Christ the King and the Big One

Today is the feast of Christ the King. It is the celebration of the coming kingdom of Christ (you didn't see that coming, did you?). There are some great truths out there waiting to be discerned. Christ the King makes me think of The Big One.

Anyone raised Christian learned in childhood that Jesus died for our sins. It's pretty matter-of-fact that He had to come to Earth, in the form of man, to be sacrificed so God would forgive our sins and we could go to heaven. Well, not really, but when you know that almost your whole life, it seems matter-of-fact. It's actually astonishing. Think about it. You're God, you can do anything, and you're born as human. Voluntarily. The diaper stage alone is a lot to go through, when you know what's going on. The Passion, that's nothing, that's a couple of days ~ truly hellacious days, but days. Imagine going through puberty, just to be nice to us. Acne, growth spurts, hormones (Christian theology tells us He is wholly human as well as wholly divine, so He had to deal with it all) for our sins. That's a couple of years. I can think of nothing that would make me willing to go through puberty again. Menopause dancing in front of me, taunting me, is still more appealing than puberty.

But that is still not The Big Truth. I cannot imagine that the nuns didn't teach this, but I can imagine that didn't pay enough attention. I do tend to be rather easily distracted. (Oh, look at what Peanut's doing. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, sorry.) It is amazing that Jesus would go through thirty-three years as one of us, for us. It seems odd, a bit sad, and even mean-spirited that God would do this to His own Son. Why couldn't He just allow our sins to be forgiven? And this is where The Big One comes in to play. Like I said, I assume that it was taught, but I didn't learn it. Sometimes, God whispers in our ears, and we brush Him away like a fly. His messages can be hard to take, it is easier to ignore Him. Sometimes He lets it go. Other times, we will hear what He has to say no matter how afraid we are to get the real message. It's like He whomps you upside the head with a spiritual two-by-four.

We cannot feel the extent of God's love. Our little human hearts cannot bear it. We get teasers, but we won't be able to completely bask in it as long as we inhabit these bags of bones. When our souls are in Heaven, then we will revel in His love. It is because of the limits of our humanity that is easier to think God made Jesus endure more than three decades as man to earn redemption than to accept theTruth. As hard as that is to believe, it is still easier for our fragile human hearts than the Truth.

A couple of years ago, we had the old family movies copied onto DVDs. No one had watched them for about thirty years. My Grandma has been dead more than twenty-five of those years. As I sat in front of the computer, watching two-year-old me with Grandma, I found myself cheering for the toddler, "Pick her up. Oh please, pick her up." As though she'd heard my plea, long-ago Grandma bent over and picked up long-ago me. I could feel her arms around me once more. I could feel her love. (I still miss her ~ she was a great lady.) It was so wonderful to feel that again. I think she was in heaven watching me watch us. It was so overwhelming, I wept.

Once He finally made me understand The Big One, it was like that film of Grandma Johnson, to the nth degree. God didn't make Jesus do it. We did. We know we're unworthy. We offered sacrifices since the dawn of time, trying for expiation. God stopped Abraham from sacrificing his son, Isaac, to show us that we don't have to be worthy. He loves us anyway. We couldn't, or wouldn't, grasp it. Jesus came down, lived as one of us, died for us ~ not so God would forgive us, but so we would accept God's forgiveness. So we would believe that He'll forgive us even though we aren't worthy.

It is a love so powerful it is hard not to weep. It is so much bigger than any human love. We are so unworthy. And He doesn't care. Like any parent, He loves us regardless. He is waiting patiently to forgive us, we just have to ask. That is a mighty regal concept, befitting Christ the King.

Palestinians Are People, Too

Loath though I am to admit this, until quite recently, it hadn't registered that Palestinian is the name of an ethnic group, not a political/terrorist group. Deep down, I may have known better, but certainly not on a conscious level. Palestinians are people of Arab descent. Mostly, they're Muslim, there's quite a few Christians, probably a few atheists (maybe not, though, there are no atheists in foxholes). They are men & women, children & elderly. Palestinians are born, grow up, go to college, marry, have children ~ you know, just like everyone else. I'm sure that there are few black sheep in the family to go with the doctor, the deli owner, the professor. Don't they sound dull? They are. The Ailabounis are ordinary, just like the Andersons and the Schmidts.  I bring this up now because Israel's current activities are, for all intents and purposes, lauded by our president.

Barack Obama says that the US is "fully supportive of Israel's right to defend itself." That's cool. I can accept that. What I can't accept is Israel's definition of defending itself. Apparently, three Israeli civilians were killed recently by Hamas rockets, so Israel is fighting back. Israel, which borders the Gaza Strip (Palestinian territory captured by Israel in 1967) on the northwest & southwest, blockades access to the Mediterranean on the northeast, so the only "friendly" border is the southeastern border with Egypt. This is akin to the US being surrounded by hostile forces except for the California coast. Unnerving, isn't it?

Israel lets Palestinians enter Israel to work, when it feels like it. The border crossing makes a day with the TSA feel like a picnic. And, since the borders are closed capriciously, even Israelis who want to hire Palestinians often can't, due to unreliability ~ you need your employees to show up. Israel controls which people, food and supplies get into Gaza. When they want, they can completely close it off. Yes, there are smugglers' tunnels. Weapons probably get through, but so do frivolous things like food and drugs (antibiotic type stuff). No one should have smuggle food. EVER!

With this much control over Gaza, and with the size of the Israeli Army (176,000) they should easily be able enter Gaza City, find the Hamas leader and do whatever they wish. Israel has all the coolest new military toys, as well they should, considering that they spend $14,000,000,000 dollars a year on their military ($2,799,500,000 from the US). So does Israel go on a manhunt? Nope. They send rockets, and drones, and drop bombs on the suspected houses of Hamas leaders. Not smart bombs, old-school blow-up-the-block bombs. Israel loves to say that Hamas is at fault when civilians are injured because they put headquarters in civilian areas to use civilians as human shields. 

"Hamas is using the Gaza population as human shields," said Brig. Gen. Yoav Mordechai, the chief Israeli spokesman. "They are exploiting crowded residential urban areas." With a population density of 12,000 per square mile, everywhere is crowded. The reason bad guys use civilians as human shields is because it works ~ because the good guys do everything possible to avoid hurting innocent bystanders. There are terrorists in Hamas (the government of the Gaza Strip) but over 40% of the population is young children. And most adults aren't terrorists either.

In five days, 37 Gaza civilians have been killed ~ I've read the Old Testament ~ it's an eye for an eye, not 12 eyes for an eye. As many ten Israelis have been wounded, so they wounded 720 Palestinians (again with that funky math). Makes you wonder who the bad guys really are. Israel seems to want to eliminate the Palestinian people. Every year on Yom HaShoah, Israel remembers the Holocaust victims, perhaps they should reconsider their own actions. It's time they stop. Israel must stop treating the Palestinians the way the Nazis treated their families. Shouldn't God's Chosen People be better than this?

Happy Halfiversary!

My son Joe got married six-months ago today to Lynn, a wonderful woman who has the energy and patience for him (and that's saying a lot). They are one of those couples who are so obviously perfect for each other that you end up saying, "Awwww" or "Ewww" depending on how romantically inclined you are.

Lynn hates to be the center of attention in a large group, so it's no surprise that they didn't have a huge "traditional" wedding. Instead, they were wed on a lakeshore with six guests. After the wedding, we changed out of our dress-up clothes into hiking clothes. They chose to celebrate the formal beginning of their life together by casually hiking up a mountain.

Those puppies, Gelato & Pizzelle

It was appropriate. They've known each other three years this week. In that time they've moved four times, including a move from Minnesota to Colorado with no jobs lined up (I don't think I've ever been that brave). They've dealt with Joe falling through the ice on the Mississippi River ~ honestly, I don't know who that stressed more. They had jobs with shifts misaligned enough that they rarely saw one another. They have puppies whose primary functions in life are chewing up everything, and piddling everywhere (they are getting better ~ but beagles never get mellow). Joe started college. Joe dropped out after a year. Joe takes after his parents. The first job Lynn found after they moved was so bad, she left during orientation, another relationship strain. The job Joe found wasn't bad, but it was another of those "we never see each other" schedules. Yet, they grew stronger.

They didn't want us to have to make a special trip just for their wedding (sometimes, I think they're both a little nuts) so they decided that when we said we were coming to Denver, they'd get married. Lynn & I used to work together (you know what a supportive place that is). So, they knew vacation requests are made months in advance. Unless, of course, Dad turns 50 in Minneapolis four days before Grandpa turns 70 in Phoenix, and a spur-of-the-moment trip to the halfway point (Denver) comes up. We gave them two weeks warning. And they still managed to plan the wedding, on Grandpa's birthday, no less.

They keep jumping these hurdles and climbing these hills and growing ever closer. I've seen Joe mature under Lynn's influence. I've watched Lynn, who had to grow up way too soon, learn to play. They don't just bring out the best in each other, they shore up one another's weak spots. And, together, they climb mountains.

Dream Lake ~ the destination of the wedding day hike ~ is just ahead. This is the
closest picture I have without people, and since I haven't asked for anyone's
 permission to publish their picture, you'll have to make due with this.
And how perfect, to start a marriage with a dream in the heavens
(okay, only 10,000 ft, but who's counting?)

Happy Halfiversary Joe & Lynn. You are a fabulous couple!

I didn't spot this sign at the trailhead
until we got back. Once again, the
fates got to laugh at me.

By the way, Dream Lake is absolutely worth the effort. For a Flatlander, going from 9400 feet elevation to 9900 is a huge an horrible thing. There is no oxygen. None. People say there's less than at sea level but I couldn't find any at all. Halfway up, my lungs jumped out of my chest and rolled done the path looking for oxygen. But, eventually, I made it to the top, preceded by everyone in the group, including my 70-year-old father-in-law.

It was worth it. Dream Lake is breathtaking (in more ways than one). Also, the return trip is exciting. On the way down, I slipped in the snow and landed on my ass. Three. Separate. Times. Because even when you've found the right person and been together twenty-six years, life still has its ups-and-downs.

Happy 91st Birthday!

Chief Petty Officer Yaeger in his brand new uniform.

It is my father's ninety-first birthday. About a month ago he decided it might be time to give up bike-riding, Seriously. A couple of weeks before his ninetieth birthday, he was hospitalized with sepsis. Lots of people were planning to come to his birthday party ~ and we had every reason to worry they'd instead be coming for his funeral. But Dad is tough. He is an ex-marine after all. And that is part of what makes him fascinating. A year-and-a-half ago, eating in a restaurant with Dad, I learned he liked pickled beets. Hmm, mildly surprising. A year ago, he announced he "might not dislike onions after all." Uh-huh. Maybe the Mayans were off by a year? Dad doesn't dislike onions, he hates them with a fiery passion. In their nearly 57 years of marriage, Mom has never been allowed to put a chunk of onions in anything. She can grate in a teaspoon of onion juice, if he doesn't see it (kind of "don't ask, don't tell" onion policy). Within weeks of turning 90, he changed his mind.

Told you they square-danced ~ now it seems cute.

That openness to new things may have something to do with why he's still going strong. He took up skiing in his fifties. Downhill skiing. He bowled & biked until this year. He comes from a generation that expected to slow down at fifty. Dad was just getting started. In the past forty years, in addition to skiing, and going to casinos (he is old, after all) he took ballroom dance lessons with Mom. They took up square-dancing, much to my horror ~ no teenager wants her parents doing that in public. They joined a hiking club. They joined an RV club. They moved into a two-story house that had Dad on a twenty-five foot ladder cleaning out the gutters until he was 86. Mom finally decided they had to move into an apartment because it was the only way to keep him off that damn ladder.

He always been a go-getter. In the summer of 1941, he decided to join the Coast Guard, but he couldn't find the Coast Guard recruiting office, so he joined the Marines. He finished boot camp just in time for Pearl Harbor. He never saw combat, so he insists he's not a hero. It's not that he tried to avoid it, in fact, he tried to be a pilot. But the Marines put him to work maintaining the runways on the base in Samoa. He left the service after The War. Tried civilian life for eight years and went, again, in search of the Coast guard recruiting office. Found the Navy that time. The Navy put him in charge of big guns. And they sent him around the world. Before he left, he met a girl at party back home in Minneapolis. She told him to look her up if ever got to San Francisco. Months later, he got to Frisco, and she had a boyfriend. She convinced her roommate, Ruth, to go out with him. Dad was so nervous (33, ex-Marine, literal world-traveller) that he showed up with friends. He must have said something right, eight months later she married him. At the end of his Naval enlistment, Dad finally found the Coast Guard office. He loved the Coast Guard, stayed there until he had enough years in to retire. He got so good at what he did that the Coast Guard had him teach at the Academy for two years. After retiring from the military, he drove bus around Minneapolis for sixteen years. Then he learned to play.

Dad ~ on his 90th birthday. The W279 is the Eastwind,
the ship that had him spend a summer in Antarctica
(hence, the penguins).

They retired almost twenty-seven years ago. They've travelled all over the country, to Mexico & Canada. Took a Hawaiian cruise. Spent twenty-six winters in Arizona exploring the Southwest. And now, finally, Dad is starting to slow down. Just a little past fifty. Now that he's in his nineties, he wants to learn to use a computer. Oh yeah, he took up Wii bowling, too.



Happy Birthday, Dad! We'll throw you an even bigger party for your hundredth birthday!

Take Back the Holiday!

ENOUGH ALREADY! No more of this nonsense! Black Friday starts earlier each year. Walmart and Toys R Us are opening at 8:00 Thanksgiving evening, Target at 9:00, etc. This is insanity. Half my family works in healthcare, the other half in a combination of retail & hospitality. Obviously, healthcare workers, police & fire people need to work holidays. I understand restaurants and hotels being open on holidays. But who needs to go to Michael's on Thanksgiving? Seriously? You can't wait until tomorrow to get that latch-hook tree-skirt kit? Come Christmas morning, Sophia is not going to know when you bought her VTech Tablet. Aiden will not care that you left Thanksgiving dinner to go buy him a Dreamlight Pillow Pet. He might, however, remember that you weren't there to read a bedtime story.

Have I mentioned Holidays are at my house? We actually like that, it's our choice. The restaurant my husband works at is open most of Thanksgiving for people too lazy to make their own meal. For years now, we've dealt with him not being home until evening. Holiday dinners are already tricky. Now that my parents stopped doing the snowbird thing, they're here for the holidays, and they're old. Really old. "I don't understand why they call it an 'Early Bird Special'. It's served at dinnertime" old. Now the store my niece works at is open Thanksgiving and she may have to be late. My son's store starts Black Friday Thursday evening. A couple more years and it will be impossible to find a time when everyone can be here for dinner.

Peanut prepares for a holiday dinner.
My family may prep differently than yours.

I'm planning for eight to ten people. What on Earth do people with big families do? It is time we Take Back the Holiday! Refuse to shop those Doorbuster Specials. Resist the urge ~ you can do it. Do not shop until normal store hours on Friday. It may take a couple of years ~ but we can win this. We can get our families home for Thanksgiving. Don't shop on Thanksgiving at all. So you forgot the mini-marshmallows, be creative, make a streusel topping instead, or put sugar on it, pull out your blowtorch and have Yam Brulée. Actually, I'm kind of intrigued by yam brulée. Forgot the wine ~ have bourbon instead, it's more American. Forgot the dinner rolls? Tell everyone you've reduced carbs in the meal so we can all have a bigger piece of pie! Who'll argue that?

Can't wait to save thirteen cents on stocking stuffers? Get over it. Buy one less present to make up the difference, we have too much crap anyway. Take Back the Holiday! Don't just not shop. E-mail those corporations and let them know that you have a life and therefore will not be spending money in their stores between 12:01 Thursday and 9:00 Friday so they needn't be open. As sales go down, they'll catch on. Don't you miss holidays where everyone hung out for hours, eating, watching the game, talking about whoever didn't show up? I know I do. Refuse to cooperate with mass-merchandisers (by the way ~ small businesses can't afford to hire the people necessary to be open for twenty-four hours straight, if this becomes the norm, what do they do?). Live your life on your terms. When the L-tryptophan from that turkey dinner kicks in, you should be safely on someone's sofa with your pants unbuttoned, snoring. Do not encourage people to drive to mall while groggy ~ that's dangerous. Take Back the Holiday! It's a matter of public safety.

COOKIE!

I even make cakes that like cookies!
BTW ~ I'm posting this on Joey's
26th birthday.
Happy Birthday, Sweetie!

As Thanksgiving rolls around and the furnace (despite its amazing skin-drying abilities) becomes one of my nearest & dearest, I start thinking about cookies. I like to have at least ten kinds of cookies by Christmas, and at least two candies. I love cookies. I love baking cookies. I love eating cookies (one doesn't become "The Spherical" by shunning sweets). I love experimenting with cookies ~ one of last year's experiments, a cookie that was supposed to be green and red, turned out so ugly it was dubbed "reindeer turds". At least it tasted good. One year, again trying to get red & green, I created a cookie that looked like  moldy, raw hamburger. Even the reindeer turds were more appetizing. One creation, the stained glass cookie, was beautiful. It really was. It tasted like food coloring. Blech.

Oh no! The aliens have arrived!

This year, I've already tried two experiments, in my first batch no less. Candy corn and salted peanuts make a tasty combination, so I thought candy corn in peanut butter cookies, sprinkled with salt instead of sugar, would be wonderful, plus, the cheery fall colors would make a terrific Thanksgiving cookie. I was wrong. Candy corn melts. I knew it would, just not quite so much. Instead of a cheery fall cookie, we were invaded by aliens. Really nasty tasting aliens.

The second experiment worked much better, except I forgot to take a picture. Peanut butter and bacon cookies! Since it was an Elvis inspiration, I think I'll call them King's Cookies. They were nummilicious. I still need to work on the proportions, but it's definitely a keeper. As I progress through my Christmas baking, I'll keep you apprised of the successes and disasters. Especially the disasters, they're usually much more entertaining. Seriously, I wish I had a picture of the moldy-raw-hamburger cookies, you'd be amazed that a cookie could look that bad.

Happy Veteran's Day!

August Johnson ~
my Grandpa & favorite doughboy

Did you ever wonder why Veteran's Day is November 11? Well, before World War II, it was called Armistice Day and celebrated in the signing of the armistice that ended the war-to-end-all-wars. The treaty ending World War I was signed November 11, 1918 at 11:11am. When, less then twenty-five years later, we were enmeshed in another world war, the name was changed. So that's why Veteran's Day is not on a glorious summer day when we could have a picnic ~ no one wanted to stretch that war out eight more months. Deal with it.

Grandma & Grandpa really believed that was THE war-to-end-all-wars. Imagine how horrible for them when they sent their sons off to fight in yet another global battle? Actually, because the two were only 23 years apart (for Americans, for Europeans it was 21) some men got to fight in both, heck, WWI infantry who stayed in and became officers could still have been active duty for Korea. Yegads!

Back to Veteran's Day ~ it was changed to honor all vets. Some folks (who hate having their mail disrupted) think it should be merged with Memorial Day, but Memorial Day honors the fallen, those men & women who died in service to our country. What about those who served, who did their duty, and had to spend (hopefully) decades dealing with what they saw? That is what today is for. This is not the day to get on a high-horse about everything that is wrong with the military. Most everyone who served did so because they love their country, because they love freedom, because they want those freedoms to be available to their children.

Francis Yaeger ~
my father & favorite jarhead

To everyone who has ever served, I offer a heartfelt "Thank you" because, overall, America is a great country. It is fabulous to live in a country where I can publicly say, "I think the president is a short-sighted dipshit" and I only have to worry about offending people. I do not have to worry about being "disappeared" or "re-educated" as folks in some countries. This is a pretty terrific concept. If you don't like America, you can say so. You can run for office to try to change what you don't like. You can campaign for someone you believe will fix things. You can do all of these things because someone was willing to put on a uniform and defend with his life, your right to disagree. For a lot of reasons, not the least of which is my fondness for debate, I really appreciate our vets. Thanks ~ all of you. Happy Veteran's Day!

Shasta Embarrassed Herself

Peanut, the early days

I have a cat in my face. It's easier to type without one, but Peanut absolutely, positively must sit on the mousepad. He's always loved to do that. When he was a baby it was gosh-darned adorable. But now that he is a fully-grown ten-pound cat, he's in the way. He doesn't care. He just gives me that patented, "If you really loved me, you'd let me sit on the keyboard" and rubs my face. Every movement sends a cloud of soft fur into the air. He is adorable, in an annoying way. Peanut is part kitten, part puppy, part little brother. Kittens are playful; puppies are cuddly; little brothers are (I hear) a pain in the neck. In no way at all is he part cat. Cats are cool, sophisticated and more than a little condescending.

Shasta is all cat. Any love she gives is strictly on her own terms. And you'd better be appropriately appreciative or you won't get any for weeks. She shuns better than the Amish. Humans have their uses, she'll acknowledge, for instance, we're much better than she at opening Fancy Feast. That is our primary function, cleaning litter boxes is second. As long as we remember our place, we get to live. Peanut doesn't care, he just wants his belly rubbed. In other words, just like my children, my cats have very distinct personalities. Despite (or maybe because of) this, they are super close. Peanut seems to think Shasta is Mom. Shasta thinks Peanut is her pet, although he does embarrass her, after a particularly clumsy move, she looks away as though to say, "I don't know you." It is very important to Shasta that she always be elegant & dignified.

Shasta, the way she prefers we think of her.

One thing cats really like to do is hunt. Peanut hunts Shasta ~ if she's in the mood to play, they chase each other around the house, then wrestle until Shasta has a couple of paws-ful of Peanut fur, then she's ready to quit. Peanut is rowdier and therefore, usually, the instigator. But this morning, Shasta started the fight. She was atop the china hutch (the tallest piece of furniture, natch). She saw Peanut on the floor and hopped to the bookcase, the entertainment center then, thud, skid, crash ~ she landed most clumsily behind a chair. When she reappeared, her tail was huge. I commented on its size, and Dave replied, "What do you expect, the floor just kicked her ass."

Voting: Privilege and Responsibility

Great Hall Ellis Island

As Americans, we have a moral responsibility occasioned upon us by the privilege of voting. We are the first country in modern times to put running the country entirely in the hands of its people. That is an awesome (as in jaw-dropping) power. Many of the people who came here willingly, came because their homelands gave no power at all to the people. There was a time when anyone could come to America (more on that in a future post) the trouble was getting permission to leave the old country. People came because they wanted to choose their future. The American Dream for nearly every previous generation, was the possibility that, with hard work and careful saving, one could own a home ~ not a McMansion on five acres, a house on a standard city lot ~ and the amazing opportunity to have a say in who made the laws.

Part of that dream included responsibility. No one expected a free ride. No one really wanted a free ride, there is dignity in providing for oneself. There is dignity in meeting one's responsibility. Voting is one of those responsibilities. We cannot sit idly by and complain about the country going to Hell in a Handbasket (as a child I wondered about this Helena Hanbiscuit and why people always seemed mad when they talked about her) if we won't even vote.

Tuesday, I worked as an Election Judge. I sat in one spot from 7:00 AM until 8:00 PM, taking one quick break at the end to cast my own ballot. I spent the entire day registering voters. Thirteen hours registering voters. One-third of the votes cast in that precinct were by people who registered on Election Day. Many states don't have that option because they are afraid of voter fraud. Minnesota routinely has one of the highest voter turn-outs in the country and the Same Day Registration is a significant factor inthat. As the forms are inspected after the fact, when it is too late to undo the fraudulent vote ~ they discover almost no bad applications. In other words, the fears of those who would forbid Same Day Registration are unfounded.

What I noticed among those people registering was that nearly all of them fell into one of three groups:

A) Somehow, inadvertently dropped from the roster. People who had lived and voted here for years, lost into computer oblivion. Would you deny them the right to vote because they were screwed over by a computer?
B) Poor people ~ like the homeless guy who didn't know upon whose couch he'd spend the winter so he couldn't pre-register. His kindhearted friend vouched that yes, for the time being, homeless guy lives here. (N.B. in Minnesota, you must vote at a specific polling place based on your residence) Poor people whose rental was condemned after the cut-off for pre-registration and may have found a new place mere days before the election. Poor people like the grandma who moved in days ago to avoid a state-run nursing home. Poor people like a pregnant girl whose boyfriend ran when the stick turned blue and grandpa just took her in. Fate just kicked them around and now the state should do it again?
C) Educated, entitled, middle-class folks too lazy to register in advance (Doesn't it happen when I move? Not if you don't tell us, dumbass.) Or who can't grasp the whole voting where they live concept (Well, I work over here, this is easier)

Guess which group is least likely to have the right paperwork? You guessed "C"? Why, you're brilliant! Don't feel bad when I can't help them. A & B on the other hand. . . I had a mother come in with her son and his birth certificate, because his ID had just been stolen ~ actually, she just had to vouch for him. I had dozens of people come in with state issued ID's with a correct address and an armload of back-up proof, just in case. Getting a new ID costs money, we had families come in with one person who had changed the ID, vouching for the six who hadn't yet. I had more than one adolescent Hmong come in with Mom, Dad, Grandma & and Auntie to fill out all their forms and act as translator. I had a couple of newly Naturalized Citizens and a lot of newly minted adults casting their first vote.

Statue of Liberty

I felt privileged to assist them. They were so eager to vote that I found myself trying desperately to get them registered. We almost always found a way. The vouching option is a Godsend ~ a registered voter in your precinct can sign your application and vouch that they know you and you do live nearby. People came back with boyfriends, wives, grandpas, cousins, even a landlord was willing to come in. And then the vouchers may as well vote, since they're already at the poll; some of them I'm sure wouldn't have otherwise. All those folks so eager to vote reminded me of how great America is. Thank you, voters.

The Time Has Come: the Electoral College Must Die

I'm sure the Founding Fathers thought it was a great idea ~ create an "electoral college" so that Americans could indirectly elect their president. Having a group of specially chosen Electors would ensure that poor, uneducated Americans wouldn't make a bad choice for president. They also thought slavery wasn't so bad. They were smart men, bold men, brave men ~ they weren't infallible.

So, now, in order to become president, one needs 270 electoral votes. The eleven states with the highest populations (California, Texas, Florida, New York, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Georgia, Michigan, North Carolina and New Jersey) have exactly 270 electoral votes, and whoever gets the majority of each of those states gets all their votes.  Majority in this case is 50% plus one, not 2/3 or more. Based on the votes cast in those eleven states ~ we could have elected Mickey Mouse for president with less than thirty-three million votes.

I am a firm believer in the concept of one man ~ one vote. So where's my presidential vote? Living in Minnesota, every presidential vote I have ever cast has gone to the Democrat, regardless of which oval I colored. Even then, it hasn't counted, no one has needed Minnesota's Electoral votes in my day. Nearly three million people in Minnesota voted for president on Tuesday, none of them mattered. We could have all voted the Dylan/Prince ticket, and maybe we should have. We consistently have 70% voter turnout, we never get a real vote. This year, 55% of all Minnesotans voted, for state offices, for amendments, but not for president. Roughly one in four Californians went to the polls, but four of four Californians counts when the Electoral votes are being dispersed so that 25% packs a mighty wallop.

That is so not right. We should all get a vote. Barack Obama won the election with 51% of the popular vote and 61% of the Electoral vote. If you don't think that disparity is a big deal, look up the 2000 election results.  I mentioned that you only need to sweep the top eleven states to win ~ the scarier fact is that the other thirty-nine do not have enough votes (only 268 combined). Thirty-nine states! It's time to get rid of the more-than-outmoded Electoral College ~ write your Representative and Senators.


(NB: The figures are based on data from Election Results and 2010 Census)

Joy in Faith ~ Delighting in God

St Patrick's Cathedral, Manhattan

I've spewed a lot of words against our current Archbishop and realize this could mislead people. I love my religion. The opening hymn at Mass this morning was "Here I Am" and as I sang (probably off-key, but God doesn't care, He gave me this voice) the chorus, "Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard You calling in the night. I will go, Lord, if You lead me. I will hold Your people in my heart." I was overjoyed. If I could maintain that love for all His people that I feel in Mass, I might not have to worry when the boss calls me into a private meeting.

The Catholic religion is filled with beauty, glory, God's love. But, while the Truth is His, the organization is peopled with, well, people. The Pope is infallible on doctrinal matters, the Archbishop is not the Pope ~ nor is a state amendment Catholic doctrine.

When in doubt, I ask God for an answer, well sometimes He whomps me upside o' the head with a spiritual 2x4 ~ I can't see it but I sure can feel it. For instance, sitting in Mass, distracted by the caliber of the lector, I actually heard, out loud, "I don't see you offering to do it."and the voice was so powerful I felt the vibration. No one else around me did. I took the hint and lectored for six years. Sometimes, though, sometimes He's subtle and I can't figure out what He's saying.  I suspect that sometimes we just don't want to hear the answer, and I pray His patience holds out. We're a stubborn species.

Anyway, just because I don't always agree with the people in charge over what is God's and what is Caesar's, I'm not about to walk away from my Church. I know Christ is present in the Eucharist, I can't walk away from that. In fact, I pray that everyone will find their way back to the One True Faith. Actually, I pray that God will bring everyone home. Andrew Greeley gives a nice explanation about why Catholics stay Catholic even when disagreeing.

Chapel of the Holy Cross
Sedona, Arizona

For years, Catholics evangelized differently, some folks went around telling everyone how evil they were, "Join us or go to hell!" they said. We were odd, unique even, we evangelized by throwing a big party, with food, raffles, bingo & beer and said, "Come join us! God is loving!" We need to go back to that old school Catholic evangelism.

Catholicism has inspired so many through the centuries. Detractors complain of the time & money put into beautiful buildings not understanding why we can't pray in something utilitarian. We can, of course. God hears our prayers in cathedrals, traffic jams, schools, in cities, on mountaintops. The churches are beautiful because the God's love is beautiful. They are humble mankind's attempt to give glory to God. Also, pretty pictures in stained glass are useful for children and those with ADD, while their thoughts will hop to 34 topics in an hour, at least some of them will land on the windows & the statuary and therefore stay kinda sorta on topic.

The prayers are beautiful, too. St Thomas Aquinas wrote Tantum ergo Sacramentum, the most popular English name would be Down in Adoration Falling.  There's also the Memorare:

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.

She always answers. Sometimes you feel a little strength from her, sometimes a lot. Like any good mother, Mary only gives you as much help as you really need. There's an old joke about her that says quite a bit about how much joy there is to be found in the Catholic faith. 

One day, St. Peter approached Jesus and handed him the keys to heaven, saying, "I quit, Lord." 

Stunned, Jesus asks, "Why? You do a great job and have all the power to decide who gets in. It's up to you to keep the sinners out." 

"I know, Lord. But it's your mother, every time I turn someone away, she lets them in the back door!"

Sacre Coeur, Paris

That's what the Catholic Church is, you see.  We aren't just a religion, we are family, God's huge sprawling, brawling, loving family. That's why we want everyone to join us, we are all God's children, thus, we are all part of this loud, bossy, devout, warm family. Come to the next reunion, there's a big one every Sunday, close by and the food can't be beat.