I've been watching news on Israel [via Internet--when you work evenings, who has time for TV?] because we're headed there for Baha'i Pilgrimage to Haifa the end of January. At least, God willing. I've watched as the leaders in Israel reacted to rockets from the Gaza Strip and Hamas, and vowed to respond. Now I'm grieved to see the bloodshed in Gaza today: 200 killed, 400 wounded.
Israel seems one of the few spots on earth where there is really no such thing as a civilian. People fleeing from centuries of worldwide persecution, carving a country out of an area that already was populated, [should sound familiar to Americans], threatened on all sides, yet strangely, coincidentally, forming a kind of shelter for the Baha'i World Center in the midst of Arab countries hostile to Jews and Baha'is alike.
The Founder of the Baha'i Faith, Baha'u'llah, did not pack His bags and move to Palestine on purpose. Imprisoned and exiled from Iran for forty years or more by Nasirih-Din Shah and the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, from Tehran to Baghdad to Constantinople to Adrianople and at last to Akka [Acre] near Haifa, to the famous fortress that Napoleon attacked. Eventually the Baha'is were given more and more freedom, culminating in the liberation of religious and political prisoners in the Young Turk Revolution. Baha'u'llah set up His tent at one time on Mount Carmel and designated the spot destined to receive the holy remains of the Bab, martyred in Tabriz, Iran in 1850: the spot which now shines with the golden dome of the Shrine of the Bab. Mount Carmel now is the site for the Baha'i World Center, home of the seat of the Universal House of Justice, and considered by Baha'is the holiest spot on the Earth.
"Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord" . . . ~ Isaiah.
This is where we are going Feb 2 to the 10th. God willing.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Cabin Fever, or, Enough Snowink Already
Oh,
Our zest for snow is fading,
Through slush we're tired of wading,
Slipping on ice is such a pain,
Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.
The people inside are grumpy,
They're feeling sad and frumpy,
We need to run on the Veldt,
Let it meldt, let it meldt, let it meldt.
What's your verse?
Our zest for snow is fading,
Through slush we're tired of wading,
Slipping on ice is such a pain,
Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.
The people inside are grumpy,
They're feeling sad and frumpy,
We need to run on the Veldt,
Let it meldt, let it meldt, let it meldt.
What's your verse?
Friday, December 26, 2008
Weaner Pigs
Well, what is it--wiener pigs or weaner pigs? Make up your mind.
My favorite sign driving up and down Highway 161 between Puyallup and Eatonville is a small white sign with the outlines of two pigs nose to nose that points the way down a side road: Weaner Pigs.
The highlight of driving in the country for me is seeing wildlife; short of that, seeing livestock. Short of that, the mention of animals of any kind. I'm easy to please. There are the pair of llamas on Vickery by Highway 512; the small herd of goats by 161 just the south side of the Graham Hill; on the left, the Fat Hen Farm, and then Weaner Pigs. Then the Horse Hillside just by the turnoff to a camp, and just before the hill up towards Clear Lake, something I used to call Llama Land, a farm which no longer features llamas, cows, donkeys, alpacas or anything anymore, sadly.
Once I had the notion to name my blog Weaner Pigs I couldn't shake it. But I created a problem because I'd forgotten that it's weaner, not wiener. Found that when I changed the name, I could not figure out how to change the link without changing the address, oh, dear.
Someday I'll learn certain things, such as how to post photos. Hot dog!
My favorite sign driving up and down Highway 161 between Puyallup and Eatonville is a small white sign with the outlines of two pigs nose to nose that points the way down a side road: Weaner Pigs.
The highlight of driving in the country for me is seeing wildlife; short of that, seeing livestock. Short of that, the mention of animals of any kind. I'm easy to please. There are the pair of llamas on Vickery by Highway 512; the small herd of goats by 161 just the south side of the Graham Hill; on the left, the Fat Hen Farm, and then Weaner Pigs. Then the Horse Hillside just by the turnoff to a camp, and just before the hill up towards Clear Lake, something I used to call Llama Land, a farm which no longer features llamas, cows, donkeys, alpacas or anything anymore, sadly.
Once I had the notion to name my blog Weaner Pigs I couldn't shake it. But I created a problem because I'd forgotten that it's weaner, not wiener. Found that when I changed the name, I could not figure out how to change the link without changing the address, oh, dear.
Someday I'll learn certain things, such as how to post photos. Hot dog!
Turn Your Radio On
An old song recorded by John Hartford:
Turn your radio on and listen to the music in the air
Turn your radio on, heaven's glory share
Turn your lights down low and listen to the Master's radio
Get in touch with God, turn your radio on.
Come and listen in to the radio station
Where the mighty hosts of heaven sing;
Turn your radio on, turn your radio on;
Something something something,
Listen to the glad hosanna's ring,
Turn your radio on, turn your radio on.
[at this point I forget, I would have to look it up.]
I followed up a few years ago with a spoof:
Won't you go online . . . also don't remember the rest of that one!
Anyway, here we are gathered as a family around the computer, the electric heater purring in the background, as rain melts the snow away . . . communing online.
Speaking of snow: the one way we mortals can walk on water. Enjoy it while you can.
Turn your radio on and listen to the music in the air
Turn your radio on, heaven's glory share
Turn your lights down low and listen to the Master's radio
Get in touch with God, turn your radio on.
Come and listen in to the radio station
Where the mighty hosts of heaven sing;
Turn your radio on, turn your radio on;
Something something something,
Listen to the glad hosanna's ring,
Turn your radio on, turn your radio on.
[at this point I forget, I would have to look it up.]
I followed up a few years ago with a spoof:
Won't you go online . . . also don't remember the rest of that one!
Anyway, here we are gathered as a family around the computer, the electric heater purring in the background, as rain melts the snow away . . . communing online.
Speaking of snow: the one way we mortals can walk on water. Enjoy it while you can.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Cheese it, the cops!
One resident at Homeland is becoming increasingly confused. Probably not delerium, which is a change in mental condition due to physical causes such as an illness, e.g. bladder infection. Probably just slipping a few cogs. Tonight she was asking to call the police about an imaginary problem, and I kept putting her off. Suddenly in walks the daughter of another resident in her police uniform, who was immediately assailed with the resident's problems. She must have figured I had finally called the cops.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Reset
The Northwest, Tacoma, has been submerged in snow. Last weekend I drove to and from work both days, admittedly only two miles, without any problem, only for my CRV to get stuck in the driveway on my return Sunday night. It's not four-wheel drive. I tried shoveling, kitty litter in front of the wheels, and just got annoyed.
Checked emails and read my sister's about hosting friends of theirs who had been burnt out of their house, living in a hotel for several days, and just needed to wash clothes, cook, experience being in a house again. Well, that solved my annoyance. It was just like a reset button for my mood. A timely reminder that many people have things much worse.
I've been out of town. My husband drove from Eatonville to pick me up from work and took me out here for my one day off to chill out, finish my first [for me] Patrick O'Brian novel, and hope my car has been thawed out of its stuck state in the last day.
Postscript: my schizophrenic existence involves living in Tacoma and Eatonville by turns. One has my house and my work; the other has my husband. I don't like commuting regularly as my work evening shift keeps me up late and I've gotten tired of road rage [other people's.] Testosterone-infused pickup trucks with brights five feet behind my bumper are not my idea of a good time.
Checked emails and read my sister's about hosting friends of theirs who had been burnt out of their house, living in a hotel for several days, and just needed to wash clothes, cook, experience being in a house again. Well, that solved my annoyance. It was just like a reset button for my mood. A timely reminder that many people have things much worse.
I've been out of town. My husband drove from Eatonville to pick me up from work and took me out here for my one day off to chill out, finish my first [for me] Patrick O'Brian novel, and hope my car has been thawed out of its stuck state in the last day.
Postscript: my schizophrenic existence involves living in Tacoma and Eatonville by turns. One has my house and my work; the other has my husband. I don't like commuting regularly as my work evening shift keeps me up late and I've gotten tired of road rage [other people's.] Testosterone-infused pickup trucks with brights five feet behind my bumper are not my idea of a good time.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
How the Holocaust Changed My Life
I was about 12 one summer, sitting under the lilac tree in the yard, reading Anne Frank when I finished it, wept, and reflected why were people so mean to each other. A thought entered my mind, one of the few quotes from the Bible I had heard: "the meek shall inherit the earth."
I thought about this. A fierce passion grew in me. I decided that when I found out who the meek were, I would join them. At that time, I was thinking in terms of "meek", meaning, people who are not mean to each other, people who do not seek to dominate or control each other, and people who mean to work together in peace to make the world better, not worse.
Now I see "meek" also as a humble understanding of one's relationship to God.
What I did as a teenager was read everything I could get my hands on about the Holocaust, although I don't think the books I read called it that. I moved on gradually to other causes, for example, my astonishment when I discovered that Japanese Americans were placed in confinement during World War II. And gradually I forgot about my vow to find and follow the "meek."
Until one day I found myself coming into a house full of happy, interesting people who called themselves "Baha'is" and saying, "I want to join."
Life has never been the same.
I thought about this. A fierce passion grew in me. I decided that when I found out who the meek were, I would join them. At that time, I was thinking in terms of "meek", meaning, people who are not mean to each other, people who do not seek to dominate or control each other, and people who mean to work together in peace to make the world better, not worse.
Now I see "meek" also as a humble understanding of one's relationship to God.
What I did as a teenager was read everything I could get my hands on about the Holocaust, although I don't think the books I read called it that. I moved on gradually to other causes, for example, my astonishment when I discovered that Japanese Americans were placed in confinement during World War II. And gradually I forgot about my vow to find and follow the "meek."
Until one day I found myself coming into a house full of happy, interesting people who called themselves "Baha'is" and saying, "I want to join."
Life has never been the same.
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