I think it's Thursday. Could be Wednesday or Friday, but I think it's Thursday. Hard to tell here in Jubilado Land. I mean it's not like back in the office when you knew it was Thursday because Sally was wearing the grey slacks and blue sweater ensemble that marked the day. Here there are no markers. I will know, however, when it's Saturday. Saturday we move.
Wish I could say I was looking forward to it, but without electricity and no set date to have it turned on, all I've got are apprehensions. I mean, what does one do in the dark for twelve hours of every twenty four? Especially knowing that behind that blank Sony screen there's probably a good football game being played and Alan Shore is winning another case for the good guys on Boston Legal. Sure when you were a kid it was fun to read comics under the covers with a flashlight, but I'm reading The Raj Quartet in paperbacks and these books have print so small I'd need a kleig under there. Okay, I'll give you ghost stories around the campfire, those are always fun, but you know, it's raining most nights here. I suppose we could sit around the stove, put some marshmallows on a stick and fake it, but really, does that sound like fun to you? And going to the new fridge for a snack? Hey, there's nothing like warm milk on your morning cereal and toast that isn't toasted smeared with runny butter. Worse still, no ice cubes for evening cocktails? Puleeeeze, perish the thought.
Okay, forget that. Truth is I'm only ranting for fun. Actually I'm getting anxious to go. Antsy even. The sooner we get there the sooner the moving part will be over. The moving part is the real pain. Yup, antsy, twitchy, nervous, impatient, that's me. I'm ready to be gone.
Trouble is, it's only Thursday...right?
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Moving Towards The Door
We are on our feet and moving towards the door...of our new house. Is it ready, you might ask if that's the question that occurred to you. Hell no is the answer I might shoot back if you did. And then when you looked askance I'd elaborate, because an askanced look requires elaboration. We are moving in without electricity, I'd add or something of that sort. Union Fenosa our crack power company and a Spanish phrase that means, "we have no clue how to keep up with the rapid growth in Boquete, so we've developed a long list of excuses in lieu of doing anything, one of which is, 'that's not our department'" has told us we will have to wait fifteen days from some arbitrary date they set roughly a few days ago. We, the residents of the house where I am currently residing, and living too, as RTGFKAR would say, do not have fifteen days. We must make way for new residers who are moving in on Christmas Eve morning.
Well, alrighty then! "Let's get this show on the road" is the first cliche that comes to mind and along with "let's get packing" pretty much sums up our mindset and, of course, we like to set our minds using Black and Decker power tools. I set mine on finding coffee and after that it's open to tinkering. So, as soon as I finish this golden gem and a half dozen other bits of professionalcrastination, I'll grab a cardboard box and put something in it. This I'm told is a first step and even the longest of journeys begins with a cardboard box.
Luckily - and if you say luckily rapidly over and over chickens will gather 'round - RTGFKAR's daughter, LTGSKAL, Laura The Gringo Still Known As Laura, is here to help us with the packing and moving because she's on vacation and people on vacation love to help other people move. They also enjoy living in houses without electricity. And, luckily luckily luckily - here they come a-clucking, calm down Gus - our friend Alan has returned from his journey to that bizarre part of the world known as "The States" where uncalled for goings on occur daily and we have the use of both he and his truck. Alan is a little guy, but his truck is a goodly size.
So, ciao for now as we say here in Panama even if we don't know how to spell ciao and we're not Italian. We'll be seeing ya around the campus. The new campus that is.
Well, alrighty then! "Let's get this show on the road" is the first cliche that comes to mind and along with "let's get packing" pretty much sums up our mindset and, of course, we like to set our minds using Black and Decker power tools. I set mine on finding coffee and after that it's open to tinkering. So, as soon as I finish this golden gem and a half dozen other bits of professionalcrastination, I'll grab a cardboard box and put something in it. This I'm told is a first step and even the longest of journeys begins with a cardboard box.
Luckily - and if you say luckily rapidly over and over chickens will gather 'round - RTGFKAR's daughter, LTGSKAL, Laura The Gringo Still Known As Laura, is here to help us with the packing and moving because she's on vacation and people on vacation love to help other people move. They also enjoy living in houses without electricity. And, luckily luckily luckily - here they come a-clucking, calm down Gus - our friend Alan has returned from his journey to that bizarre part of the world known as "The States" where uncalled for goings on occur daily and we have the use of both he and his truck. Alan is a little guy, but his truck is a goodly size.
So, ciao for now as we say here in Panama even if we don't know how to spell ciao and we're not Italian. We'll be seeing ya around the campus. The new campus that is.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Procrastination
I have become a procrastinator. I used to be an amateurcrastinator, but I've recently achieved pro status. This morning I scrambled out of bed at quarter past six and headed to the computer to write this with only that quick stop at the coffee pot to slow me. I thought I'd peek in first at the Denver Post where I read about Denver's impending snow storm and then I headed over to Yahoo news and finally landed on Internet sites Common Dreams, Too Much and Alternet. It's now eight o,clock.
I've learned a lot about Michael Vick - what an idiot - the woman who shot the kid who shot the kids in Colorado, why the rich are getting richer, the democratic presidential race, why J. R. Smith lost his jump shot and a dozen other consequential and inconsequential happenings about the world at large and small, but I've completely lost sight of what I was going to write. Does anybody know? No? Well, no matter I'll think of something. Or, if not, I'll write about nothing which, as you know, remains my favorite topic.
A couple days ago I wrote about a storm. I was premature. (Hmmm, and probably still am if pre-mature is what you are before you reach maturity. What is maturity anyway? Ripeness? I'm ripe, but I've already been picked. Maybe I'm just immature. Childlike not childish Woowoo Charly would say. Whatever, I'm off the track again and plowing through a field of dreams.)We had a storm the night following that storm that made the first one seem like a wuss. (Wuss is a real word. Slang, but a real word. I looked it up. It means wimp. I didn't look up wimp, but I probably should have being right there in the W's and all.) The rain came down so hard I was sure there would be no paint left on our cars in the morning. Luckily they're turtle waxed and those turtles did a damn fine job.
I drove my car, Nikita, with the busted spring on one side making it list to the right, an oil leak and a dead head lamp to The Car Guys, Marcos and Paulino the morning after the storm. They said they'd get right on it. I'm thinking, I'll get it back in time for Christmas. On the way there I had to drive under a telephone pole that was leaning over the road at a 45 degree angle and was threatening to complete its groundward journey at any moment. Several Union Fenosa - our crack power company - employees were leaning on their trucks some fifty yards away looking puzzled as to what to do. They solved the problem fairly quickly though, by blocking the road with yellow crime scene tape. RTGFKAR, who was coming to pick me up at The Car Guys, had to go around the long way. The telephone pole is made of concrete and I'm guessing the rain had so softened the ground that the pole's base had become unstable. Whatever. I'm sure Union Fenosa will get right on that as well. The road should be open again just about the time I get my car back.
And now I remember what I was going to write.
I'm not a complainer. Neither is Woowoo Charly or RTGFKAR. We are easy going, laid back, go with the flow people. This is not a good thing. We need a complainer. Because of our inability to voice our displeasure in any forceful manner, we have a hard time getting anything done correctly and on-time unless we do it ourselves; a thing not always possible. I have a new found appreciation for the "squeaky wheel getting oiled" theory and I'm vowing here and now to get on other people to get things done and no damn excuses. Problem is, I'll probably procrastinate.
I've learned a lot about Michael Vick - what an idiot - the woman who shot the kid who shot the kids in Colorado, why the rich are getting richer, the democratic presidential race, why J. R. Smith lost his jump shot and a dozen other consequential and inconsequential happenings about the world at large and small, but I've completely lost sight of what I was going to write. Does anybody know? No? Well, no matter I'll think of something. Or, if not, I'll write about nothing which, as you know, remains my favorite topic.
A couple days ago I wrote about a storm. I was premature. (Hmmm, and probably still am if pre-mature is what you are before you reach maturity. What is maturity anyway? Ripeness? I'm ripe, but I've already been picked. Maybe I'm just immature. Childlike not childish Woowoo Charly would say. Whatever, I'm off the track again and plowing through a field of dreams.)We had a storm the night following that storm that made the first one seem like a wuss. (Wuss is a real word. Slang, but a real word. I looked it up. It means wimp. I didn't look up wimp, but I probably should have being right there in the W's and all.) The rain came down so hard I was sure there would be no paint left on our cars in the morning. Luckily they're turtle waxed and those turtles did a damn fine job.
I drove my car, Nikita, with the busted spring on one side making it list to the right, an oil leak and a dead head lamp to The Car Guys, Marcos and Paulino the morning after the storm. They said they'd get right on it. I'm thinking, I'll get it back in time for Christmas. On the way there I had to drive under a telephone pole that was leaning over the road at a 45 degree angle and was threatening to complete its groundward journey at any moment. Several Union Fenosa - our crack power company - employees were leaning on their trucks some fifty yards away looking puzzled as to what to do. They solved the problem fairly quickly though, by blocking the road with yellow crime scene tape. RTGFKAR, who was coming to pick me up at The Car Guys, had to go around the long way. The telephone pole is made of concrete and I'm guessing the rain had so softened the ground that the pole's base had become unstable. Whatever. I'm sure Union Fenosa will get right on that as well. The road should be open again just about the time I get my car back.
And now I remember what I was going to write.
I'm not a complainer. Neither is Woowoo Charly or RTGFKAR. We are easy going, laid back, go with the flow people. This is not a good thing. We need a complainer. Because of our inability to voice our displeasure in any forceful manner, we have a hard time getting anything done correctly and on-time unless we do it ourselves; a thing not always possible. I have a new found appreciation for the "squeaky wheel getting oiled" theory and I'm vowing here and now to get on other people to get things done and no damn excuses. Problem is, I'll probably procrastinate.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
A storm raged noisily outside our windows last night.
(Hmmm. I'm a little concerned with the word raged in that sentence. Sure it's a fairly common adjective for storms and this one if it wasn't exactly raging was surely pissed at something, but I wonder if storms really can rage and if they're able to summon up that very human quality can they also conjure other traits and if so, how would we know? I mean, is there a difference between a happy storm and one with a rock in its shoe?)
A storm passed through Boquete last night, (that seems fairly safe) bringing with it lots of rain, high (and low) winds, lightning and thunder. (Okay, hold on, the storm didn't actually bring these things, the storm IS, in fact, these things. I'll have to try again.)
There was a storm last night in Boquete. Please use your acquired knowledge of what a storm is to fill in the details. Make it colorful and imaginative because I wouldn't want to bore you. Talk about the noise for sure, rain, wind, thunder and throw in something about frogs. Frogs are always good. You might even mention the spooky effect lightning has when it flickers by your windows and casts weird momentary shadows on your walls. You might, but you don't have to. You also, if, you're feeling creative, might talk about the dreams that late night storms inspire. Mine, of course, were all about the bridge being washed out, no place to turn around and there's a light in the window of that old castle there on the hill, but yours, well, they might be less predictable. You could also mention how when morning light makes its daily appearance and you can actually see the storm, it looks so much less threatening than you had imagined lying in the dark and listening to it. Oh, and forget snow. There's no snow in my storms. If you want snow, you'll have to have your own storms.
Alrighty then, you have the setting. Now for the story. In the middle of the night, when the thunder clapped loudest, (Clapped? Clapped? Does thunder have hands?) our dog Gus, a fearless defender of all things us, leaped from our bed and raced around the house barking his head off (not literally) in search of the intruder who was making such a loud noise. He does this whenever it thunders, a thing which during the day we find amusing, but is clearly a lot less so any time during the first six hours of the A.M. period. Finding all things ours secure, he circled back to the bed and with a fairly impressive leap of roughly three times his own height he returned to his accustomed place at its bottom, his head lying lightly across my ankles.
And that's it. As you can see this whole story is heavily dependent on your description of the storm so please...make it a good one.
(Hmmm. I'm a little concerned with the word raged in that sentence. Sure it's a fairly common adjective for storms and this one if it wasn't exactly raging was surely pissed at something, but I wonder if storms really can rage and if they're able to summon up that very human quality can they also conjure other traits and if so, how would we know? I mean, is there a difference between a happy storm and one with a rock in its shoe?)
A storm passed through Boquete last night, (that seems fairly safe) bringing with it lots of rain, high (and low) winds, lightning and thunder. (Okay, hold on, the storm didn't actually bring these things, the storm IS, in fact, these things. I'll have to try again.)
There was a storm last night in Boquete. Please use your acquired knowledge of what a storm is to fill in the details. Make it colorful and imaginative because I wouldn't want to bore you. Talk about the noise for sure, rain, wind, thunder and throw in something about frogs. Frogs are always good. You might even mention the spooky effect lightning has when it flickers by your windows and casts weird momentary shadows on your walls. You might, but you don't have to. You also, if, you're feeling creative, might talk about the dreams that late night storms inspire. Mine, of course, were all about the bridge being washed out, no place to turn around and there's a light in the window of that old castle there on the hill, but yours, well, they might be less predictable. You could also mention how when morning light makes its daily appearance and you can actually see the storm, it looks so much less threatening than you had imagined lying in the dark and listening to it. Oh, and forget snow. There's no snow in my storms. If you want snow, you'll have to have your own storms.
Alrighty then, you have the setting. Now for the story. In the middle of the night, when the thunder clapped loudest, (Clapped? Clapped? Does thunder have hands?) our dog Gus, a fearless defender of all things us, leaped from our bed and raced around the house barking his head off (not literally) in search of the intruder who was making such a loud noise. He does this whenever it thunders, a thing which during the day we find amusing, but is clearly a lot less so any time during the first six hours of the A.M. period. Finding all things ours secure, he circled back to the bed and with a fairly impressive leap of roughly three times his own height he returned to his accustomed place at its bottom, his head lying lightly across my ankles.
And that's it. As you can see this whole story is heavily dependent on your description of the storm so please...make it a good one.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Neglected Blog
Sorry Blog Old Sock, that I haven't been around much lately, but more pressing matters have come to the fore. I have dialed you up a few times this past week to stare and wonder, but before I could belt out a note of song, verse or version, something always came up to draft my attention.
"Doc there's someone at the door" was an oft heard phrase this week and is a suggestion to me that I go find out who it is. It appears I am the Chosen One when it comes to door opening around here because I'm Mister Spanish. I've been awarded that title by dint of my great command of that mellifluous language if, by great command I mean having the vocabulary of a retarded, five year old Panamanian with speech impediments. "Hola Senor, Que pasa?" or is it paso?
One guy wants money. His name is Roberto and he has been installing the security bars at the new casa. Another's a body shop guy who is repairing RTGFKAR's car. His name is William, pronounced Wee-yem and he's here to tell us he's finished. We've also had our Landlady, Edith, and her translating cousin, Jackie, neighbor Aurelio,
people who may rent the house after we move and several others who I can't remember because I met them only this week. Had I seen them in a movie in 1978, their names would come instantly to mind. All of the above seem to have arrived at precisely the moment when blog inspiration was circling the room.
I've been further distracted by trips to Daveed, downtown Boquete, work at the new house and a weak mind. All have conspired to keep me blogless until now. I have not, however, been writingless. That is, if tidying up some old things and retyping them into my computer count. I think it does.
What has happened you see, is that several writers including Yers Truly have formed a group to share their work and I've been the most early and often contributor. It's been fun reading stuff from people whose faces are familiar and I've received some nice reviews along the way. I do have paper copies of some of my old stuff but I'm still missing scads. When I think about it, I realize I've been fairly prolific since that last year in Arboles. If any of you out there in Blogland have any bits of my madness lying about, please let me know. Meanwhile there are ten or twelve of my 260 blogs that are rewrite worthy as separate bits so I've got material to work with. After we move and get settled in, my muse has promised new stuff.
And as for you, Senor Blog, I'll keep in touch.
"Doc there's someone at the door" was an oft heard phrase this week and is a suggestion to me that I go find out who it is. It appears I am the Chosen One when it comes to door opening around here because I'm Mister Spanish. I've been awarded that title by dint of my great command of that mellifluous language if, by great command I mean having the vocabulary of a retarded, five year old Panamanian with speech impediments. "Hola Senor, Que pasa?" or is it paso?
One guy wants money. His name is Roberto and he has been installing the security bars at the new casa. Another's a body shop guy who is repairing RTGFKAR's car. His name is William, pronounced Wee-yem and he's here to tell us he's finished. We've also had our Landlady, Edith, and her translating cousin, Jackie, neighbor Aurelio,
people who may rent the house after we move and several others who I can't remember because I met them only this week. Had I seen them in a movie in 1978, their names would come instantly to mind. All of the above seem to have arrived at precisely the moment when blog inspiration was circling the room.
I've been further distracted by trips to Daveed, downtown Boquete, work at the new house and a weak mind. All have conspired to keep me blogless until now. I have not, however, been writingless. That is, if tidying up some old things and retyping them into my computer count. I think it does.
What has happened you see, is that several writers including Yers Truly have formed a group to share their work and I've been the most early and often contributor. It's been fun reading stuff from people whose faces are familiar and I've received some nice reviews along the way. I do have paper copies of some of my old stuff but I'm still missing scads. When I think about it, I realize I've been fairly prolific since that last year in Arboles. If any of you out there in Blogland have any bits of my madness lying about, please let me know. Meanwhile there are ten or twelve of my 260 blogs that are rewrite worthy as separate bits so I've got material to work with. After we move and get settled in, my muse has promised new stuff.
And as for you, Senor Blog, I'll keep in touch.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Weekend
The Weekend is over. I don't really remember it starting and now it's over. Gone. A flickering memory. Oh well, back to the grind.
I love the grind. There's all that lingering over the morning coffee, lingering over the news on-line, lingering in the hot shower, lingering with the next good book. Yup, there's a lot of lingering in my grind and I love that about it. Its opposite of course, unlingering, is a bad thing. You can tell by the way its sounds. "The scales of the Unlingering scraped menacingly as it slid from its hiding place under the rock." See what I mean? Lingering on the other hand, is a happy thing. "The children smiled contentedly as their mother ladled warm Lingering over their steamy bowls of rice." It's easy to see from these examples why I'm a fan of lingering.
I'm also fond of Lazingabout and accomplishing things when you get a Roundtuit. Lazingabout is useful for things like blogging - I mean, c'mon, I'm just sitting here - reading, sports viewing, listening to music and watching my dog scratch himself behind an ear. Lazingabout outside is nice too when the sun is shining like it is today. I'll have to schedule some for later. And roundtuits seem to show up just when you need them. Today, for instance, we have a toilet whose flushy part is broken and I'm betting a Roundtuit will appear in the nick of time so I can fix it. If it doesn't, well then, we'll just use the other bathroom and hope the Roundtuit turns up tomorrow.
Nevertheless, at the end of the week after five long, arduous days of Lingering, Lazingabout and getting Roundtuits, I must admit I do look forward to the Weekends when I get to do something else, something different. What exactly that is, I can't tell right now, because I can't remember, but I'm sure it's something good. Something like, oh I don't know, say Powernapping. Yeah that IS good. Say it again.
I love the grind. There's all that lingering over the morning coffee, lingering over the news on-line, lingering in the hot shower, lingering with the next good book. Yup, there's a lot of lingering in my grind and I love that about it. Its opposite of course, unlingering, is a bad thing. You can tell by the way its sounds. "The scales of the Unlingering scraped menacingly as it slid from its hiding place under the rock." See what I mean? Lingering on the other hand, is a happy thing. "The children smiled contentedly as their mother ladled warm Lingering over their steamy bowls of rice." It's easy to see from these examples why I'm a fan of lingering.
I'm also fond of Lazingabout and accomplishing things when you get a Roundtuit. Lazingabout is useful for things like blogging - I mean, c'mon, I'm just sitting here - reading, sports viewing, listening to music and watching my dog scratch himself behind an ear. Lazingabout outside is nice too when the sun is shining like it is today. I'll have to schedule some for later. And roundtuits seem to show up just when you need them. Today, for instance, we have a toilet whose flushy part is broken and I'm betting a Roundtuit will appear in the nick of time so I can fix it. If it doesn't, well then, we'll just use the other bathroom and hope the Roundtuit turns up tomorrow.
Nevertheless, at the end of the week after five long, arduous days of Lingering, Lazingabout and getting Roundtuits, I must admit I do look forward to the Weekends when I get to do something else, something different. What exactly that is, I can't tell right now, because I can't remember, but I'm sure it's something good. Something like, oh I don't know, say Powernapping. Yeah that IS good. Say it again.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Logic
A crackly sunny morning with no rain is lighting up our windows. Woowoo Charly whispered to me that maybe, if we are real quiet, we won't wake up the wind. Makes sense to me.
I also saw the logic yesterday when she told me I had to polish her hiking boots. "Why" I asked, "do I have to polish YOUR boots?" "Because you were in the Army," she answered. Alrighty then, I'll get right on it.
RTGFKAR laid his bit of wisdom on me yesterday as well, while we were pumping iron. "You know" he said, "it's only the last two or three reps that do us any good, so why don't we skip the first seven or eight and just do the last ones?" Can't argue with that.
I should also point out that up at our nueva casa the back wall, the side walls and the roof of the construction shack have been removed. Only the frame, the front wall and the door remain. Luckily, the door is still chained and locked. Wouldn't want anyone to break in.
I understand this logic. What I don't understand is Eastern Standard Time. There's just no reason for it. There's no reason whatsoever for a football or basketball game to start at nine o,clock at night. Seven, like game time in the Rocky Mountains, makes complete sense and gets people to bed at a decent hour which then helps them be fresh and productive the next day. I therefore propose that we put the entire Western Hemisphere on Rocky Mountain Time. This will take a little adjusting to at first, but once the people get the hang of it, they'll all thank me. Are you with me? Do I have your vote? C'mon, it's a logical thing to do.
I also saw the logic yesterday when she told me I had to polish her hiking boots. "Why" I asked, "do I have to polish YOUR boots?" "Because you were in the Army," she answered. Alrighty then, I'll get right on it.
RTGFKAR laid his bit of wisdom on me yesterday as well, while we were pumping iron. "You know" he said, "it's only the last two or three reps that do us any good, so why don't we skip the first seven or eight and just do the last ones?" Can't argue with that.
I should also point out that up at our nueva casa the back wall, the side walls and the roof of the construction shack have been removed. Only the frame, the front wall and the door remain. Luckily, the door is still chained and locked. Wouldn't want anyone to break in.
I understand this logic. What I don't understand is Eastern Standard Time. There's just no reason for it. There's no reason whatsoever for a football or basketball game to start at nine o,clock at night. Seven, like game time in the Rocky Mountains, makes complete sense and gets people to bed at a decent hour which then helps them be fresh and productive the next day. I therefore propose that we put the entire Western Hemisphere on Rocky Mountain Time. This will take a little adjusting to at first, but once the people get the hang of it, they'll all thank me. Are you with me? Do I have your vote? C'mon, it's a logical thing to do.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Waxing Philosophical
"At the moment when there's nothing more to lose, the Ego breaks open - and then we see who we are behind who we thought we were." Ram Dass
Alrighty then. So there's that.
Of course I'm not sure who I think I am. Maybe you know. Who do you think I think I am? Best I can come up with is Old Jock Who Now Blogs In Lieu Of Jump Shots. I mean if I had my druthers I'd probably still be hoisting them up from the top of the key, but then my priorities have always been a trifle skewed. Old Jock With Skewed Priorities might work. Skewed Trifles has also got a shot. According to Ram, though, the real me is hiding behind that guy, whoever he is, waiting for my Ego to bust open. I'm thinking that could take awhile. There's not much left there to break. Can't say I miss it either. Life's more peaceful without the parts of it I've sent packing. I would like to see the guy behind the guy though. He might be taller. Trouble I'm finding is "the moment when there's nothing more to lose." That's a bit worrisome. I've got lots to lose and I'm in no hurry to lose it. Apart from things like my debts and bad back that is. I guess what Ram means by "the moment" is the one when you are on the brink of the Big D and here we're not talking Dallas. We're talking Daisies, as in pushing them up. That's when I'll get cosmic consciousness, enlightenment and a peek at the guy behind the guy. I'm in no rush to go there either. I mean, what if it turns out I'm really Regis Philbin?
Perish the thought.
Alrighty then. So there's that.
Of course I'm not sure who I think I am. Maybe you know. Who do you think I think I am? Best I can come up with is Old Jock Who Now Blogs In Lieu Of Jump Shots. I mean if I had my druthers I'd probably still be hoisting them up from the top of the key, but then my priorities have always been a trifle skewed. Old Jock With Skewed Priorities might work. Skewed Trifles has also got a shot. According to Ram, though, the real me is hiding behind that guy, whoever he is, waiting for my Ego to bust open. I'm thinking that could take awhile. There's not much left there to break. Can't say I miss it either. Life's more peaceful without the parts of it I've sent packing. I would like to see the guy behind the guy though. He might be taller. Trouble I'm finding is "the moment when there's nothing more to lose." That's a bit worrisome. I've got lots to lose and I'm in no hurry to lose it. Apart from things like my debts and bad back that is. I guess what Ram means by "the moment" is the one when you are on the brink of the Big D and here we're not talking Dallas. We're talking Daisies, as in pushing them up. That's when I'll get cosmic consciousness, enlightenment and a peek at the guy behind the guy. I'm in no rush to go there either. I mean, what if it turns out I'm really Regis Philbin?
Perish the thought.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A Blogless Blog
I toasted up a couple of RTGFKAR's homemade muffins before sitting down to write this. What this means is that I now have a dog plunked down beside me staring at my food. I can understand the attraction. The dog is an English breed and these are English muffins. Suuuurre. Tomorrow I'll whip up some Latvian muffins and put that theory to the test.
The dog's sounding out little whiny noises and trying to get me to make eye contact. He knows if I do, I'm a gonner. Now he's placed his head on my knee. His eyes are all shiny and soft.
Here you go Buddy, have a bite.
Hey, what else could I do? He's got those eyes. If I had eyes like that I'd stand in front of bank tellers and make cooing sounds.
It's rainy and windy again this morning. What's the deal with that? A friend of ours told us last night that she had heard from a reliable Panamanian souse, I mean source, that this was the rainiest rainy season in eighteen years. Hope it's not a trend; part of global climate change and all that. I mean if it only happens every eighteen years, I can live with it. I'll be eighty-three when the next wet one comes around, if my math is right, and probably still bitchin about the lack of golf in my life. I mean some things never change.
Gus is now barking insanely at the front door. There's a woman and a little girl out there. Gus thinks kids are other dogs or toys or something to be played with. Kids think Gus is a tiger. Takes them awhile to get used to each other. The woman has been sent here by our landlady to clean the grout around our tiles. The grout is still gritty from the flood. School is out so the kid is tagging along with mom.
And now, having let them in and calmed the dog and put cartoons on the TV my train of thought has leaped from the track. No loss though. It was a Lionel narrow gauge anyway.
The dog's sounding out little whiny noises and trying to get me to make eye contact. He knows if I do, I'm a gonner. Now he's placed his head on my knee. His eyes are all shiny and soft.
Here you go Buddy, have a bite.
Hey, what else could I do? He's got those eyes. If I had eyes like that I'd stand in front of bank tellers and make cooing sounds.
It's rainy and windy again this morning. What's the deal with that? A friend of ours told us last night that she had heard from a reliable Panamanian souse, I mean source, that this was the rainiest rainy season in eighteen years. Hope it's not a trend; part of global climate change and all that. I mean if it only happens every eighteen years, I can live with it. I'll be eighty-three when the next wet one comes around, if my math is right, and probably still bitchin about the lack of golf in my life. I mean some things never change.
Gus is now barking insanely at the front door. There's a woman and a little girl out there. Gus thinks kids are other dogs or toys or something to be played with. Kids think Gus is a tiger. Takes them awhile to get used to each other. The woman has been sent here by our landlady to clean the grout around our tiles. The grout is still gritty from the flood. School is out so the kid is tagging along with mom.
And now, having let them in and calmed the dog and put cartoons on the TV my train of thought has leaped from the track. No loss though. It was a Lionel narrow gauge anyway.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Sixteen Tons and Current Events
"...another day older and deeper in debt."
I'm trying to cross two lanes of traffic on the busiest road in Daveed. I look left and nothing's coming for a long ways so I pull out and block off that lane. I look to the right waiting for a break in traffic from that direction so I can make it across to the other side. Finally there's a gap and I bust my move. Trouble is, guy coming from the left decides to drive into the wrong lane and go around me just as I do so. Crunch. When all is said and done it leaves me as the hitter and not the hitee and no way to prove the other guy caused the accident. Nobody hurt, minimal vehicle damage. Minimal meaning I'm shelling out three hundred at the scene to make the other guy go away and five or six more to restore RTGFKAR's car to its former lovely and talented self. Luckily I'm one of those deep pocket guys. Of course there's nothing in those deep pockets apart from the odd ball of lint but still, hey, they're deep.
We were in Daveed - you all know I write Daveed because if I write David you'll read the pronunciation wrong - to renew RTGFKAR's visa. This has been a monthly ritual since Panama reduced their visa stays from ninety days to thirty. The good news is that RTGFKAR's residency has been approved and only awaits a signature from some nameless bureaucrat to become official. This should occur before the year is out unless Unnamed Official suffers from Writer's Cramp and takes the month off to heal. This, or something like it, has been known to happen, but we remain hopeful.
Further good news I wish to impart, but that sounds painful so Ill just tell you, is that RTGF's stuff has arrived. It only took seven months which leads us to believe it wasn't actually sent by ship but rather packed down by lazy mules with bad feet. Nevertheless, it is here and it is now stored in one of the new house's guest rooms awaiting the completion of the construction to be unpacked and put away in the places designated for, well, stuff. The fly in this ointment is that construction has slowed to a...I won't say standstill, because there is the occasional brush stroke of paint applied, so let's go with molasses creep, and a fair projection will put us in the house just before the world ends in 2012. One hopeful sign though is that a power line has been strung from the main road to the house and electricity may be in the offing. Or is that the on-ing? Whatever. RTGFKAR can now go up and put his arms around any of many cardboard boxes and say, "my stuff" while sighing contentedly.
And on the weather front, there is some. Mostly wind and sideways rain. Noisy too.
Someone from the bleachers yells, "Ya still love Panama?"
"You betcha, damn straight, are bears catholic and does the Pope pee in the woods?" I yell back.
Of course I love Panama. It's impossible not to.
I'm trying to cross two lanes of traffic on the busiest road in Daveed. I look left and nothing's coming for a long ways so I pull out and block off that lane. I look to the right waiting for a break in traffic from that direction so I can make it across to the other side. Finally there's a gap and I bust my move. Trouble is, guy coming from the left decides to drive into the wrong lane and go around me just as I do so. Crunch. When all is said and done it leaves me as the hitter and not the hitee and no way to prove the other guy caused the accident. Nobody hurt, minimal vehicle damage. Minimal meaning I'm shelling out three hundred at the scene to make the other guy go away and five or six more to restore RTGFKAR's car to its former lovely and talented self. Luckily I'm one of those deep pocket guys. Of course there's nothing in those deep pockets apart from the odd ball of lint but still, hey, they're deep.
We were in Daveed - you all know I write Daveed because if I write David you'll read the pronunciation wrong - to renew RTGFKAR's visa. This has been a monthly ritual since Panama reduced their visa stays from ninety days to thirty. The good news is that RTGFKAR's residency has been approved and only awaits a signature from some nameless bureaucrat to become official. This should occur before the year is out unless Unnamed Official suffers from Writer's Cramp and takes the month off to heal. This, or something like it, has been known to happen, but we remain hopeful.
Further good news I wish to impart, but that sounds painful so Ill just tell you, is that RTGF's stuff has arrived. It only took seven months which leads us to believe it wasn't actually sent by ship but rather packed down by lazy mules with bad feet. Nevertheless, it is here and it is now stored in one of the new house's guest rooms awaiting the completion of the construction to be unpacked and put away in the places designated for, well, stuff. The fly in this ointment is that construction has slowed to a...I won't say standstill, because there is the occasional brush stroke of paint applied, so let's go with molasses creep, and a fair projection will put us in the house just before the world ends in 2012. One hopeful sign though is that a power line has been strung from the main road to the house and electricity may be in the offing. Or is that the on-ing? Whatever. RTGFKAR can now go up and put his arms around any of many cardboard boxes and say, "my stuff" while sighing contentedly.
And on the weather front, there is some. Mostly wind and sideways rain. Noisy too.
Someone from the bleachers yells, "Ya still love Panama?"
"You betcha, damn straight, are bears catholic and does the Pope pee in the woods?" I yell back.
Of course I love Panama. It's impossible not to.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Nothing...again
I have nothing to say today. I am mum, mute, closed mouthed and silent. There is not one single thing that needs to be said from my point of view. Not one. Not even Go Broncos or my foot's asleep, so I'll sit here and muse, ponder and meditate which are not as you might think three of Santa's reindeer, some of the seven little people or a California law firm. No, they are what I am doing. Right now. As I sit here.
Still nothing.
Alrighty then. I'm not a man who is afraid to ask for help in troublesome circumstances - although asking for directions when driving is still out of the question - so I'm inquiring, "what do you do when you've got nothing?" C'mon, help me out here, give me a hint will ya?
Okay, I understand. You don't want to give up your secrets. When you've got nothing you go to your bag of tricks - which is something right there - and you pick one to suit the circumstance. I don't have a bag of tricks. Wish I did. I can see how it would come in handy. What I've got is a big bag of nothing. You could root around in there for days and not find a thing. It's empty I'm telling you. A vacuum. A hole in space. An empty vessel waiting to be filled.
Still waiting. I've heard that stuff is drawn to a vacuum.
Still nothing.
I've watched five movies in the last two days. Do I want to comment? Nah. Nothing there. The weather's changing for the better, but do I want to write about the weather? Uh uh, don't think so. The guy across the street is said to have died last week. I saw him drive up and park his pickup yesterday. Can ghosts drive?
Okay, now there's a topic. Ghosts.
So you see, you just need to wait awhile. Patience is the best policy, someone said. Or was it me? I've got plenty of patience but of course now I'm out of time. Out of time? How can you be out of time the wise man asked, it's endless.
And there's another topic.
Still nothing.
Alrighty then. I'm not a man who is afraid to ask for help in troublesome circumstances - although asking for directions when driving is still out of the question - so I'm inquiring, "what do you do when you've got nothing?" C'mon, help me out here, give me a hint will ya?
Okay, I understand. You don't want to give up your secrets. When you've got nothing you go to your bag of tricks - which is something right there - and you pick one to suit the circumstance. I don't have a bag of tricks. Wish I did. I can see how it would come in handy. What I've got is a big bag of nothing. You could root around in there for days and not find a thing. It's empty I'm telling you. A vacuum. A hole in space. An empty vessel waiting to be filled.
Still waiting. I've heard that stuff is drawn to a vacuum.
Still nothing.
I've watched five movies in the last two days. Do I want to comment? Nah. Nothing there. The weather's changing for the better, but do I want to write about the weather? Uh uh, don't think so. The guy across the street is said to have died last week. I saw him drive up and park his pickup yesterday. Can ghosts drive?
Okay, now there's a topic. Ghosts.
So you see, you just need to wait awhile. Patience is the best policy, someone said. Or was it me? I've got plenty of patience but of course now I'm out of time. Out of time? How can you be out of time the wise man asked, it's endless.
And there's another topic.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Food Freak
As you may have grocked from reading past blogs, I am interested in all things sent down from Foods R Us except cook books, but including diet books. Okay, that's not like I'm interested in literature, sports, movies, music, current events, spirituality, art, humor, super models and dancing with wolves or stars, but I do pay attention when the subject of food comes up and the subject of food comes up...daily. ("food comes up" may not be the right choice of words.)I mean somebody is always asking what's for lunch or what are we going to do about food, after which plans are made to eat some, so you see I am aware that this is a subject dear to the hearts and stomachs of most people and must be taken...with a grain of salt. So to speak.
Now here I need point out that I am a vegetarian and have been for quite some time. I'm thinking eight, maybe nine days. I'm pretty strict too. I've only had meat four times in that period. What brought me to this less than mainstream dietary regimen was The North Beach Diet. This is a diet in which one only eats carbohydrates. Lots of carbohydrates taken in as many diverse forms as possible is recommended by the author of the diet who shall remain anonymous as I don't like using my name in vain. Today, for instance, in honor of the Pilgrims whose own diet preferences and attitudes are revealed when you break down their group moniker into its component parts, ie: "pill" and "grim", I plan to start the day with cinnamon rolls and move onto pie. In between, who knows, but you can be sure I'll get my share of carbos and hydrates because I don't want to be decarboed or dehydrated.
Thanks Happygiving.
Now here I need point out that I am a vegetarian and have been for quite some time. I'm thinking eight, maybe nine days. I'm pretty strict too. I've only had meat four times in that period. What brought me to this less than mainstream dietary regimen was The North Beach Diet. This is a diet in which one only eats carbohydrates. Lots of carbohydrates taken in as many diverse forms as possible is recommended by the author of the diet who shall remain anonymous as I don't like using my name in vain. Today, for instance, in honor of the Pilgrims whose own diet preferences and attitudes are revealed when you break down their group moniker into its component parts, ie: "pill" and "grim", I plan to start the day with cinnamon rolls and move onto pie. In between, who knows, but you can be sure I'll get my share of carbos and hydrates because I don't want to be decarboed or dehydrated.
Thanks Happygiving.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Teething
I'm always impressed by people with perfect teeth. Met a couple yesterday, she from Costa Rica, he from Panama who both had perfect teeth. Their kid, who is two, had imperfect teeth, but he was wearing braces. Braces at two? Aren't they just a first set of choppers destined to fall out? Oh well, what do I know?
I'll tell you what I know,(and that won't take long) they were a nice couple, they complimented my Spanish and, as you might guess, they smiled a lot. People with perfect teeth always do. They were at B and L's house visiting when we, RTGFKAR, Woowoo and I, dropped in, which is how I got to know about their excellent taste in Gringo Spanish speakers and their perfect teeth. The guy, whose name is, I'm thinking Nicholas or maybe Nicole, imperfect memories go along with imperfect teeth, told me about his travails trying to get residency in Costa Rica so that he and his family could live there part of the year and spend time with his wife's parents. Their son, John Paul, the two year old with braces, was born in Costa Rica which automatically grants him CR citizenship, but leaves him lacking legal status in Panama. Nick, let's call him that for short, said the whole thing is a living nightmare, but he smiled throughout the telling. Can't say I blame him for that. With teeth like his, I'd smile at a funeral.
John Paul, by the way, was named after the Pope of the same name. The wife whose moniker is Michelle or some Spanish version of that, wanted to dub the child Juan Pablo, but the husband didn't like the way that sounded so they opted for the English version. The wife explained to me that she talks to the Pope and he's a close personal friend who answers her in her heart. My Spanish isn't good enough to translate uuuuEEEEuuuu so I let it go. Besides she was smiling and it's hard to take issue with perfect teeth.
Your probably wondering why I choose to tell you about all this, but then, so am I. Especially when I could have just said, Go Broncos. Hey, that Bronco horse logo has got some mouthful of teeth doesn't it?!
I'll tell you what I know,(and that won't take long) they were a nice couple, they complimented my Spanish and, as you might guess, they smiled a lot. People with perfect teeth always do. They were at B and L's house visiting when we, RTGFKAR, Woowoo and I, dropped in, which is how I got to know about their excellent taste in Gringo Spanish speakers and their perfect teeth. The guy, whose name is, I'm thinking Nicholas or maybe Nicole, imperfect memories go along with imperfect teeth, told me about his travails trying to get residency in Costa Rica so that he and his family could live there part of the year and spend time with his wife's parents. Their son, John Paul, the two year old with braces, was born in Costa Rica which automatically grants him CR citizenship, but leaves him lacking legal status in Panama. Nick, let's call him that for short, said the whole thing is a living nightmare, but he smiled throughout the telling. Can't say I blame him for that. With teeth like his, I'd smile at a funeral.
John Paul, by the way, was named after the Pope of the same name. The wife whose moniker is Michelle or some Spanish version of that, wanted to dub the child Juan Pablo, but the husband didn't like the way that sounded so they opted for the English version. The wife explained to me that she talks to the Pope and he's a close personal friend who answers her in her heart. My Spanish isn't good enough to translate uuuuEEEEuuuu so I let it go. Besides she was smiling and it's hard to take issue with perfect teeth.
Your probably wondering why I choose to tell you about all this, but then, so am I. Especially when I could have just said, Go Broncos. Hey, that Bronco horse logo has got some mouthful of teeth doesn't it?!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Progress in Spanish
I finished reading "Harry Potter Y El Misterio del Principe" the sixth book of the series yesterday after months of pecking away at it. I'm getting a bit sick of the little twerp and may root for Voldemort when the seventh book gets translated into Spanish. I'm now on to Gabriel Garcia Marquez' "Ojos De Perro Azul", (Eyes of the Blue Dog) a book of short stories by the great man. Gabe's themes are more complex than the simple good versus evil you get in Potter and I'm looking forward to that. What I'm not looking forward to is the more complex Spanish. If you're wondering how I manage to read this second language with my wizened old brain, the answer is, of course, slowly. I look up lots of words; mostly nouns and verbs and the occasional adjective. There are too many adjectives and adverbs to learn and so many that I just will never use. For instance if the author writes, "Harry said wryly" (in Spanish I'm talking)I'm not going to look up wryly, because it is a word I'll probably never find a use for unless I decide to write in Spanish which seems unlikely in that I'm just now getting the hang of English... more or less. I realize I miss a certain subtlety the author is implying by not looking up wryly, but, c'mon, I'm old. I'm saving time for learning words I can use in actual conversation. Words like "chupar", to suck. That way I can say, Los Yankees se chupan when I talk to someone wearing an NY baseball cap. Someone small, frail and old that is. I've found that after I've looked up the same word about four times it sticks in my mind and I remember it the next time it appears in the text. Unfortunately, this doesn't mean that the word is now a part of my spoken vocabulary. For that I have to use the word aloud, in a sentence context, an additonal three or four times. Again, like chupar. I use that a lot. I would be further along conversationally if I weren't essentially shy. I'm not one to strike up a chat with a stranger, a thing useful for getting the hang of a new language, and even when I am forced to converse, I try to keep it short. A couple of cocktails will loosen my Spanish tongue, but I don't think that's an advisable training aid. Or is it? A little scotch in the morning coffee might be just the thing.
Nah, I think I'll just go read a book.
Nah, I think I'll just go read a book.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
This and That Part 3 or Maybe 4
Yesterday's blog was entitled "Blogging Religiously." Have I used that before? The Monkeymind has a monkey memory. No matter. There's nearly 250 Monkeymind blogs floating around in cyberspace annoying cyberspacemen and I can't remember a four item grocery list without writing it down, so I won't stress over using a title twice.
The rainy season ended abruptly yesterday as I said it would. The day dawned sunny and warm and remained so throughout. It's gone today though. Short dry season.
I fell asleep writing a poem in my head last night. It had something to do with the beloved lump in the covers beside me. Wish I could remember it. Would make Woowoo Charly happy. 'Course she'd think I was talking about the dog. Later, I started another about my boys. Been missing them lately. Can't remember that one either. I like rhyming though. I'll have to write some verse for real. Soon as a topic comes to mind. Something about Barry Bonds maybe.
I took my Barry Bonds to the bank
and they weren't worth a dime.
Yaddidda yaddida homerun rank
the Cream, the Clear, the Crime.
Something like that. Or maybe not.
We got our washer/dryer fixed yesterday. Remember when we had the flood? It's been broken since then. Had to order a part from Panama City. Took three weeks to get here. I could walk from Panama City in three weeks. Not that I'm complaining. I got to learn more vocabulary talking to the women at the Lavamatico where our clothes were cleaned in the interim.
Interim is a good word. Is there an outerim?
The rain has stopped and the big yellow ball in the sky has reappeared. Wait a sec...
there it goes again. Gonna be one of those days.
The rainy season ended abruptly yesterday as I said it would. The day dawned sunny and warm and remained so throughout. It's gone today though. Short dry season.
I fell asleep writing a poem in my head last night. It had something to do with the beloved lump in the covers beside me. Wish I could remember it. Would make Woowoo Charly happy. 'Course she'd think I was talking about the dog. Later, I started another about my boys. Been missing them lately. Can't remember that one either. I like rhyming though. I'll have to write some verse for real. Soon as a topic comes to mind. Something about Barry Bonds maybe.
I took my Barry Bonds to the bank
and they weren't worth a dime.
Yaddidda yaddida homerun rank
the Cream, the Clear, the Crime.
Something like that. Or maybe not.
We got our washer/dryer fixed yesterday. Remember when we had the flood? It's been broken since then. Had to order a part from Panama City. Took three weeks to get here. I could walk from Panama City in three weeks. Not that I'm complaining. I got to learn more vocabulary talking to the women at the Lavamatico where our clothes were cleaned in the interim.
Interim is a good word. Is there an outerim?
The rain has stopped and the big yellow ball in the sky has reappeared. Wait a sec...
there it goes again. Gonna be one of those days.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Blogging Religiously
"The mind is a servant. Don't let it be the master." Osho and others.
Alrighty then. I'm keeping an eye on mine.
A busy week is drawing to a close is what my mind wanted to write, but then I pointed out that a week is just a measurement of time elapsed and as such it can't be busy and I'm certain it can't draw. One must be vigilant.
There are times, though, when it's best to let the mind loose for a stroll around the premises. Some call that exercise. I call it blogging.
And away we go.
Watched a movie this week entitled "The Man From Earth" in which one of the characters purports to be 14,000 years old. He starts life as a Cro Magnon, gets to be about 35 and remains perpetually there. As the movie begins, he is about to take leave for parts unknown and is explaining to a group of his colleagues, all PHD's in one field or another, that he must move on, because as they age and he doesn't, things will get too dicey and he doesn't want to end up being a guinea pig in a lab somewhere. The questions then begin and our hero highlights episodes of his life in answer to them. One of the most intriguing parts is when he reveals that he was Jesus. Yup, that Jesus. He explains that he had studied under the Buddha for awhile and then, believing in the big fella's tenets, he had wandered east and began teaching what he had learned. This drew to him a small following from among the people and big, bad trouble with the Romans. He was crucified by them - hung up by ropes not nails - but used his inner training to slow his vital signs and thus simulate death. After being encrypted, he brings himself back to normal and makes his escape. Unfortunately, his recovery and departure are witnessed by a few others and, Ta Daa, a religion is born.
My own take on the Jesus segment of the film is that it was delivered with enough plausibility to make one think it might just have happened that way. I, however, still subscribe to the Freke/Gandy theory described in their "Jesus Mysteries" trilogy, that Christianity was born from a compilation of earlier Pagan myths and came to fruition during the reign of Roman Emperor Constantine when the Literalists split from the Gnostics and Constantine sided with the Literalists, making their version the accepted religion of the Roman Empire.
The film throughout is fascinating and a "must see." It's a small, low budget offering and I suspect it will get limited play for this reason and also because I'm sure the fanatical Religious Right will want it banned and burned.
Having written the above, the monkeymind now ponders what's next? It makes a short leap to this thought, gleaned also, I think, from Osho: There are over 300 religions in the world, but only one science. Science does not require blind belief. It is an ongoing search for knowledge and truth. Those who "believe" quit searching and the truth will ever elude them.
Whoa, that's heavy.
And here comes another. Laughter is meditation. When you laugh heartily there is no thought. If you think, the laughter stops. When there are no thoughts, that IS meditation.
Okay mind... enough! Back in your box. I can take it from here.
Alrighty then. I'm keeping an eye on mine.
A busy week is drawing to a close is what my mind wanted to write, but then I pointed out that a week is just a measurement of time elapsed and as such it can't be busy and I'm certain it can't draw. One must be vigilant.
There are times, though, when it's best to let the mind loose for a stroll around the premises. Some call that exercise. I call it blogging.
And away we go.
Watched a movie this week entitled "The Man From Earth" in which one of the characters purports to be 14,000 years old. He starts life as a Cro Magnon, gets to be about 35 and remains perpetually there. As the movie begins, he is about to take leave for parts unknown and is explaining to a group of his colleagues, all PHD's in one field or another, that he must move on, because as they age and he doesn't, things will get too dicey and he doesn't want to end up being a guinea pig in a lab somewhere. The questions then begin and our hero highlights episodes of his life in answer to them. One of the most intriguing parts is when he reveals that he was Jesus. Yup, that Jesus. He explains that he had studied under the Buddha for awhile and then, believing in the big fella's tenets, he had wandered east and began teaching what he had learned. This drew to him a small following from among the people and big, bad trouble with the Romans. He was crucified by them - hung up by ropes not nails - but used his inner training to slow his vital signs and thus simulate death. After being encrypted, he brings himself back to normal and makes his escape. Unfortunately, his recovery and departure are witnessed by a few others and, Ta Daa, a religion is born.
My own take on the Jesus segment of the film is that it was delivered with enough plausibility to make one think it might just have happened that way. I, however, still subscribe to the Freke/Gandy theory described in their "Jesus Mysteries" trilogy, that Christianity was born from a compilation of earlier Pagan myths and came to fruition during the reign of Roman Emperor Constantine when the Literalists split from the Gnostics and Constantine sided with the Literalists, making their version the accepted religion of the Roman Empire.
The film throughout is fascinating and a "must see." It's a small, low budget offering and I suspect it will get limited play for this reason and also because I'm sure the fanatical Religious Right will want it banned and burned.
Having written the above, the monkeymind now ponders what's next? It makes a short leap to this thought, gleaned also, I think, from Osho: There are over 300 religions in the world, but only one science. Science does not require blind belief. It is an ongoing search for knowledge and truth. Those who "believe" quit searching and the truth will ever elude them.
Whoa, that's heavy.
And here comes another. Laughter is meditation. When you laugh heartily there is no thought. If you think, the laughter stops. When there are no thoughts, that IS meditation.
Okay mind... enough! Back in your box. I can take it from here.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday Happenings
A walnut sized frog leaped from the dark of our bedroom into the light of our bathroom as I exited the latter last night a tick or two after four. The little guy just sat there looking at me as I scraped sleep from my consciousness and pondered what to do. I could catch the frog and walk the length of the building where I could unlock a door and effect his release or I could turn out the light, close the bathroom door and deal with the tiny croaker in the morning. I knew if I made the walk, I'd be up, awake and finished with sleep for the night, so I tossed that option aside and returned to bed and dreams of happy hoppers.
It's morning now and there is no frog.
Earlier last night we, RTGFKAR, Woowoo and I, had dinner with friends Lane and Rhode before motoring on to Snoopys to see Neil Simon's play "God's Favorite" performed by our local theatre group. I could review the play as a serious critic of serious art and pan the production, but that would be unfair to the people who worked so hard to put on the show. For what it was, an amatuer offering for live theatre lovers, it was just fine, although not quite dandy.
During intermission I talked with a guy named Mark who had his golden retriever Happy on a leash and was attracting a bit of attention. I mean, most dogs don't attend theatre unless one of their own is featured. Little Orphan Annie comes to mind, arf arf. Mark and I bragged awhile about the intelligence of our respective pets and I noted how Gus will dry himself after a bath if you give him a towel. Mark nodded, unimpressed and then said, "yeah but can he count?" "Huh" I shot back cleverly. Mark then asked Happy how many people were in the group to our left and the dog gave four short barks. Alrighty then. I was one upped and returned to the play.
The thing I have noted about amateur productions is that the actors deliver their lines too rapidly. It is as if they can't wait to get through them correctly and get out of the spotlight. Professionals on the other hand, savor their lines and deliver them with proper timing and careful word emphasis. They love when it is their turn to shine and they don't rush to leave the spotlight. Neil Simon delivers a punch line in almost every sentence of his scripts and last night's cast slid over quite a few of them. Nevertheless, all in all, remember the Alamo and win one for the Gipper, the show was more than worth the seven buck ticket.
Now about that frog. "Yo Gus. Come here. I want you to find something."
We'll show that Happy a thing or two.
It's morning now and there is no frog.
Earlier last night we, RTGFKAR, Woowoo and I, had dinner with friends Lane and Rhode before motoring on to Snoopys to see Neil Simon's play "God's Favorite" performed by our local theatre group. I could review the play as a serious critic of serious art and pan the production, but that would be unfair to the people who worked so hard to put on the show. For what it was, an amatuer offering for live theatre lovers, it was just fine, although not quite dandy.
During intermission I talked with a guy named Mark who had his golden retriever Happy on a leash and was attracting a bit of attention. I mean, most dogs don't attend theatre unless one of their own is featured. Little Orphan Annie comes to mind, arf arf. Mark and I bragged awhile about the intelligence of our respective pets and I noted how Gus will dry himself after a bath if you give him a towel. Mark nodded, unimpressed and then said, "yeah but can he count?" "Huh" I shot back cleverly. Mark then asked Happy how many people were in the group to our left and the dog gave four short barks. Alrighty then. I was one upped and returned to the play.
The thing I have noted about amateur productions is that the actors deliver their lines too rapidly. It is as if they can't wait to get through them correctly and get out of the spotlight. Professionals on the other hand, savor their lines and deliver them with proper timing and careful word emphasis. They love when it is their turn to shine and they don't rush to leave the spotlight. Neil Simon delivers a punch line in almost every sentence of his scripts and last night's cast slid over quite a few of them. Nevertheless, all in all, remember the Alamo and win one for the Gipper, the show was more than worth the seven buck ticket.
Now about that frog. "Yo Gus. Come here. I want you to find something."
We'll show that Happy a thing or two.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
The House
We are at the part of house construction here in Panama where many people lose their cool and their minds and can be found running naked through the streets yelling, "Hep me somebody, hep me Jesus." We are thiiissss close to moving in and lack only a few essentials like cabinets and closets and, oh yeah, electricity or we'd be happily ensconced already. (I like that word ensconced. "Jack was fully ensconced in the tapioca filled hot tub when the super model slid in.") The problem at this stage of construction, stage 955 of 1000, is that everything slows down. Woodworkers can't keep up with demand and bureaucracy makes obtaining electricity roughly the equivalent of getting your hands on the Holy Grail. Little wonder the lost cool, the lost minds and the naked street runners. (Never having had much cool and missing a mind for years, there is little danger that I personally or even I impersonally will suffer this fate. I do worry though about Woowoo Charly and RTGFKAR, but they too are showing Zen like patience.)
In pursuit of an actual move-in date, RTGFKAR, Woowoo Chuck and I drove to Daveed this week to register our finca (the property) and our corporation (the owner of the property.) This is the first step in obtaining electricity. The last, I think, has something to do with polishing the Grail and sending it up with a kite and a key. Woowoo waited in the car while RTGF and I entered the municipal building like lambs going to the slaughter. Inside we were greeted by a scene that looked a lot like a U.S. Motor Vehicle Agency, counters and lines and people sitting about looking bored or bewildered. We were directed to a queue we hoped was the right one. When our turn came, I explained to the woman clerk in my very best Spanish exactly what we were there for and she, of course, said, "What?" Or in actuality "Como?" which can mean what. I tried again and she got the drift and began asking us a series of questions. The problem here was that even though I could understand much of her Spanish when I could hear it, I often couldn't hear it. It was very noisy in the building and I don't lip read Spanish very well at all. Eventually, after my countless pleas of "repetas por favor", the woman took matters in her own hands and checked off a number of things on several forms and showed me where to sign. RTGFKAR owns our corporation, but I'm the prez, so I do all the "firma y fecha", signing and dating. We were then directed to another line where RTGF whipped out his credit card and payed for whatever it was we had just accomplished. We were then sent back to line 1 where some stamping of this and that occurred and we were given receipts and told to return at five o,clock. We didn't want to hang around Daveed all day so we asked if we could return on another day and were told yes. We did that two days later and are now in possession of everything, we hope, to take to Union Fenosa (a fun thing to say) our local Power company and get, well, wired. That will be next week.
As for cabinets and closets we might be doing better if we could pronounce the maker's name. Miggily or Meggelleddy or mig something. Doesn't fit our English speaking tongues. Nice guy though. Does good work. "Mig old buddy, pronto por favor."
And that's all I have time for today. I've got to get undressed and go for a jog. It just seems like the right thing to do.
In pursuit of an actual move-in date, RTGFKAR, Woowoo Chuck and I drove to Daveed this week to register our finca (the property) and our corporation (the owner of the property.) This is the first step in obtaining electricity. The last, I think, has something to do with polishing the Grail and sending it up with a kite and a key. Woowoo waited in the car while RTGF and I entered the municipal building like lambs going to the slaughter. Inside we were greeted by a scene that looked a lot like a U.S. Motor Vehicle Agency, counters and lines and people sitting about looking bored or bewildered. We were directed to a queue we hoped was the right one. When our turn came, I explained to the woman clerk in my very best Spanish exactly what we were there for and she, of course, said, "What?" Or in actuality "Como?" which can mean what. I tried again and she got the drift and began asking us a series of questions. The problem here was that even though I could understand much of her Spanish when I could hear it, I often couldn't hear it. It was very noisy in the building and I don't lip read Spanish very well at all. Eventually, after my countless pleas of "repetas por favor", the woman took matters in her own hands and checked off a number of things on several forms and showed me where to sign. RTGFKAR owns our corporation, but I'm the prez, so I do all the "firma y fecha", signing and dating. We were then directed to another line where RTGF whipped out his credit card and payed for whatever it was we had just accomplished. We were then sent back to line 1 where some stamping of this and that occurred and we were given receipts and told to return at five o,clock. We didn't want to hang around Daveed all day so we asked if we could return on another day and were told yes. We did that two days later and are now in possession of everything, we hope, to take to Union Fenosa (a fun thing to say) our local Power company and get, well, wired. That will be next week.
As for cabinets and closets we might be doing better if we could pronounce the maker's name. Miggily or Meggelleddy or mig something. Doesn't fit our English speaking tongues. Nice guy though. Does good work. "Mig old buddy, pronto por favor."
And that's all I have time for today. I've got to get undressed and go for a jog. It just seems like the right thing to do.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Baseball And The Enneagram
Here's a capsule summary and some nicknames for the nine types of the Enneagram to help those unfamiliar with the subject to follow along when I monkeymind over to the nine positions on a baseball team. These summations lack any sort of depth and are about the equivalent of me explaining baseball by saying here's a bat, a ball, a glove, a base etc. The Enneagram is an ancient, complex, deeply profound and spiritually interesting endeavor. In other words, just the kind of thing I like to screw with.
1. The Perfectionist. The Reformer. This type seeks perfection in all things and is, consequently, hard working and often driven to make things "right."
2. The Helper. The Caretaker. People who have a need to be needed. They are happiest when serving.
3. The Achiever. The Motivator. To be successful in everything they do is the bottom
line.
4. The Individualist. The Tragic Romantic. People striving to be different or special. They walk to the beat of a different drummer.
5. The Investigator. The Observer. Always in search of more information. They wish to be omniscient.
6. The Loyalist. The Stalwart. Safety and security are principal goals. They flourish in team situations.
7. The Generalist. The Enthusiast. Happiness is their primary goal. Often confuse fun with happiness.
8. The Boss. The Leader. Wants to be in control and the center of attention.
9. The Mediator. The Comforter. Sees all points of view but is in search of their own.
So there you have that and now you understand everything, right? Me neither.
Alrighty then. With no further ado or adon't, here's my Enneagram baseball team.
Playing catcher and batting in cleanup for the Enneagram Philosophers is Number 3, Joe Achiever. Catchers are the on field coaches. They call the pitches, they run the show. I want my 3 in a position to be successful.
Pitching and batting ninth or not at all, depending upon which league we are playing in, is Number 8, Joe Intimidator. I want my 8 in a position to impose his will. A thing he likes to do.
At first base and leading off is Number 1, Joe Perfect. I want my 1 at first where perfection is most needed. Everything thrown to him must be caught.
At second, and yes there is a symmetry here, I've got Number 2, Joe Helper and he bats second as well. I want a good double play combination and a guy who can help by sacrificing and using the hit and run.
Shortstop is the infield hub and I've got Number 7, Joe Energiser Bunny, my high energy guy holding down the position and batting fifth. He needs to be in on the most action so his mind doesn't wander.
Over at third I'm playing Number 4, Joe Artist our team's specialist, because third is like no other infield position and it takes an unusually gifted athlete to play there. I've got him batting sixth for no special reason.
Centerfield is manned (this is a guy's team) by Number 6, Joe Teammate. Joe will do what it takes to fit in and help the team win. He's batting third for that very same reason.
In Right I've got Number 5, Joe Thinker Not Dooer, because it's a position with usually less excitement, but when the action does come, Joe will make the right decisions. Number 5 bats seventh, because something about a five in the seventh position sounds right.
Playing left is Number 9, Mr. Amenable, because that's where we all agreed he should play and he said it's okay with him. He'll also be the team captain and will bat eighth.
Designated Hitter is Joe Anynumber, but usually a 3. They just like winning so damn much. He'll bat third or fourth and push everyone else down a spot in the batting order.
My manager will also be a 9 because I want everyone in the locker room to get along and 9's are best suited to make that happen.
I could also make a case, and this is a little more woowoo, for starting at first base and calling it position 1, then go around the infield as positions 2, 3 and 4 and with the outfield as 5,6 and 7. All with their Enneagram number corresponding to their baseball number. The pitcher and catcher would be 8 and 9 respectively. Hmmm, I like that a lot. Oh well, too late to change my mind, it's on to football.
My football team will be composed of all 8's except at quarterback where the 3 lives. The 7's will be over with the cheerleaders.
1. The Perfectionist. The Reformer. This type seeks perfection in all things and is, consequently, hard working and often driven to make things "right."
2. The Helper. The Caretaker. People who have a need to be needed. They are happiest when serving.
3. The Achiever. The Motivator. To be successful in everything they do is the bottom
line.
4. The Individualist. The Tragic Romantic. People striving to be different or special. They walk to the beat of a different drummer.
5. The Investigator. The Observer. Always in search of more information. They wish to be omniscient.
6. The Loyalist. The Stalwart. Safety and security are principal goals. They flourish in team situations.
7. The Generalist. The Enthusiast. Happiness is their primary goal. Often confuse fun with happiness.
8. The Boss. The Leader. Wants to be in control and the center of attention.
9. The Mediator. The Comforter. Sees all points of view but is in search of their own.
So there you have that and now you understand everything, right? Me neither.
Alrighty then. With no further ado or adon't, here's my Enneagram baseball team.
Playing catcher and batting in cleanup for the Enneagram Philosophers is Number 3, Joe Achiever. Catchers are the on field coaches. They call the pitches, they run the show. I want my 3 in a position to be successful.
Pitching and batting ninth or not at all, depending upon which league we are playing in, is Number 8, Joe Intimidator. I want my 8 in a position to impose his will. A thing he likes to do.
At first base and leading off is Number 1, Joe Perfect. I want my 1 at first where perfection is most needed. Everything thrown to him must be caught.
At second, and yes there is a symmetry here, I've got Number 2, Joe Helper and he bats second as well. I want a good double play combination and a guy who can help by sacrificing and using the hit and run.
Shortstop is the infield hub and I've got Number 7, Joe Energiser Bunny, my high energy guy holding down the position and batting fifth. He needs to be in on the most action so his mind doesn't wander.
Over at third I'm playing Number 4, Joe Artist our team's specialist, because third is like no other infield position and it takes an unusually gifted athlete to play there. I've got him batting sixth for no special reason.
Centerfield is manned (this is a guy's team) by Number 6, Joe Teammate. Joe will do what it takes to fit in and help the team win. He's batting third for that very same reason.
In Right I've got Number 5, Joe Thinker Not Dooer, because it's a position with usually less excitement, but when the action does come, Joe will make the right decisions. Number 5 bats seventh, because something about a five in the seventh position sounds right.
Playing left is Number 9, Mr. Amenable, because that's where we all agreed he should play and he said it's okay with him. He'll also be the team captain and will bat eighth.
Designated Hitter is Joe Anynumber, but usually a 3. They just like winning so damn much. He'll bat third or fourth and push everyone else down a spot in the batting order.
My manager will also be a 9 because I want everyone in the locker room to get along and 9's are best suited to make that happen.
I could also make a case, and this is a little more woowoo, for starting at first base and calling it position 1, then go around the infield as positions 2, 3 and 4 and with the outfield as 5,6 and 7. All with their Enneagram number corresponding to their baseball number. The pitcher and catcher would be 8 and 9 respectively. Hmmm, I like that a lot. Oh well, too late to change my mind, it's on to football.
My football team will be composed of all 8's except at quarterback where the 3 lives. The 7's will be over with the cheerleaders.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
A Small Ordeal
A foul sort of day, rainy, blustery and of course for me, cold. Sixty something degrees.
It's a smidgen short of eleven in the morning and we've already had a small adventure.
RTGFKAR got the call at 7:30. The driver of the ARC Mandarin truck said they had arrived in Boquete and needed us to direct them further. We hopped in RTGFKAR's car and headed to the park to meet them. Loaded on the truck were our shower stalls and a couple of bathroom mirrors. We had arranged this delivery yesterday in David and although we were prepared for the early morning call, we really didn't expect the truck to be on time. They seldom are.
We made the connection and led the way to our house. The road there as some of you know is, ah, dreadful. Especially when it is raining and it was. Doing that. Hard. We crawled along over the rocks and through the mud and got the clunky looking, box truck to the site. Our goods were unloaded, checked, signed for and all seemed well. Well, that is, until the delivery truck bogged down in the mud at the turnaround spot. Alrighty then. Not to worry. Mighty Mitsu to the rescue.
RTGFKAR's car is a Mitsubishi Nativa. A four wheel drive SUV. These kind of cars are technically classified as trucks, but if you ask me - and somebody should - they are really just glorified station wagons. I wasn't sure we could help, but of course we had to try. I got the car turned around up by our house so that I could pull down the drive and park in front of the the truck. No one had a chain but the truck guys came up with a rope and we hooked on. I dropped the gears into four wheel low, eased forward and, eureka, pulled them right out! We weren't done though. The truck still had to turn around in the turnaround and when it was finally pointed in the right direction it was, ta daa, stuck again. Still not to worry, we hooked up and yanked them out anew.
The surprising thing to me apart from the car actually pulling this large truck from the mud, was the attitude of the truck's occupants, a driver and a helper. They remained cheerful and seemingly undisturbed throughout. I thought back to how I would have acted at a similar age, twenty something, and the picture I conjured of my truck stuck in the mud on a rainy day, deliveries backing up, was not that of the proverbial happy camper. I would have been, okay what's the word I need, angry. Very angry. Extremely angry. The kind of angry I never actually get at other people. It's a kind of mad anger reserved exclusively for things that don't do what they are supposed to. It's a real mad, a murderous mad. Afortunadamente,I'm better now. Age has tempered the temper. I realize that those inanimate objects that so pissed me off in the past meant well all along. They were just doing their thing, being things. So I was impressed by the truck driver and his helper's steady calmness throughout our small ordeal. Their Wah, their Zen, their evolution was far ahead of mine at a similiar age. (But then, who's isn't? Wasn't?)
None of this is what I intended to write about this morning. It's just another distraction. What I intended to write about you'll get tomorrow.
If I'm not distracted.
It's a smidgen short of eleven in the morning and we've already had a small adventure.
RTGFKAR got the call at 7:30. The driver of the ARC Mandarin truck said they had arrived in Boquete and needed us to direct them further. We hopped in RTGFKAR's car and headed to the park to meet them. Loaded on the truck were our shower stalls and a couple of bathroom mirrors. We had arranged this delivery yesterday in David and although we were prepared for the early morning call, we really didn't expect the truck to be on time. They seldom are.
We made the connection and led the way to our house. The road there as some of you know is, ah, dreadful. Especially when it is raining and it was. Doing that. Hard. We crawled along over the rocks and through the mud and got the clunky looking, box truck to the site. Our goods were unloaded, checked, signed for and all seemed well. Well, that is, until the delivery truck bogged down in the mud at the turnaround spot. Alrighty then. Not to worry. Mighty Mitsu to the rescue.
RTGFKAR's car is a Mitsubishi Nativa. A four wheel drive SUV. These kind of cars are technically classified as trucks, but if you ask me - and somebody should - they are really just glorified station wagons. I wasn't sure we could help, but of course we had to try. I got the car turned around up by our house so that I could pull down the drive and park in front of the the truck. No one had a chain but the truck guys came up with a rope and we hooked on. I dropped the gears into four wheel low, eased forward and, eureka, pulled them right out! We weren't done though. The truck still had to turn around in the turnaround and when it was finally pointed in the right direction it was, ta daa, stuck again. Still not to worry, we hooked up and yanked them out anew.
The surprising thing to me apart from the car actually pulling this large truck from the mud, was the attitude of the truck's occupants, a driver and a helper. They remained cheerful and seemingly undisturbed throughout. I thought back to how I would have acted at a similar age, twenty something, and the picture I conjured of my truck stuck in the mud on a rainy day, deliveries backing up, was not that of the proverbial happy camper. I would have been, okay what's the word I need, angry. Very angry. Extremely angry. The kind of angry I never actually get at other people. It's a kind of mad anger reserved exclusively for things that don't do what they are supposed to. It's a real mad, a murderous mad. Afortunadamente,I'm better now. Age has tempered the temper. I realize that those inanimate objects that so pissed me off in the past meant well all along. They were just doing their thing, being things. So I was impressed by the truck driver and his helper's steady calmness throughout our small ordeal. Their Wah, their Zen, their evolution was far ahead of mine at a similiar age. (But then, who's isn't? Wasn't?)
None of this is what I intended to write about this morning. It's just another distraction. What I intended to write about you'll get tomorrow.
If I'm not distracted.
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