger local park. Stellar sun was appreciated mostly when going through shady parts and observing it at arm's length. The beautiful dappling was enough - I didn't have to be on those serrate-sun'd paths. At least not for long.
Blood, sweat and tears. At least I extruded one of the three on a 20 minute run in this over-the-top heat. I saw a biker go by and thought wistfully, there but for my own obstinance go I.
At mass Sunday I noticed a whole lot of "Come Holy Spirit"ing going on. The opening hymn was basically the same as the Sequence which was similar to the closing hymn and the Communion hymn. I don't recall that many hymns begging Jesus to come; we seem to have greater confidence in Him. It's assumed, after all, Christ will in Communion. But an alien landing in our church might be forgiven for getting the impression that this Holy Spirit fellow was pretty evasive even though, of course, He is not. The Spirit is spiritual presence of the love between the Father and Son, and so it's hard to see that Love as absent. Still, I think we all lust for the olde time Spirit, the one on the Pentecost day when people tongues and wind appeared and everyone spoke in foreign languages. That was, based on appearances, a manifestation of the Spirit different than today's Pentecost mass, whereas the Communion service seemed very much like the original one - Christ (or in this case the priest in persona Christi) offering his Body and Blood under the appearance of bread and wine. Methinks we have too little faith in the Holy Spirit. Instead of "Come Holy Spirit", how about something more gratitudinal?
So our pastor said he would talk about the gift of courage via the Holy Spirit, and he centered his homily on the egregious HHS mandate. Given where I'm coming from, criticizing the mandate is a no-brainer and so I felt "gypped" though at the same time challenged to do more. Our bishop is taking a very prayer-centric approach and I had to fight off heretical feelings of that being naive. Anyway I'm sure the pastor thought it took some courage to preach against it, and no doubt there are some parishioners who are Obamniacs who think the president craps gold. Certainly with the collection plate being as vulnerable as it is, I suppose it does take some courage.
Eve Tushnet has gone to Patheos. Patheos killed the blogger star. Reminds me of how successful businesses merge to make an oligarchy of firms. The "wild west" aspect of individual bloggers has given way to this "corporate", monopolistic site to which all the talent streams, automatically, since that is where the pay is. (I jest of course. I love mountainin' molehills.)
A riot of flowers
and a feeder to boot:
come hummingbirds, come!
Sitting under the old maple in the backyard with the screamin' banshee of our neighbor's chainsaw disturbing peace and serenity. But, of course, a noisy outside beats the quiet indoors. I o'erlook undulating fields of grass and clover, tall trees pointing towards civilization in the form of traffic. Nice not to be in it. I'd rather (NOT) be driving.
I'm also planted next to my garden plants. They are growing so fast in this heat that I have half a mind to measure it, to get out the tape ruler and "watch" them grow. Fecundity.
The hug of grass and air
the smell of jazz.
The garden looks quite handsome given the lack of weeds and the coloration post-watering. Very debonair that dark sea-earth. Nothing better than freshly turned earth freshly planted. It's like a new Eden, before sin (and weeds) enter the world. Of course I could pluck the weeds next week and next month but that just encourages the bastards. If I do they're back up before I return to the patio. But now it's a very pleasant thing to look over that patch of earth and growing things freshly laundered.
I managed to catch up on all the saved web articles, and a very thought-provoking lot they were about a disparate array of subjects. From the strangeness of going to Harvard (written by a Canadian Harvard grad) to the therapy of Jennifer Fulwiler to why some nations are rich and others poor, I certainly hit the jackpot in readable finds.