Monday, July 30, 2007

George MacDonald

I have, of late, been caught off guard by MacDonald and his writings, which sadly, have been sitting untouched on the shelf for quite some time. Making a discovery like MacDonald makes me scratch my head and wonder why I live my life so drowsily, missing out on such great things that exist in such close proximity.

Currently, I am reading the very excellent, The Princess and the Goblin, and listening to, The Day Boy and the Night Girl (courtesy of libravox.org). What I have most enjoyed in these stories is a richness in beauty and wisdom, they are full of penetrating truth, leaving one stirred and satisfied, but not content.

The Wikipedia article on MacDonald is a good place to begin.

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Friday, July 27, 2007

Double Dee-lite Yum-Time Yumminess!

It's Friday and for the O-dox it has it's own special meaning. Bi-weekly vegan warriors, unite! So, you might say, "Get to the Yum-time yumminess, lord of the foolhearty!" Well here it is, my controversial recommendation for good eating today, a spaghetti sandwich. Now, I know what some of you may be asking, "Starch on starch, are you serious??" Well, duh, why else would I call it Double Dee-lite, if not for goodness to be found when you put your bread and pasta together in one over-sized bite? Here's my recipe:

Large sourdough roll or kaiser bun, toasted, and spread with Earth Balance or it's equivalent.

Spaghetti, spaghettini, or angel hair with chunky red sauce thoroughly mixed in.

Serve open face with a bed of pasta on each half of the bread about 3/4 of an inch thick.

Lastly, this is all about the texture, much of which you'll miss out on if you use utensils, so no fork or knife allowed.

Enjoy with plenty of napkins at the ready.

*Author's note, my wife loathes this recipe, please don't blame her if you find it unappealing.

**Also, I neglected to mention my favorite topping to really make this dirty is Sriracha.

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Thursday, July 26, 2007


This is what life does. It lets you walk up to
the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a
stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have
your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman
down beside you at the counter who says, Last night,
the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,
is this a message, finally, or just another day?

Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the
pond, where whole generations of biological
processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds
speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,
they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old
enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?
There is movement beneath the water, but it
may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.

And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are
genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have
become. And then life lets you go home to think
about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.
Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life's way of letting you know that
you are lucky. (It won't give you smart or brave,
so you'll have to settle for lucky.) Because you
were born at a good time. Because you were able
to listen when people spoke to you. Because you
stopped when you should have and started again.
So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your
late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And
then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,
while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,
with smiles on their starry faces as they head
out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.

"Starfish" by Eleanor Lerman, from Our Post-Soviet History Unfolds. © Sarabande Books, 2005. Reprinted without permission.

Taken from The Writer's Almanac

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Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Weather Boy

Rain in Southern California during any time of the year is rare, but rain in the summer here can be especially elusive, so much so, that when it does come, one does everything they can to welcome it. Honestly, is there anything more refreshing than playing in a cool summer downpour?

Sunday afternoon, while I was in our backyard firing up the coals on the barbecue, the rain began to come down in big, fat, splattering, tropical drops, and my joyful cry went up, “Honey, it’s raining!!” I set down my beer and scrambled to get a large beach umbrella in place to protect the coals, and then stepped out from beneath to stand under the sky. The rain did not last long, and very soon after it began it was done.

That night while most of us slept, Basil came in, wanting to climb into bed with us. He was up on our bed angling for the precious real estate when I awoke. He held in his arms the essentials for travel by darkness, a guardian angel icon, a cuddly wolf, and a sippy of water. In the sleep interest of Sara and Simeon, I gathered his long gangly body up and carried him back to his bed, amidst much protesting.

I laid him down in his bed and settled in next to him. He cried for a bit, “Daddy, please change your mind, I wanna sleep in the bed with mommy and Simeon.” and then cuddled up next to me in resignation of his cause. We laid there for a while; he was entirely awake and very fidgety. He asked me pithy little questions, “Daddy, are rats very impatient?” My replies were short and matter of fact with the buried hope of quieting him, “No, rats are usually very patient.” I desperately wanted to return to sleep.

At last, we both began fading until the sudden sound of the oranges trees ruffling outside the open sliding glass door ripped us both from the clutches of sleep. Basil sat up quickly, “What is that, daddy?” I had to listen for a bit before I discerned the answer, “It’s raining!” Basil and I laid there and listened intently, a smile on my face and thankfulness in my heart. Basil then began to sing, “Rain, rain, go away, little Basil wants to play, rain, rain, go away, little Basil wants to play.” Laughing, I asked him where he heard that, “Oh, mommy sings it to me.”

Suddenly, washed away was all of the petty frustration, just to be awake for the return of the rain. To be an eyewitness to this rare happening, twice in one day, was well worth any yawning I may have to endure the next day, but more so, there was something very authentic, something that hinted at a deeper reality that we were participating in, in sharing this moment together. It really is the simple things that can turn out to be the most stunning and beautiful, especially the rarity of a summer rain.

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Friday, July 06, 2007

The RedNeck Rocket Launcher 

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Monday, July 02, 2007

Let me be Frank

Have you been to Frank's blog and seen his meme?? Go there now and check out the video of him playing the Irish Whistle.

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