A Friend in a Cold, Dark World

 
Since fire was first harnessed eons past, humans have huddled around it for warmth, used it to cook food, made it into torches for light, even fashioned it into weapons. Immensely powerful, fire has the capacity to wreak great destruction. In its tiniest form, however, it can be soothing, inspirational, romantic.

The flame of a lone candle is like the presence of an old friend - inviting and affable, warm and agreeable. What woman hasn't been wooed over dinner, her beauty adorned by the glow of a pair of tapered candles?

There's an intangible quality about the amber light of a candle that brings tranquility as it chases away the foreboding of darkness's uncertainty. I find a nearby candle's flame to be inspiring as I write, locked away in the solitude of my mind. Unlike people, the glowing inchling provides a sense of company without disturbing me with annoying demands or petty distractions. It only asks that I touch fire to its wick now and then, a small price to pay.




The brain's olfactory bulb is able to associate memories with scents in a way sight, sound, touch, and taste cannot. When I need to delve into a long-forgotten memory, the fragrance of a particular candle magically whisks me back to any time I wish.

During a cold and rainy winter, a scented candle can light an otherwise dim world in a way few things can.
  

Message from a Departed Pet

I put my eighteen-year-old dog to sleep today. You undoubtedly know how that is and what frame of mind the events of this morning have left me in.

Not long after the deed was done, I cleared my head the way I usually do when it gets clogged with life - not with a fifth of whiskey, no, those days are long over. Instead, I walked for two hours along my favorite lonely railroad tracks; the solitude does me wonders. When I returned, I found a note on my office desk. I'll share it with you here:


Thank You
I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate all you did for me during my time with you, and how much I love you all.

The life I left today cannot compare to the wonder and beauty of this amazing place! There are many, many others like me, some I know, but most I do not. Heidi is here, and she looks young and beautiful, even better than I remember her; there are cats I used to know, a pretty brown horse you once had, and one like me who you knew as Samson; they all say hello. Everyone is so young and healthy and happy. The air is clean, the food is great, it’s very peaceful and pretty, and best of all, I don’t hurt anymore. No pain at all! I can walk and run and have more energy than I had for a very long time.

I don’t know why, but I’ve only seen one here who is like you; he is sending this message for me. I don’t see any others, only dogs and cats and other furry ones and those not so furry. The one who sends this letter is one I know you know – I’ve heard you speak of him, and he was the first to greet me.

I don’t know when I’ll see you again – the one like you hasn’t told me that yet – but know that everything here is incredible, there is so much to do, and I have an eternity to do it in. Please don’t ever feel bad for me. I know you did everything you were able to, and that you would have done more for me if you could have. Today was my time to leave that world and come to this one, the time appointed by the one like you.

Though I didn’t talk the way you do, I understood all of your words, even when you didn’t know I was listening. And when you got frustrated with me because I couldn't walk very well and whined a lot, I know you didn't mean it. The ones you call Matty, Sadie, Crosby, Dakota – they understand, too. And they love you without measure or limits or conditions, just as I do.

I must go now. Heidi has some new friends, and they want to explore a fascinating new place they found.

Until we meet again,
Your buddy, Jasmine





Jasmine
June, 1991 - November 12, 2009

Urination: Protected Speech?

The other night, on a nationally televised airing of HBO's, "Curb Your Enthusiasm," actor Larry David urinated on a painting of Jesus Christ. Up until this week, I had believed Hollywood only did this figuratively.

The questions that well up in my mind are not why urinate on anyone's likeness? or how could he do such a thing? Neither answer would surprise me. Rather, I would ask Mr. David -- and do so now, though he'll surely be among the billions of people who do not read this blog -- why he chose to carry out this reprehensible act on a portrait of the icon, indeed the essence, of one of the world's largest religions, if not the largest: Christianity.

I have some suggestions as to why Mr. David chose to mock Jesus.

1. By doing so, David is merely acting out the whims of his father, Satan;
2. Urinating on a picture of, say, Barack Obama, would be met with calls of racism and a visit from "Reverends" Jackson and his sidekick, Sharpton;
3. Urinating on the Koran or the likeness of Mohammed could possibly result in the obliteration of HBO's offices by terror organizations; a bounty being placed on David's head by these same congenial folks; and CAIR beating their drums of intolerance, vehemently demanding anything from penance to David's head on a platter.

In light of these facts, it is quite clear that David chose the benevolent, all forgiving Savior as the object of his public mockery. Aside from a few legal organizations, e.g. The American Center for Law and Justice (ACLJ), and The Heritage Foundation, Christians have only ourselves to call upon. We don't benefit from the tides of political correctness, we don't run to the ACLU or the NAACP, we are not represented by any sympathetic LGBT group, and we look upon hate crimes legislation with disgust as they do not regard us in a positive light. The political party which once stood for us has wandered leftward into the political center and away from its religious conservative roots. Basically we are a loosely bound group of a billion or so people, a hundred million of which reside in the United States.

I let my voice be heard by e-mailing HBO directly, and I would suggest you do the same. Unfortunately I cannot cancel HBO as I do not subscribe to them, nor have I in a dozen years. My TV watching habits are too scant to register on anyone's Richter scale. But I have a voice, an opinion, and a modicum of free speech (until Obama guts the Constitution).

I am awaiting the announcement of a boycott against HBO by various Christian groups such as American Family Association and the like; however, since HBO does not advertise, such action likely would be ineffective against them. Also, since Christians largely are not among the network's demographic profile as we simply tend not to watch HBO, any boycott would likely lack the teeth to have the desired effect.

Chalk the urinating actor up to more of Hollywood's great sewer pipe, and refuse to watch anything featuring Larry David except a sincere, heartfelt apology. Don't hold your breath in expectation.

Only 134 Shopping Days Left!

While stopped at a traffic light earlier today, I scrolled through my mp3 player in search of some fresh music. Something fresh and vibrant, anything but the same tired stuff I've been listening to for the last several months. You know how uninspiring music can be when it's played beyond the point of "ad nauseum."

The last time I updated my mp3 player was sometime last summer (2008), so none of its two gigabytes of tunes are terribly fresh, vibrant, or inspiring. Thumbing the main control button, I scrolled through the genres and landed on an old and familiar one. Old and familiar, yet fresh and vibrant.

Christmas music.

To my recollection, I've never asserted my sanity to anyone, and doing so now would only diminish what little credibility I might have remaining. But in case you didn't read it correctly, I'll repeat it. Christmas music. I pressed the button to make my selection final, and my library of Christmas songs began playing in random order.

I rolled up the driver side window and glanced at the passenger glass to make certain it was up as well. No one listens to this stuff in August -- not even elves or reindeer -- and I couldn't bear to be on the receiving end of scornful glares and pairs of eyes narrowed in doubt, imaginary heads shaking in disgust, fingers wagging dubiously in my direction. No, I'd just as soon keep this dark little secret to myself. The light turned green and off I drove to the stylings of Jim Brickman and "O Holy Night."

With my mood buoyed better than any SSRI anti-depressant pill could manage, I found myself considering the intervening holidays. While most other people are enjoying the remaining weeks of summer with their BBQs and pool parties, I was mentally carving out pumpkins and imagining Thanksgiving football on TV, an icy yet oddly pleasant crispness in the air, clouds of discarded breath suspended before being swallowed back into the atmosphere, strings of lights adorning rain gutters and eaves and hedges.

Inevitably, I began to regard my Christmas shopping list. This year it will be pitifully curtailed to match my pitifully subdued income. Alas, no one remains bleak to "O Holy Night," and I was no exception. I ticked the volume control up a couple of notches, and Jim gave way to David Lanz. I cruised through a green light, sure to put a dose of cheer into any man's heart, and returned to the notion of buying Christmas presents. Perhaps a couple of intact neurons conspired to cause me to question further this holiday spree before it actually broke away from the drawing board and I steered the car into the nearest mall. I couldn't be serious about this! Even I still recognize lunacy when I see it. Moreover, it's sacrilegious to actually buy Christmas presents without all the hoopla normally attendant with the season, and this was one part of the tradition I was not about to forsake.

Besides, I have no wrapping paper or bows.

Still a few miles west of home, a fierce battle was raging inside my skull. While it was undeniably true that it might be considered by some to be mildly eccentric (I'm known for this) doing one's Christmas shopping four months early, there was a prudent side to it (I'm not known for being especially prudent -- calculatedly reckless, maybe). I reasoned that retail prices are lower in August than during December, remaining "normal" through September so they can be raised in October or November to assure maximum seasonal profit, only to be lowered again the day after Christmas. They magnanimously refer to this sudden illusory price drop as an after-Christmas sale.

Nobody said retail sales managers were stupid.

I've just pulled onto my street and have my driveway in sight. Windham Hill serenades me with "Deck the Halls." I've made it home without being lured to the mall. I still have at least six weeks until I suspect the price hikes to sneak through, so I'm not in any hurry. Not yet, anyway.

This may sound a little cockeyed, but let me be the first this Christmas season to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy 2010!