Fruits of the Spirit

I recently returned from a trip back to the old homestead. I was looking to park at the MIL's and happened upon an old neighbor. He confessed that he sometimes read this blog. Surprised by this, I went speechless for a moment. Then I noted his demeanor following his confession. It appeared as if Ben S. was disturbed after mentioning this. He looked at me as if my dog died. You know, the "I hope your doing better" look. When I returned from my excursion, I was compelled to re-read my blogs to see what it was that caused Ben's countenance to change. I think I know what it is. Perhaps each title should read "Ramblings of a mad man". These years in psychiatry may have twisted my mind a bit. I wish I had a philosophical take on my blogs. I don't. Ben is one of the good men. You know honest, hard working and quiet. A former Peace Corp volunteer, he has a compassionate side to him. Maybe thats what it was. I felt his compassion, though I was not sure why. No doubt he has seen delerium from malaria and found a similarity with my rambling. But, Ben, I don't wish to lose my only reader. On with my blogging and mispelled words.
Church stories are getting more interesting. The new pastor has cracked the whip, though its more like dental floss than cow hide. Wednesdays now include a dinner at 545 according to a mailed out announcement several weeks ago. These fundamentalists must be watched closely. Baptist eat too much as it is. You get a pastor pushing food on his congregation, the next thing you know all chaos breaks out and the church splits. The womens pilate group "Rolls & Buns" have already lodged their complaint through official channels - - - themselves. Word gets out though. Its hard to keep secrets there at church especially with the R & B club. Talk has it they have decided to usurp the pastors authority. The third Wednesday of the dinner they launched their little coupe. On the menu: Salads of various sorts, fresh fruit, vegitibles and what some thought was eggplant. They knew this because everytime people walked by the dish, someone would say "I think thats eggplant" as if to warn them before they scooped it on their plate. Well, this dinner went off just smashingly. It was a hit. Everyone was commenting on how it was such a good idea to eat healthy. The salads were crisp, the crackers cracky and the fruit unbruised and appealing. The following Wednesday would be better than the last. There was a slight problem the following Wednesday. Very few people showed up. Those that did come were the couples whose wives mixed the salad or made the fruit bowles. There was a little over a handful of people. Apparently last minute cancelations from the other women didn't help matters much either. Seems some kind of bug was going around, their husbands home sick, or some business trip. The pastor, ever faithful, enjoyed the salads, but was reportedly distracted in thought most of the evening. Even the bible study seemed a little green. That Sunday though, he delivered a most impressive sermon. The message was a bit circumstantial, but it came back around to a theme. He illustrated how sin began in the Gaardeen of EaTen (wasn't sure if I heard that right, but yep--EaTen). That it was in that GAARDEEN that eve presented Adam with the FRUIT from the vine. This is kind of where he lost me though. He went on about the fruit, how fruit is the "rippened ovaries of a flowering plant" according to wikipedia (I didn't know that so- I was sure to write it on the notes page of the bulletin). He said that it could have been any kind of fruit, then proceeded to name them "Berry's, plums, watermelon and even olives were fruits". This olive part was an impressive bit of knowledge AND just happened to be the Pilates instructors name. He added that fruit is used to make alcohol and "we don't need to expound upon the sins of strong drink". He made his way to Cain and Abel. Turns out God hates vegitibles and fruits too! Cains name may have even originated from the sugar cane (he was challenged on that later by the Minister of Education-Dr. D), but he was on a roll. He articulated that fruits and vegitibles have ushered in the severance in our relationship with God and subsequently the downfall and spiritual death of all. During the alter call, you could have heard a pin drop. Someone started to whisper something and about 10 woman turned their heads and said "SSHHH". I'm looking forward to this Wednesday dinner. The menu is usually out by now, but its been delayed. The pastor caved to the deacons request for a committee meeting on these Wednesday dinners. Actually, two committee's were formed. The Cain Committee and The Abel Committee to seperately work on menu items. The R & B's meet every Tuesday morning.

Stary, Stary Night

Outside the moon is bright and so are the stars. There is a large tarp running across the top of the building I work at. There is police tape marking off the front parking places. More people are leaving than arriving. No phones ringing and even "The Lady" our resident haunter, may have checked out. The time is drawing nigh that ne'er a one shall occupy these buildings. The haunting silence will only be muffled by the soft fuzzy black mold that captures each sound. The fermentation of spills will be easier found than before, but no one to find them. The chairs will be arranged for a last meeting, the channels to the final station watched and the remnant of human occupation as the finale scuff scars the well buffed floor. The floor that could not shine or sparkle enough to forgive us our trespasses’ with CMS. It was these floors that management expected to save us from human error. Twenty thousand dollars were paid to paint away our sins, to strip our iniquities and buff us back into life. Still, the echo's down the empty corridors were not to be filled with the familiar sounds that no one ever heard. Nor, the visions that no one really ever saw. Yes, indeed the place looked presentable enough. The walls appeared more modern than its recently passed Brady Bunch Brown. The teal or avocado trim would no longer haunt those lying in four point restraints. No, these disappeared like a bad hallucination. The shining polished floor mirrored the colors of the neutral walls. And in a last betrayal of efforts, the polished scent permeated the halls. Permeated each room and even the foyer. The lingering odor familiar to those experienced in nursing homes or the men’s room of a honky tonk. The scent caused any and all to pause and search for, a non-existent puddle of urine, as a mad resident searches for their ball. "Do you know where that smell is coming from?" they would ask. Alas, this was the end. No one to appreciate the irony of the floor. They sought a new venue of salvation, but this was for their debtors. As if a coffin draped with a casket spray, they placed a tarp over the edifice. And from the end right up to the entrance where the viewing of the remains would occur, this spray hid the body. This ominous act was to be outdone only by the presence of the bright yellow police tape marking and securing parking spaces, perhaps to signify a crime had indeed occurred. No chalk mark was needed, no investigators with notepads called for, simply the yellow tape forbidding those that sought entrance. The patients who sought refuge would see this ribbon of doom and believe an impending demise was truly in their future. Hence, those that once believed they would take their own life may somehow lose it, at the hands of the stewards of this casket. They would not take that chance. They would not call the ferry man (admissions), nor would they cross the river styx (the foyer of their fate). They would keep driving. One thought he heard voices crying outside "I want to live" as the wheels spun around to expedite to the Othercare North. Those of us who stood at the bastion know the story well. No muffled toned vibrator from the ROLm Phone. Entries that once filled the board with residents and their status were replaced with other names on a different board. Those names were strong colorful names. Names like; United, Ameri and Blue. The flagship name which stained our dry eraser board carelessly written "Medicare" was the weapon, nay, the bullet which severed our services til only a remnant remain. Still they too would be placed in the ever growing names of our fiscal follies. Yes, it seemed as if a prearrangement for funeral services had been made before the flat line appeared on the telemetry monitor. Some had donated their services to other bodies. Kingwood (a strong name) and Westoaks (an eerily similar tree name). She was still living when they interred her. Many would leave before the graveside service if they were not already re-transplanted. Those parts who had been around for years, stayed until the corporate priest served her last rites. They knew. Though the captain jumped ship, the seasoned crew remained. Not bailing water, just waving as if on the Titanic. Believing in reincarnation, they would arrive again, not as before, but at least a living creature of some kind.

Postings

Well, it was a mad night. It was not a good time and the facility for which I utilize my skills, is probably going to shut down. No way they can stay open with the type of violations they have. Well, my guess is only Laura reads this, but once a week at best. If you are reading any of these posts, comment. You don't need to say who you are. Just hit the comment button. If no one is reading then I may put it just as private. Well, gotta run.

Ramblings of a mad man

There is a sense of doom surrounding me. You have to be mindful that sometimes it's intuition. It is unusual for me to get that deep dread like feeling. Maybe, 'cause I'm working weekends on top of night shift. Still, I can't help but ruminate. We hold our cards to close to our vest in life. Why? We don't want to show ourselves or share ourselves because of vulnerabilities, jealousies and competition. In an attempt to balance our superego with our id we push a facade that entertaines us more than others. "How many fond fools serve mad jealousy". What mask we show will debase for rivalry sake? Ultimately to what purpose?

Still, there are others; Those that expose their id with no sense of personal dignity and whom turn inwardly for brutish self satisfaction. These are the ones we avoid or embrace. Contrary to what we imagine ourselves to be, but nurtures that superficial illusion of charity to impress others with, but is more entertaining for ourselves in reality.

Are these relative truthes? No, "A false balance is abomination to the LORD: but a just weight is his delight." The weights mentioned in this verse and 20:23 are weights that required some work. They had to be as exact as possible. The point is, the balance required effort from the seller for integrity. The way a person knew an precise weight was to examine and work with measurements of existing scales or baselines. We are all off a bit. We all have some balance issues, the point is that a person needs to work on it keeping in mind that God detests our indifference to the rational truth. This truth is time tried and evident in our creation. It is our conscience. This brings us to the concern of the ego which attempts to balance both id and superego. This also requires an issue of boundaries. To set what is acceptable for oneself in life or not. What is the point of the boundary? Biblically its a just weight. Factually, it is a cosmic justice that seeks its own balance through a bipolar mechanism. The imbalances we include in our lives serves no purpose but to destabalize the rational truth. That being, equity in speech, thought, behavior and faith. In other words a sense of wisdom after we balance the scale which tells us how to keep the scale balanced.

MASH ME

Thoughts to ponder. Recently, it occured to me that a bit of confusion surrounds my understanding of what constitutes suicide. The term extends to the 17th century. 1651 is the first evidence of the fossilized meaning. Suicidium it was called. Sui is a term referring to ones self. The cide part is killing. Note it does not say suimort. Mort would be appropriate if you just died. The context of suicide is murder or kill. Those who assist are involved in a crime. State law have penalties if you help one committ suicide. So, if the person helping is convicted of murder (involuntary, manslaughter or whatever) (of sorts) then why is the person committing the act by decision (ideation) not charged with premeditated attempted murder to ones self. It makes ya think.

The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I'm beat
And to another give my seat
For that's the only painless feat.

That was a portion of the theme song from Mash. The chorus is quite lovely and includes a little ditty "suicide is painless, it brings on many changes". Well, my experiences are telling me it ain't painless. Statistics show most don't succeed and if they do . . . well, the damage done by the dead is criminal itself. One thing that is strongly communicated above and beyond the act is the pain. There is so much hurt. Many people believe that the suicide is attention seeking behavior and you should not reward it. The alternative is to let them eventually succeed. There should be some measure that would demonstrate that you have done everything possible to help. Just like a murder you could not stop. Suicide happens. It's our responsibility to do whatever we can, but not at the expense of ourselves. Unlike murder, if you become the victim of a suicidal patient, they will feel worse and kill themselves because of the guilt that you died. The one you saved from murder (though you may have died) has a greater propencity to appreciate.

Mad cow disease

The inevitable has occured. Worked very long and hard hours in order to make less. I am not quite certain how that occured, but it did. The same story where you are penalized for making more. It's ok though. I needed to cut back on hours anyways. I'm thinking that I may be asked to work this weekend and I will decline.
The cable man is suppose to be here between 8 and 12. Good thing I don't need to sleep. It never fails that I reside further out than everyone else and they arrive at the very last minute. It seems I have always lived further out or usually last on everyones list. When you live as far out as I do, it seems to intrude upon so many aspects of life. Lets take, for example, gasoline. It is more expensive the farther away you live. It begs the question, but I will not entertain logic today. The gas is not the only problem (ofcourse). The mileage on my car is higher the more you get away. I get much less miles per gallon out here, too. Sounds weird, I know. Maybe that is why groceries are so expensive. I have noticed milk is getting up there too. Now, I figure that I live, say, dead center of some desert in Arizona. Actually, less than a mile we have a huge oil company. No wells, just the corporate offices. You would think we would ride on the coat tails of these execs. No, no. I have also discovered that right down the street, in walking distance, is a cable TV truck. I think he lives there, because it is always parked in the driveway. Maybe its a new marketing technique, I don't know. If not, he must have quite a few calls in our neighborhood. Oh, Borden Milk company is right in Conroe, just off of 75 near the great city of Conroe. I would hate to live any closer to anyone of these. Could you imagine the expense. Here is what I'm going to propose at the next Woodland Corp board meeting. I ran this through my Lawyer in India (much cheaper cause its far away?).
I would like to propose that all access between Oil Corporations and Filling Stations (hadn't heard that in awhile) be rerouted in order to reduce the price of gasoline. Also, any company trucks belonging to commercial industry, must be parked atleast 40 (good number) miles away from my house or be taxed the amount of difference in gasoline from wherever far away is. Then, reduce teet expression from the heffers to help defray the weight in milk trucks carrying their goods, subsequently obtaining better gas mileage thereby ultimately lowering the mpg's in those large trucks. I would propose that we squeeze the teets ourselves, but I am sure that would raise the price of gas and bring the cable trucks closer. Furthermore, in order to improve delivery of services, all techinicians for major corporations such as Comcast, SBC, Dish TV Etc. . . should truck pool to servicing neighborhoods (you know like those kids that try and sell the magazines) and walk around providing quicker service. The cable services tech. would start at say, MY HOUSE. Then proceed down the street. While at the other end the SBC phone guy, could be walking this way. We could throw in a milkman should this really take off. Then, we could get all services one right after another without a break in the action. No more, 8-12. Cable guy at 8am, 9am the gas meter reader, followed by 10am phone company man, 11am that snot nosed kid trying to sign me up for some magazine so he can go to the Bahama's. 12 PM, you could toss in say, the milkman or the mexican yard workers. At 1pm they could all eat lunch together in my front yard at $20.00 a plate for scrambled eggs and cheese. Usually the price would be $8.00, but where does cheese come from? If they need me to get some gas for their lawn mowers I could charge a nominal fee of say, $4.50 a gallon since I live so close to the gas station. Well that would be my new community association proposal. May not seem to make much sense. I kind of figure those companies ride sharing will understand, right? Why, if anyone should, it would be them. Three hours left.