Friday's Cat

Perhaps she dreams of her brother, Yoda, frolicking in Heaven. Corrected in response to Ms Candide's comment

Idée d’jour

All art is autobiographical; the pearl is the oyster's autobiography.
— Federico Fellini, film director, and writer (1920-1993)

Prayer for the Church

Lord, do something about your Church.
It is so awful, it is hard not to feel ashamed of belonging to it.
Most of the time it seems to be all the things you condemned:
hierarchical, conventional, judgmental, hypocritical,
respectable, comfortable, moralising, compromising,
clinging to its privileges and worldly securities,
and when not positively objectionable, merely absurd.

Lord, we need your whip of cords.
Judge us and cleanse us,
challenge and change us,
break and remake us.

Help us to be what you called us to be.
Help us to embody you on earth.
Help us to make you real down here,
and to feed your people bread instead of stones.
And start with me.

— Rt. Rev. Dr. Jeffrey John, Dean of the Cathedral of St. Alban's
I originally read this prayer at Rev. Sarah Dylan Breuer's web-log.

Idée d’jour

Men always want to be a woman's first love – women like to be a man's last romance.
— Oscar Wilde, writer (1854-1900)

Zen d’jour

For forty years I've been selling water
By the bank of a river. Ho, ho!
My labors have been wholly without merit.
— Sogaku Harada (Zen Calendar, © Workman Press)

On the Vestry

I was elected to the Cathedral's Vestry this past Sunday.

That's a statement that might require a bit of explanation for a non-Episcopalian. The simplest explanation is to say the vestry is equivalent to the church board. It might also be equivalent to a city or town council.

In other words, a highly political operation. This group of twelve, plus clergy, primarily discuss financial matters.

My running joke has been that when you want someone to leave the church, you put them on the vestry.

I have more than a passing acquaintance with church politics, having served for nine years on the vestry of a mission church in south OKC. I also served two terms (six years) on the Diocesan Council (sort of a vestry for the church in the whole state). I had a pretty good idea what I was getting myself in for.

Ninety minutes to two hours of cussing and discussing. The subversion of Robert's Rules of Order. People swallowing great honking whales, yet straining at gnats.

Org.

In fact, the last time I served on a vestry was so painful, I did in fact leave the church because of it.

This happened at that mission church in south OKC. I had served on vestry there for some time. I had been active in the church for well over a decade. I’d been faithful in attendance, was a member of the choir, and had edited the church newsletter.

The mission had come perilously close to having to close its doors, and I perceived myself to be one of the handful whose effort helped keep the doors open.

Mary Ellen and I married in that church. I feel it safe to say I was well known and well-liked by most.

The church called Fr Paul a year or so before Mary & I got married. After he had been there a couple of years, he asked for deacon. The bishop assigned Bill S to our church. Fr Paul asked Bill S to work with Mary on the music program.

Now, a little explanation of church polity may be in order. As you might expect, the priest is charge of all matters related to the worship service, including music and music selection. Often – especially in mission churches – the priest delegates that responsibility to the organist and/or choir master. Mary was the organist and choir master at this church.

The problem was, many in the congregation wanted to hear “the old standards”, and Mary wanted to mix the old with the new. And, as I learned, Mary was not a master of compromise.

So, Fr Paul has delegated the responsibility for the music to Deacon Bill with the understanding that the deacon will work with Mary toward a compromise. Problem was, Deacon Bill wasn’t much for compromise either. He believed in issuing orders.

The two of them got in a shouting match in the choir loft, and I was the sole witness. Deacon Bill was literally in Mary’s face. And raised his hand to her.

I thought this was unacceptable. I reported the incident to Fr Paul, who seemed inclined to sweep it under the rug. I then went to the vestry.

Deacon Bill was at the vestry meeting, and denied that anything of the sort had happened. And the vestry supported him.

They believed the guy with the dog collar, who had been there two to three months, over the guy wearing a normal shirt, who had been there 10 to 15 years.

I felt I had little choice but to resign from the vestry. Mary turned in her resignation as organist/choirmaster at the same time. Few would blame me if I never ran for vestry again in my life.

So, why in the world would I accept a nomination now?

It has to do with the call to the ministry. In visiting with the Dean of the Cathedral, he has made clear that service on the vestry was almost required to be considered. My understanding is that this would give the leaders of the Cathedral a chance to see my skills, and so on.

So, here I am. The situation, thankfully, is different. I am the relative new-comer, having been at the Cathedral a little over two years. And, already I’m prepared to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

Wish me luck. I need it.

Review: Stupid, Stupid Rat-Tails

Did I mention that I like to read comic books?

I was reminded of this recently when Real Live Preacher made a comment which indirectly questioned the literary quality of Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. Along with several other commentators, I expressed the opinion that the series was literature.

Anyway, I've got boxes full of the things. I started out reading the standard DC line — Supes, Batman, etc. Then, Brother Dave introduced me to the unique Marvel vision. Tellingly, the reward of a Marvel comic book was the incentive for me to wash the dishes when I was 13 or 14. At the time, Marvel was reprinting classic stories from their beginnings - Fantastic Four, Doctor Strange, The Hulk - in an anthology series. I was hooked from the first Kirby splash page for Fantastic Four.

The mid 70s to early 80s were new glory days for comic books: Frank Miller was re-inventing Daredevil, people were re-discovering Will Eisner (thanks to Kitchen Sink's reprints of The Spirit), and some saw comics as an investment. At an average of $3 - $5 a pop, I do have a considerable investment in those little magazines.

Comic books as an investment went bust somewhere in the mid-to-late 80s, when DC and Marvel both glutted the market with product (much of it negligible at best). But I continued finding value in them, especially the independents, like Terry Moore's Stangers in Paradise (Self-published by Abstract Studios).

In 1991, Jeff Smith founded Cartoon Books in order to self-publish his epic fantasy, Bone. It was a story he'd been imagining since high school, with a definite beginning, middle, and end. It's a story that was completed just last year. It is available in nine volumes, or in this single "complete" edition.

Here's the standard synopis, from the inside front cover of one of the individual issues:

After being run out of Boneville, the three Bone cousins, Fone Bone, Phoney Bone and Smiley Bone are separated and lost in a vast, uncharted desert.

One by one, they find their way into a deep, forested valley filled with wonderful and terrifying creatures..

It is not necessary to go into more detail about the plot here. The collection under consideration may be read as a "prequel", but it takes place outside of the main story, and may be read indepently of it.

The main character is Big Johnson Bone, who is rather fond of telling somewhat convoluted versions of his adventures. These adventures, like the story itself, are in the "tall tale" tradition (e.g. Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyon). It fact, one sequence has Big Johnson riding a tornado — a probable nod to the Pecos Bill stories.

For me, part of the humor is that something incredible occurs in the action just as Big Johnson is telling one of his tales. Which could lead one to conjecture that there is some truth in Big Johnson's story.

Another source of the humor is the simian side kick, Mr. Pip, whom Big Johnson wins in a poker game. Mr. Pip's running commentary will be appreciated by anyone in the working week. "Why didn't I listen to my mother and join the circus?"

Recommended: Stupid, Stupid Rat-tailsby Jeff Smith.

Idée d’jour

If only I may grow:
firmer, simpler — quieter, warmer.
— Dag Hammarskjold

Idée d’jour

From the outset your own nature is pure.
— The P’u-sa-chieh

Haunted by Accordions

Accordion; (Click to enlarge)

We were haunted by accordions.

I believe it began with my taking the above picture of an accordion I have at home, which I took for Fiona's amusement.

Then, I decided to make my bi-annual pilgrimage to the Diocesan Center of the 7th Day Atheist Aztec Baptist Synod's, in the mystical land of Tulsa.

In other words, I went to visit the Rt Rev Dr Omed.

As we left, the good doctor informed his loving spouse that he and I were going to do "Poet Guy" stuff.

As it turned out, "Poet Guy" stuff involved visiting various temples of the Cargo Goddess.

It was at the second temple that we happened upon a booth that had more than a half-dozen accordions. Below, you see your correspondent holding one. You may be able to make out the squeeze box in the upper right-hand corner as well. This booth also had what I believe were concertinas. One of which was marked as being from 1926, and was priced at $85. Man, it's a good thing I didn't have that much cash with me.


(Click to enlarge)
Later, we went to the Salvation Army store. Tulsa's Salvation Army Store has a very fine selection. And there we found yet another accordion.

In the picture of me, you can see Fiona's projected anima. It's that pale circle of light near the treble keys .

We did see one more accordion, on the way back to the Diocesan Center. It was a prop in an restaurant window.

We were haunted by accordions.

Haiku: 15.Jan.05

The white fox moon,
a hands-width above the sky-line,
is a yellow smile.

Friday's Cat

I enjoy playing fetch with DJ. When she’s ready, she brings her rabbit-fur mouse to my chair. If I ignore her, she dumps it in my lap. Or she makes a slight small sound.

I toss it to different areas of the room. Most of the time, I toss it through the doorway that connects the living room to a hall, because that’s the furthest distance without obstructions.

I love watching her bring the mouse back to me. Her head is erect, almost proud. Her legs dance in tandem concert. Her ears tilt back at a 45° angle.

This game can go on for well over an hour.

When she’s done, she just drop the mouse in the floor and wander off elsewhere in the house.

This is my favorite time of the evening, next to the time she curls in my lap as I pet her.

Zen d’jour

No matter how much
I contemplate this tea bowl
It is still — a tea bowl!
Thus I arrive in San Francisco.
— Soen Nakagawa (from Workman Press' "Zen Calendar")

Review: Careless Love by Madeline Peyroux

I originally talked briefly about this cd when I bought as a birthday present to myself, back in November of last year. I've been listening to the first several tracks almost every morning, courtesy of my CD player/alarm clock.

The CD features songs by a wide range of singer-songwriters (L Cohen, Dylan, Hank Williams). Ms Peyroux is backed by competent jazz quartet (piano, bass, guitar, & drum), which has grown on me with repeated listenings. When I first wrote about the cd, I was not complimentary of this jazz combo — I think I called in MOR night-club jazz. After repeated listenings, I believe I was unfair. There's colorations in the arrangements I didn't notice in my initial, somewhat superficial, first listen.

It may sound like a gimmick, but there's a couple of tracks where she sounds like Billie Holliday and a couple of others where she sounds like Nina Simone or Sarah Vaughn.

However, there's more to it than gimmick. She's got some chops in her own voice too. And unerring instincts in how to interpret the song. Right now, my favorite tracks are 1 and 5. The opening track is a song by Leonard Cohen, "Dance Me to the End of Love"; this is one where she sounds like Lady Day. The quartet plays a hopping little figure (based on a similar figure in the original), then she dives in: "Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin / Dance me through the panic til I'm gathered safely in / Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove / Dance me to the end of love."

Track five, "Between the Bars" by Steven Paul Smith, is an almost tuneless thing which is nevertheless chilling. After hearing it several times, I've come to think of it as the bottle singing a lullaby to an alcoholic:

Drink up baby, stay up all night
Things you could do, you won't but you might
The potential you'll be you'll never see
Promises you'll only make

Drink up with me now and forget all about
Pressures of days, do what I say
And I'll make you ok, drive them away
Images stuck in your head

Another favorite is her cover of Dylan's "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go." I hear a melancholy in Ms. Peyroux's version which is not immediately apparant in Dylan's original (from his classic Blood on the Tracks). Dylan's original is bouncy, almost joyous in performance — you can almost hear him laughing at himself. There's a funhouse irony going on; the bounciness of the music seems to belie the sadness implicit in the lyrics. That is to say, you would not expect a song with the word "Lonesome" in the title to be this bouncy.

But Ms. Peyroux's cover takes its time with the song. For example, she lingers just the appropriate amount of time on the final word in the line "[love's] never been so easy, nor so slow." This is not to say that her cover is bluesy; nor do I mean to imply that her cover is superior to Dylan's original. In my humble, it just adds an additional tint to the song.

Madeline Peyroux, Careless Love. Recommended.

Almost Not A Damned Dime

I have not written much about politics of late, as it is just too depressing. A majority of the electorate voted for our Fearless Leader. It might be fair to say that many voted thinking this demonstrated some form of support for our troops Over There. It might be fair to say many votes were motivated by fear of what the other guy might do.

Regardless of the reasons, the Handsome One has received his coronation inauguration as our Supreme Leader. He claims he sees his selection by a majority of the electorate as a positive reforendum on his policies — past, present, and future. If any other politician made this statement, we would discount it as typically hyperbolic rhetoric. When our Fearless Leader says something like this, there's a fairly decent chance that he actually believes it.

Just like there's the chance that he sincerely believes the High Holy One put him in office so we would have resolute leadership following the 9/11 attacks.

Gah. The man is bad for my blood pressure. I know it's not healthy, but I have the same response to his visige and voice that many on the right had to Bill Clinton. My blood boils. I'm not quite at the point that I believe the Handsome One is evil incarnate (that honor belongs to K.Rove), but I can easily imagine a certain contract being in a secure safety deposit box.

In the icy bowels of Hell.

Many have called for an economic boycott today, a Not One Damned Dime Day, and I had intended to observe said boycott. Unfortunately, I overslept this morning and was unable to eat breakfast at home (as is my common practice). My blood sugar can be tricky, and I relunctantly decided to buy something for breakfast. So, I have spent a little over twenty dimes.

I hope the Fearless Leader chokes on ’em. (Note to any lurking SS agents: this statement is made with satirical intent, and is not intended as an actual threat on any world leader, actual or imagined)

Idée d’jour

That man is truly good who knows his own dark places.
— Beowulf

Idée d’jour

Nothing is more dangerous than an idea when it's the only one you have.
— Emile Chartier, philosopher (1868-1951)

Pooh Day

Today is the birthday of A.A. Milne, the author of the Winnie the Pooh books. Although Pooh's birthday is October, my almanac notes that today is "Pooh Day" More about the bear of little mind may be read at this excellent site.

I read the first Pooh book when I was in 3rd grade, if memory serves. I do recall that the books became excellent friends.

Eyore has become my sigil in my maturing years.

Haiku d’jour

The smoke
is now making
the first sky of the year
— Issa

In which our heroine comments...