"...food is not medicine. Yes, someone might answer, but the food is being administered to her. She cannot feed herself. Exactly, and note where this logic takes you. Babies cannot feed themselves either. There is nothing here that cannot serve equally well as an argument for starving an unacceptable infant. And if what constitutes "acceptable" or "unacceptable" is to be waved off as an "intensely private issue," just know that you have opened the door to starving people because they have Downs, a club foot, or simply because she is a daughter and not a son."
~ Douglas Wilson, here
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Wind blows my hair into my eyes. A canyon swerves and slithers below me, and I hold tightly to my seven year old brother’s hand. For once he doesn’t mind, looking down from the rocky, craggy overlook down, down, down at the river far below.
A bumpy dirt road makes our Suburban tilt and jolt and jiggle us, to the pure delight of all five brothers. One gives me an ecstatic thumbs up as we jounce over a particularly large rock. Then we give the rest of the road a miss, and turn around and go back, this time climbing up the hill.
We laugh on the way back as we remember what we read on the funny sign, the one that we rolled by on the way in. The boys disbelieved the picture, they didn’t think it was possible for a road to be open and still have the warnings it did. I hoped all the pilots were still lingering over their Sunday dinners, not testing equipment.
The road back winds through cattle country, through hilly land that is dotted with irrigation equipment in the valleys and cattle on the hills. Barbed wire borders the road, and a house stands in the middle of three fields and a narrow, sloping hill, black cattle feeding spread out over it. The house is two story, painted white, surrounded by trees, protecting from the playful wind, which wants to loosen shingles and slip dust through cracks when you aren’t looking. We are well past the house by the time I finish telling about it.
Now the lands are gently, gently rolling. We pass twenty ravens, cooly stalking through the grass, socializing on a sunny afternoon. Stacks of hay bales stand near another house. Far away mountains look purple blue in the distance, like huge piles of blueberries, the snow being a liberal amount of whipped cream. Farm equipment I can’t identify draws my attention closer. Tall trees that I likewise am puzzled to name reach for the sky, each branch reaching up, instead of branching out as I expect trees to. A field that was hay, and has already been harvested, gleams in the sun like gold confetti. A red barn is seen and then just as suddenly disappears around the bend.
Now there are mountains ahead of us as well as on the side, and we can see a lake, as blue as the mountains in the distance, but bordered by tan and green fields. The essence of cow assaults my nose, reminding me of laundry, the wet rags sharing and compounding
their odor with everything else.
But, as I write this, at any rate, it is almost time for lunch, so I’ll give up odorous comparisons and contemplate such joys as sandwiches and spinach dip, of which the green hills, the color light and creamy, remind me.
I try to think of some way to compare trees with sandwiches, but it eludes them. Although they do remind me of salads I’ve had, swirling vegetables that I classify as "greens". Although sometimes they’re purple-ish red. But never taller than I am, although I am on the short side! ;-)
A bumpy dirt road makes our Suburban tilt and jolt and jiggle us, to the pure delight of all five brothers. One gives me an ecstatic thumbs up as we jounce over a particularly large rock. Then we give the rest of the road a miss, and turn around and go back, this time climbing up the hill.
We laugh on the way back as we remember what we read on the funny sign, the one that we rolled by on the way in. The boys disbelieved the picture, they didn’t think it was possible for a road to be open and still have the warnings it did. I hoped all the pilots were still lingering over their Sunday dinners, not testing equipment.
The road back winds through cattle country, through hilly land that is dotted with irrigation equipment in the valleys and cattle on the hills. Barbed wire borders the road, and a house stands in the middle of three fields and a narrow, sloping hill, black cattle feeding spread out over it. The house is two story, painted white, surrounded by trees, protecting from the playful wind, which wants to loosen shingles and slip dust through cracks when you aren’t looking. We are well past the house by the time I finish telling about it.
Now the lands are gently, gently rolling. We pass twenty ravens, cooly stalking through the grass, socializing on a sunny afternoon. Stacks of hay bales stand near another house. Far away mountains look purple blue in the distance, like huge piles of blueberries, the snow being a liberal amount of whipped cream. Farm equipment I can’t identify draws my attention closer. Tall trees that I likewise am puzzled to name reach for the sky, each branch reaching up, instead of branching out as I expect trees to. A field that was hay, and has already been harvested, gleams in the sun like gold confetti. A red barn is seen and then just as suddenly disappears around the bend.
Now there are mountains ahead of us as well as on the side, and we can see a lake, as blue as the mountains in the distance, but bordered by tan and green fields. The essence of cow assaults my nose, reminding me of laundry, the wet rags sharing and compounding
their odor with everything else.
But, as I write this, at any rate, it is almost time for lunch, so I’ll give up odorous comparisons and contemplate such joys as sandwiches and spinach dip, of which the green hills, the color light and creamy, remind me.
I try to think of some way to compare trees with sandwiches, but it eludes them. Although they do remind me of salads I’ve had, swirling vegetables that I classify as "greens". Although sometimes they’re purple-ish red. But never taller than I am, although I am on the short side! ;-)
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Friday, February 18, 2005
Thursday, February 10, 2005
R.C. Sproul's recent post reminded me of how surprised I was myself when I found that in Germany, the unemployed on benefits are required to take whatever employment is available.
A second cousin of mine, a woman, middle aged, was unemployed when I was over there this past summer, and talking to her it emerged that she was told she had to work at an esc0rt service, since it was what was available.
Whatever is available, she has to do— whether backbreaking labor, ill suited to her age, or humiliating work, such as esc0rt services or worse. She was obviously unhappy with the situation, the product of a socialist government.
(I'm not in direct contact with my German relatives, so I don't know whether she found another position. I would imagine so, since I think my Oma would have mentioned it otherwise.)
I wonder now... will our own government take the example given by Germany? If you're paying unemployed people, it seems only fair that they be required to actually work, not just make a token “effort” to find work.
I think the root problem is not only that the government pays you to be unemployed, but that you took the money. He who pays the piper picks the tune, right? Government money comes with strings attached.
R.C. points out that the "real problem isn’t legalized prostitution, the selling of bodies, but the welfare state, and the selling of souls."
Hmm.
A second cousin of mine, a woman, middle aged, was unemployed when I was over there this past summer, and talking to her it emerged that she was told she had to work at an esc0rt service, since it was what was available.
Whatever is available, she has to do— whether backbreaking labor, ill suited to her age, or humiliating work, such as esc0rt services or worse. She was obviously unhappy with the situation, the product of a socialist government.
(I'm not in direct contact with my German relatives, so I don't know whether she found another position. I would imagine so, since I think my Oma would have mentioned it otherwise.)
I wonder now... will our own government take the example given by Germany? If you're paying unemployed people, it seems only fair that they be required to actually work, not just make a token “effort” to find work.
I think the root problem is not only that the government pays you to be unemployed, but that you took the money. He who pays the piper picks the tune, right? Government money comes with strings attached.
R.C. points out that the "real problem isn’t legalized prostitution, the selling of bodies, but the welfare state, and the selling of souls."
Hmm.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Jambalaya
Ingredients:
5 cups long grained white rice
10 ½ cups water
1 stick butter
¼ teaspoon pepper
3 shakes cayenne pepper
½-1 tsp salt
Onions (chopped & dried)
Green onions
about 1 tsp. parsley (chopped & dried)
Meat – precooked chicken, sausage, hot dogs, etc.
Optional – 1-2 tomatoes, or 1 cup spaghetti/tomato sauce. I don't like tomato sauce, so I put less in.
When I made this tonight, I put in three round sausage patties, cut up, and two and a half sliced Polish sausages. Precooked teriyaki chicken would work; hot dogs do too in a pinch, but they lack the flavoring, which goes into the rice while cooking.
1. Water in pan on high.
2. As it comes to a boil, add everything but rice.
3. When it boils, add rice, turn to low, and cook for 18-20 minutes without taking off the lid.
Serves 8, three adults and five hungry boys.
Ingredients:
5 cups long grained white rice
10 ½ cups water
1 stick butter
¼ teaspoon pepper
3 shakes cayenne pepper
½-1 tsp salt
Onions (chopped & dried)
Green onions
about 1 tsp. parsley (chopped & dried)
Meat – precooked chicken, sausage, hot dogs, etc.
Optional – 1-2 tomatoes, or 1 cup spaghetti/tomato sauce. I don't like tomato sauce, so I put less in.
When I made this tonight, I put in three round sausage patties, cut up, and two and a half sliced Polish sausages. Precooked teriyaki chicken would work; hot dogs do too in a pinch, but they lack the flavoring, which goes into the rice while cooking.
1. Water in pan on high.
2. As it comes to a boil, add everything but rice.
3. When it boils, add rice, turn to low, and cook for 18-20 minutes without taking off the lid.
Serves 8, three adults and five hungry boys.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
All nature, all creation is covenantal. This table is at the center of that covenant reality,
but it is not a different kind of thing. It is not that mystical spiritual things happen here that do not happen elsewhere. Everywhere we go, all day long, in everything we do, we are partaking covenantally. When we come to this table, this does not change.
This is simply another way of saying that there is nothing magical about this Table. But do not draw the wrong conclusions from this. The whole world is magical, the whole world is suffused with the glory of God, the whole creation invites us to fellowship with Him.
~ Pastor Wilson,
Friday, December 31, 2004
Speaking of funny books...
Patrick McManus fairly consistently puts me into laughing fits where speech is impossible, breathing difficult, and I'm laughing, almost soundlessly, my eyes full of tears, my arms holding my shaking sides. My favorite stories are those which include his boyhood friend “Crazy Eddie” Muldoon. Especially the one where he and Eddie build an airplane.
Part of that is because I myself, at the tender age of ten, attempted myself to build an airplane, constructed out of a rickety old wheelbarrow and PVC pipes. I would then push the wheelbarrow as fast as my legs would go across a the bumpy, wind whipped fields, sure that any moment my creation could take flight, at which point I planned to jump on. I neglected any type of steering mechanism, which in hindsight would have been essential. However, wiser heads prevented me from ransacking the linen closet for sheets. Needless to say, I was unable to lift off.
Even with the second design, which was a glider made of PVC pipe, worn on the back, I still couldn't convince said wiser heads to allow the use of sheets-- probably because they would have caught the wind and propelled my scrawny ten year old frame straight into the barbed wire fence between our land and the neighbors.
Unlike young Pat and Eddie, however, I lived nowhere near a lake or pond, and wasn't able to experiment with submarines.
Two other favorite funny books are by Jerome K. Jerome – Three Men on the Bummel, and Three Men in a Boat.
The stories that he works into his books are just as funny as the main story he is telling- for example, in the former, the story of man losing a wife accidentally while bicycling through a country the language of which neither one spoke well.
Our family has also greatly enjoyed all of the Hank the Cowdog books we've read, written by John R. Erickson. The books on tape, read by the author, are also excellent, especially since reading them aloud taxes the reader immensely, since its always hard to understand people who are laughing and reading at the same time.
Sometimes when I watch the boys for the evening, I'll put them to bed with a Hank the Cowdog tape. They love it so much they'll go to bed earlier without a peep of protest, and after impulsively letting them make their own personal pizzas (“Look! I made mine a volcano!” “I need more pepperoni for my turtle.”) that's a very tempting thing! ;-)
Patrick McManus fairly consistently puts me into laughing fits where speech is impossible, breathing difficult, and I'm laughing, almost soundlessly, my eyes full of tears, my arms holding my shaking sides. My favorite stories are those which include his boyhood friend “Crazy Eddie” Muldoon. Especially the one where he and Eddie build an airplane.
Part of that is because I myself, at the tender age of ten, attempted myself to build an airplane, constructed out of a rickety old wheelbarrow and PVC pipes. I would then push the wheelbarrow as fast as my legs would go across a the bumpy, wind whipped fields, sure that any moment my creation could take flight, at which point I planned to jump on. I neglected any type of steering mechanism, which in hindsight would have been essential. However, wiser heads prevented me from ransacking the linen closet for sheets. Needless to say, I was unable to lift off.
Even with the second design, which was a glider made of PVC pipe, worn on the back, I still couldn't convince said wiser heads to allow the use of sheets-- probably because they would have caught the wind and propelled my scrawny ten year old frame straight into the barbed wire fence between our land and the neighbors.
Unlike young Pat and Eddie, however, I lived nowhere near a lake or pond, and wasn't able to experiment with submarines.
Two other favorite funny books are by Jerome K. Jerome – Three Men on the Bummel, and Three Men in a Boat.
The stories that he works into his books are just as funny as the main story he is telling- for example, in the former, the story of man losing a wife accidentally while bicycling through a country the language of which neither one spoke well.
Our family has also greatly enjoyed all of the Hank the Cowdog books we've read, written by John R. Erickson. The books on tape, read by the author, are also excellent, especially since reading them aloud taxes the reader immensely, since its always hard to understand people who are laughing and reading at the same time.
Sometimes when I watch the boys for the evening, I'll put them to bed with a Hank the Cowdog tape. They love it so much they'll go to bed earlier without a peep of protest, and after impulsively letting them make their own personal pizzas (“Look! I made mine a volcano!” “I need more pepperoni for my turtle.”) that's a very tempting thing! ;-)
Monday, December 20, 2004
Reading:
English Country House Murders: Classic Crime Fiction of Britain's Upper Crust,
edited by Thomas Godfrey
A wonderful little collection of mysteries (22 of them), most of which I hadn't read.
My favorites in this collection were
“Jeeves and the Stolen Venus” (an unusual comic interlude),
“The Man on the Roof”, by Christianna Brand,
“The Fordwych Castle Mystery”, by Emmuska, Baroness Orczy,
“The Doom of the Darnaways”, by G.K. Chesterton, which I had read before, and
“An Unlocked Window”, by Ethel Lina White.
I picked it up on my way through a little town, at the library, where they were selling discarding books. I thought their prices in general steep, but I'm glad I paid the $2 for it. I love mysteries, so I'm always looking for other good mystery authors.
I think some of these authors will be good to research. Another recent read was an Ellis Peter's mystery, set in medieval times. I'd tell you the title, but it's behind wrapping paper, so I can't! ;-)
English Country House Murders: Classic Crime Fiction of Britain's Upper Crust,
edited by Thomas Godfrey
A wonderful little collection of mysteries (22 of them), most of which I hadn't read.
My favorites in this collection were
“Jeeves and the Stolen Venus” (an unusual comic interlude),
“The Man on the Roof”, by Christianna Brand,
“The Fordwych Castle Mystery”, by Emmuska, Baroness Orczy,
“The Doom of the Darnaways”, by G.K. Chesterton, which I had read before, and
“An Unlocked Window”, by Ethel Lina White.
I picked it up on my way through a little town, at the library, where they were selling discarding books. I thought their prices in general steep, but I'm glad I paid the $2 for it. I love mysteries, so I'm always looking for other good mystery authors.
I think some of these authors will be good to research. Another recent read was an Ellis Peter's mystery, set in medieval times. I'd tell you the title, but it's behind wrapping paper, so I can't! ;-)
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