This illustration was the frontispiece for today’s Order of Service (often referred to as “the bulletin”) this morning at St. Paul’s. I remember when some generous parishoners gave this exciting piece to St. Paul’s. It was hung in the narthex. A parent said it terrified her child, so it was moved. I think that parent missed a powerful teachable moment. Children get metaphors and often are not as literal thinkers as adults are.
It’s unlikely in the unlikely event that I should be tried for a crime, that a jury of my peers would be seated. Old, white, middle class women? I think not.
First of all, in this state if you are my age you are excused from serving on a jury. I think that’s a huge mistake. Here we are: experienced women, wise, learned, retired, former nurses, teachers, secretaries, having raised many children, available and willing.
Originally, the “founding fathers” envisioned old, white, wealthy men making up juries. Today, that describes Donald Trump’s peers.
The judge set to try his case was appointed to the bench by him.
And in Dade county, who will make up the jury pool? I am thinking more of a sampling of that population rather rich, white men. I hope so.
Trump’s attorney Alina Habba, who is not part of the team representing him in the classified documents case, told Fox News on Sunday that Trump would not plan to seek a plea deal — “especially when he’s not done anything wrong,” she added. “He would never admit guilt.”
People who cannot see that they ever made a mistake, small or great, terrify me. There are always extenuating circumstances, rules that make no sense so they need not be honored.
“Honor” is a meaningful word here. Every screws up. Owning up is the honorable thing. Saying sorry is the automatic response for most of us.
When a boy grows up never having had his errors pointed out to him by loving parents, he becomes a narcissist. A colleague who is a narcissist is damn annoying. When it’s the most powerful man in the world, it is literally earth-shaking.
American English dialects are very rich.
My Oklahoma forebears used a number of expressions that are sort of “black.” A’hm fixin’ ta fix dinner. “Liable,” came out lobble. You’re lobble to git in trouble.” Directly” pronounced d’recly and meaning immediately or soon. Ah’ll be there d-recly.
I had a terrible time learning how to spell in school because of such pronunciations.
My maternal grandmother used the expression, “Different ones say,” to mean she had heard some gossip. My Aunt Caroline’s favorite exclamation was, “Well, ah’ll swan.” I have no idea where that came from.
Mother used to say, “It’s a loblolly out there,” meaning it’s a muddy mess.” Turns out, that is an acceptable expression and I have taken to using it myself.
I would love to read a book on the history of some African-American pronunciations and phraseology. Fascinating. And neither right or wrong. Ask. Himself. I think they are based on what they heard their slave owners say. “My mama she come home late.” He hurt hisself. “Gwine-uh” for going to.
It’s interesting to me that I can often tell the color of a customer service rep’s skin when we’re talking on the phone. Does that make me racist?
I have had the same simple printer for about ten years. It pretty much meets all my needs. I did like my old one better. It printed excellent photos on glossy paper.
This one, I use to print out the NY Tims crossword every morning and my church service leaflet every Sunday. That’s about it.
Recently, I wasn’t getting good, clean copies, so I pressed the head-cleaner maintenance option. I got an ominous message saying that printing would not be available until I replaced the maintenance box. It was full.
I had never heard of a maintenance box.
I was clueless. Who new the after ten years and running the maintenance option about once a year I would need to empty the trash, so to speak.
But, of course, you cannot do that. You must buy a new maintenance box.
I researched this online and was able to order his esoteric box, to be delivered the following day.
Indeed it was. It even came with pictorial instructions and included a screwdriver and a plastic ziplock to put the messy old box in.
I did this, but not without first getting black smudge all over my hands.
Right as rain, printing resumed. Learn something new every day.
I often go for early-morning walks around here, whatever the weather. I like to hand slaughter snails eating their way though my garden plot.
And this morning in the rain, I discovered a couple more plants I thought I had left behind: a row of Katsuras with their heart-shaped leaves. And I remembered how after looking everywhere for one, Dave and accidentally found one at Al’s in Woodburn and loaded it into the kayak trailer and planted it in the front yard.
And lilacs in bloom. They smell wonderful in the rain.
Often, people are the most interesting sights.
Today, in the rain, an old man (Where I live, “old” is superfluous.) in long shorts, Birkenstocks with socks, a yellow slicker, and a tiny dog dressed in elaborate rain gear made me smile. We stopped and chatted for a moment. I thought snapping a picture would be invasive. Just take my word for it. Old people are more interesting than I had ever imagined.