BOCK

Ruling Engine

Blessed are those who did not see, but, being blind, believed.

NUBIANS FOR CHRIST!
BOCK
[info]joetexx


THIS POST IS IN PROGRESS. FOLLOW THE LINKS AND CHECK BACK IF INTERESTED. FEEL FREE TO COMMENT AT ANY TIME.

History of Eastern Christianity by Aziz S.
Atiya (1968).

NUBIAN CHRISTIANITY:THE NEGLECTED HERITAGE [pdf] 

Medieval Nubia and Byzantium

Christian Nubia and its churches

The medieval kingdoms of Nubia: pagans, Christians and Muslims along the Middle Nile

Derek A. Welsby British Museum Press, 2002

Nobatia
 
Makuria
possibly named from Merkurios (reigned 697 - ca. 722)?
there is even a RPG Makurian knights Broken Crescent!

Alodia or Alwa last Christian Nubian kingdom Muslims conquered AD 1504.

One wonders if the sense of identity and cultural self-awareness witnessed by this fusion contributes in
some part to the modern-day identity of the Christian peoples of southern Sudan who today are still struggling to maintain their faith, culture, and their independence.


UPDATED ILL READING
BOCK
[info]joetexx

Inspired by Ben Epsen and with time on my hands I decided to compile a list of my reading over the last few years. I'll start with a conveniently copied list of my interlibrary loan books,(most recently read first.) The list is light on fiction as I order little of that from ILL. It does not reflect my regular library borrowing or my purchases. I assure you I read a lot of trash.  I have omitted books I checked out but read little of; save where noted I have read through everything on the list, which is not to say, alas, that I actually absorbed all or most of it.         

 The diaries of Dawn Powell, 

Powell, Dawn  

Recommended  by: Gore Vidal

Powell's often harrowing and always funny life should make for great reading but somehow I couldnt get into it. I'll have to content myself with her brilliant post WWII novels, especially Wicked Pavilion
Willard Gibbs,

Rukeyser, Muriel   
 

 I was interested to see a poet tackle the biography of America's greatest mathematical physicist. Rukeyser wrote this when she was only 25. Alas I  got only as far as her account of Gibb's father, the attorney for the slaves in the celebrated Amistad case, before I had to turn the book in.
 
Read more... )

I WUZ ROBBED!
BOCK
[info]joetexx
This took place in April but I deleted the entry by mistake so I am reposting it. 

************************************************************************

I wuz robbed!
 
The witching hour; I was awakened by a sudden light shining under my closed bedroom door. This had happened before, due to my prowling tomcat triggering a lamp plugged into the surge supressor in the living room. I prepared to resume sleep; I'm a light sleeper and fall asleep easily as well. But I swiftly realized something was wrong with this picture.
 
 
My cat was sleeping right next to me, and the door, as noted was closed.
 
I was in my wheelchair in a trice, whatever a trice might be, and must have missed
\the thief by less than a minute, perhaps only by seconds. My burgular was as cat-footed as  Bilbo Baggins; no dwarvish racket for him. The front door was already closed, and no one was visible in the street by the time I got there.
 
Totting up his swag, he got:
 
  • Two (2) laptops, my working one and an older model I was planning to pass along to a friend.
  • The Lexar thumb drive plugged into the working laptop for quick storage -so all my saved files are gone.
  • The speakers attached to the laptop
  • The traveling case
  • Eight bucks and change that had reposed in an old hat, my substitute for a wallet.
 My house has never been robbed, nor have any of my temporary hovels. Some 20 years ago a starter was stolen from my car in my driveway. My next-door neighbor was robbed of several items, including a pistol, some years later. I was the target of an attempted mugging in the Navy, but two companions, SEALs in training, were in shouting distance, which took care of<i>that</i>  problem. Apart from these instances my life has been a crime-free zone.
 
 
I am told, especially by women who have had this experience, that it induces a strong sense of personal violation. I don't feel this, though doubtless my sentiments would be more correct if I did. I also had no physical fear at any time (more on this latter).
 
What I feel is a strong sense of <i> indignation</i>, that a basic principle of justice has been violated, and I just happen to the particular victim. No doubt I would have felt wrath and fear
had the theft seriously inconvenienced me, but it does not. I can replace the items easily, even the lost files will only cost me some little time to renew. My earnings are not jepordized.
 
I also feel no gratitude that I was not physically harmed; in fact, I am sorry I did not not get to confront my Bilbo in person. He almost certainly would simply have run, possibly dropping his ill gotten gains and saving me some trouble. I am in far greater physical danger from stroke, heart disease and blood dyscrasia than from this clown, whoever he may be, and I don't spend any psychic energy worrying about those conditions at all.
 
I carry a Spyderco folding knife on my person; my only weapon. I got rid of my firearms some years back; should I acquire another handgun? Have to think about it.
 
I probably would not have shot Bilbo, though if I had I would suffer no consequences save paperwork and cleaning up the floor. This is Texas, after all. But if I still had the firearm I would like to have confronted him with it. Dammit, anyone who violates a household needs to understand that he is taking his life in his hands.
 
The orange tabby aforementioned was considerably more disturbed by the incident than I was.
Perhaps he was disturbed that he had not dtected the intruder. He wandered around the house for two hours, meowing planitively. Robert Heinlein one said that no one understands <i>meus et tuus</i> better than a watchdog. Plainly this is also true of  the domestick Catt.
 
Weirdly I feel exhilirated, 20 years younger in fact. My mild depression of the last weeks has lifted entirely!

Against Fun
BOCK
[info]joetexx
It's not Americans I find annoying; it's Americanism: a social disease of
the postindustrial world that must inevitably infect each of the mercantile nations in turn, and is called 'American' only because your nation is the most advanced case of the malady, much as one speaks of Spanish flu, or Japanese Type-B encephalitis. Its symptoms are a loss of work ethic, a shrinking of inner resources, and a constant need for external stimulation, followed by spiritual decay and moral narcosis. You can recognize the victim by his constant efforts to get in touch with himself, to believe his spiritual feebleness is an interesting psychological warp, to construe his fleeing from responsibility as evidence that he and his life are uniquely open to new experience. In the latter stages, the sufferer is reduced to seeking that most trivial of human activities: fun.
-- Trevanian: Shibumi

Fr. Seraphim Rose on 'fun'
"[Modern life has become] a constant search for "fun" which, by the way, is a word totally unheard of in any other vocabulary; in 19th century Russia they wouldn't have understood what this word meant, or any serious civilization.



"Life is a constant search for "fun" which is so empty of any serious meaning that a visitor from any 19th-century country, looking at our popular television programs, amusement parks, advertisements, movies, music—at almost any aspect of our popular culture—would think he had stumbled across a land of imbeciles who have lost all contact with normal reality.


***


"It is important for us to realize, as we try ourselves to lead a Christian life today, that the world which has been formed by our pampered times makes demands on the soul, whether in religion or in secular life, which are what one has to call totalitarian.


***


"The message of this universal temptation that attacks men today—quite openly in its secular forms, but usually more hidden in its religious forms—is: Live for the present, enjoy yourself, relax, be comfortable.


"Behind this message is another, more sinister undertone which is openly expressed only in the officially atheist countries which are one step ahead of the free world in this respect. In fact, we should realize that what is happening in the world today is very similar whether it occurs behind the Iron Curtain or in the free world. There are different varieties of it, but there is a very similar attack to get our soul.


"In the communist countries which have an official doctrine of atheism, they tell quite openly that you are to: Forget about God and any other life but the present; remove from your life the fear of God and reverence for holy things; regard those who still believe in God in the "old-fashioned' way as enemies who must be exterminated.


"One might take, as a symbol of our carefree, fun-loving, self-worshipping times, our American "Disneyland"; if so, we should not neglect to see behind it the more sinister symbol that shows where the "me generation" is really heading: the Soviet Gulag, the chain of concentration camps that already governs the life of nearly half the world's population."

Book Burning - Nero Wolfe and Pauline Kael
BOCK
[info]joetexx

It is an uncommon novel that begins with a principal character burning a dictionary, but that is the opening of Gambit, as Archie Goodwin announces to Nero Wolfe the arrival of a prospective client:

Without turning his head Wolfe let out a growl, yanked out some more pages and dropped them on the fire, and demanded, “Who is Miss Blount?” …

[Goodwin]: “… she has an appointment with you … Besides, how about the comments I have heard you make about book burners?”

[Wolfe] yanked out more pages. “I am a man, not a government or a committee of censors. Having paid forty-seven dollars and fifty cents for this book, and having examined it and found it subversive and intolerably offensive, I am destroying it.” He dropped the pages on the fire. “I’m in no mood to listen to a woman. Ask her to come after lunch.”....

“Mr. Wolfe is in the middle of the a fit. It’s complicated. There’s a fireplace in the front room, but it’s never lit because he hates open fires. He says they stultify mental processes. But it’s lit now because he’s using it. He’s seated in front of it, on a chair too small for him, tearing sheets out of a book and burning them. The book is the new edition, the third edition, of Webster’s New International Dictionary, Unabridged, published by the G. & C. Merriam Company of Springfield, Massachusetts. He considers it subversive because it threatens the integrity of the English language….”

She was staring up at me. “He’s burning up a dictionary?”

“Right. That’s nothing. Once he burned up a cookbook because it said to remove the hide from a ham end before putting it in the pot with lima beans. Which he loves most, food or words, is a tossup.”

– Archie, explaining Wolfe’s reaction to a dictionary that allows the use of “imply” in place of “infer,” in Gambit, chapter 1.

Pauline Kael on burning books

A woman who taught at Berkeley dropped in on me once and saw a book burning in the fireplace,” recalled Pauline Kael, in her skeptical film review of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. “She pointed at it in terror. I explained that it was a crummy ghost-written life of a movie star and that it was an act of sanitation to burn it rather then sending it out into the world which was already clogged with too many copies of it. But she said, ‘You shouldn’t burn books’ and began to cry.”



Takuan's Rules
BOCK
[info]joetexx
  • Learn by what means MSM and MSE (that’s Mainstream Entertainment) manipulate one’s perception of Reality. Kill your TV.
     
  • Cancel your subscription to all mainstream opinion magazines and daily newspapers. Do not allow news branded AP, Reuters, AFP, BBC, CNN to enter your home, for that is Orwell’s newspeak, not news.
     
  • Boycott all products advertised on TV, radio and in glossy magazines. Learn by what means ads manipulate your value system and your behavior. Demand from advertisers information, not mind fornication.
     
  • Identify the meaning of the terms neocon, theocon, establicon, paleocon, and “laissez faire” con. Identify the publications, websites and frontmen associated with those strains. Avoid them, as each has a huge blind spot. Or else, read them all, so that the blind spots cancel out mutually.
     
  • Think about the emotional impact of words, learn to disassociate the emotions from the words. Remember that the Patriot Act enslaves the patriots, War on Extremism is a war on your liberty and pocketbook with no hope of victory against the actual terrorists, Diversity stands for forced uniformity, American Idol is American Ninny, “celebrity” is a fool with good orthodontics and a great ass, and “star” is a fool with the same assets plus a talent for faking emotions.
     
  • Learn to spot jivin’ and sellin’. Don’t buy what they sell.
     
  • Desist from fandom of all commercialized team sports. Avoid particularly the mega-opiate machines of FIFA World Cup, Olympics, NFL, NBA, MLB, NHL.
     
  • Resist the beckoning voice of the siren: the emotive (and Obama-voting) creature from Venus. Insist that she respect your voice, the voice from Mars. The feminine yin is as valuable as the masculine yang, but not here and now. We suffer from the greatest surfeit of yin in history. Our clock is being cleaned by all the patriarchal yang countries, starting with China. Even our alligators are now born with shrunken penises.
     
  • If you are a member of a feelgood church with a Walmart-sized parking lot and a rock band, drop out. Church with services in Spanish, homo clerics, lesbian bishops, social justice deacons, ditto. They all are purveyors of foamy estrogen in an era of rampant yin. If nothing else remains, go to find Jesus in the forest, where your ancestors found their gods, too. The forest has a way of weeding out the yin-afflicted.
     
  • Teach your children all of the above. More then anything, it’s the K-12 vertical indoctrination and lateral peer pressure that produce either Group A of shallow zombies shimmying to the globocorporate multiculti consumer samba with Xbox sadism at 8 and digitally transmitted hookups at 12, or crazed “social justice” dhimmis who compensate for having been rejected by Group A.
Takuan Seiyo

Power, Authority, Leadership
BOCK
[info]joetexx

This is an expansion of a comment  I made a John C. Wright's journal; I thank him for the opportunity to comment. It is incomplete and poorly organized; I plan to add to it rather than make new posts at present.
It will be at the top of the list for awhile since I raely make new posts; if you have any interest at all you  might check back.






I have been thinking, even brooding, on the whole topic of authority, power and legitimacy. I hope you don't mind my commenting on LJ; I just find it looks prettier than whatever it is that scifiwrirters uses. I havent read the FirstThings article but I did read everything below the cut.

“The Most Improper Job of Any Man is Bossing Other Men”

Like Dr. Hart. I deeply sympathize with Tolkien's attitude, and of course I agree that not one man in a million is fit for it. Unfortunately that doesn't dispose of the problem. Not one man in a million is fit to be a brain surgeon, a hard rock driller, or an Air and Sea rescue frogman either.But these tasks must be done and in the case of rule, or governance, they are nessescitated by theFall.

I've been attracted to anarchism since my teens when first I read the history of the Spanish Civil War. It was a considerable shock, years later, to discover that the worst atrocities of the war were committed not by the "fascisits", or the Condor Legion, or (everyone's favorite villians) the Spanish Communists. These last were bad indeed, but the most savage crimes had to to be laid at the door of my beloved anarchists.

But the seed had been planted, and over the years I read and thought a great deal about anarchism, both in its left (mutual aid) and right (free contract) incarnations. I tried to incorporate mutual aid principles into my personal relations and into my political and social activities, and it worked, surprisingly often. But it works largely on the level of those who can see and speak with other as a regular matter, and  I'm afraid it breaks down beyond that point.

I've come to believe that anarchism, in both its variants, is largely an attempt to evade this problem - to banish the specter of "politics" - the intrigue and wire-pulling which must accompany any exercise of power - from the sphere of human action. The left says "we shall cooperate on the basis of mutual aid, and replace the rule of men with the administration of things." The right says, "we shall indeed replace rule, but rather by the exercise of free contract  on the basis of rational self-interest."

Note: often we speak of "government" and the "State" as though they were simply synomyms.  Is it so? I remember in Nock's Memoirs of a Superfluous Man that he drew a distinction between the two. Any conceivable society, even a libertarian utopia, requires government, but the State is an entity that imposes itself on society through conquest and maintains itself by fraud. This is not original with Nock; IIRC he mentions German thinkers - Gumpelwicz and Oppenheimer - as his source. I wonder how useful the distinction really is.

I have seen a typology of leadership that distinguishes "traditional" from "charismatic" leaders.  Traditional - one salutes the man, not the uniform. One obeys the CEO because the Board has  selected him on behalf of the shareholders; the General Secretary is the voice of the Party. Charismatic - the gang leader, the cult leader, the cheerleader whose girls follow her because of her personal magnetism and skill. The types can of course be combined in one person.

Tolkien's great captains are all such ideal combinations. Aragorn, Eomer, Boromir, Faramir,  Imrahil bear both the mystique of traditional authority and great personal ability; Gondor and Rohan get the best of both types. And this  is as it should for Tolkien is writing heroic fantasy.

But still we don't see the dark side of the exercise of even legimate power. We never see Faramir executing a deserting Ranger of Ithlien, or Aragorn sentencing a sleeping sentry to drag a heavy log around on his next watch. Eomer does not apprehend his sister posing as Dernhelm and confine her to quarters under close arrest, which is what should happen to a recalcitrant junior officer. I do not say Tolkien should have have shown these things, but they are necessary actions of authority if it is to maintain itself and perform its proper role.

I remember Mary Renault's great quasi-mythical novel The King Must Die. Theseus wins his first victory, and finds that a warrior, who he rather likes, has fled the line of battle. With great reluctance he has the fellow chained to his chariot axle, and beheads him with his own sword, for he must show his following the consequences of cowardice. I felt a chill when I read that, and began to to understand my father when he spoke of the grim responsibilties of combat command in the Phillipines.


Dr Hart tells us:

But a king—a king without any real power, that is—is such an ennoblingly arbitrary, such a tender and organically human institution. It is easy to give our loyalty to someone whose only claim on it is an accident of heredity, because then it is a free gesture of spontaneous affection that requires no element of self-deception, and that does not involve the humiliation of having to ask to be ruled.

The ideal king would be rather like the king in chess: the most useless piece on the board, which occupies its square simply to prevent any other piece from doing so, but which is somehow still the whole game….

Reminds me of Isabel Paterson:  The King does not act, for he is the center of the cyclone, the point at which all forces meet and cancel each other. When Charles I failed to perceive this insight, it was imparted to him with the edge of the ax.

Now I have  a problem with Dr Hart, and I suppose with Miss Paterson as well. Hart in particular seems to indulge in what, in my tender years we called "happy-crappy". To be fair, it is not all crap, but Hart, like a child, wants to lick off the sugar and not swallow the pill; to feel the caress of the velvet glove and ignore the iron fist. He craves the romance and ceremony of hereditary monarchy, but - note the words in boldface - he shies from the reality that must support it.

Elizabeth II today reigns but does not rule. But she reigns at all only because her predecessors -  the Alfreds, the Henrys, the Edwards, and that other Elizabeth - did rule. They sat in judgement, led armies in battle, issued decrees that swayed nations. Their ministers, generals, and people were at best advisors, if they were heeded at all. The peacetime soldier obeys his officer who may well be a timeserver or a martinent at least in part because he knows that once upon a time there were Lees and Pattons and Saladins- and they will come once more if they are needed. Charles Stuart again: A subject and a soverign are clean different things.

Seriously, what happens to kings who reign but do not rule, in the long run : the Rois fainéants, the Chou Emperors, the archons basileus of Athens, the Holy Roman Emperors(German by nation)? The tinsel wears off, as time goes on, even amongst the common people. (15 % of the UK opoulation, I've have read, identify themselves as "republicans"). Imagine an America in which 15% wanted to revoke the Declaration of Independence and tear up the Constitution). At last the holders of real power themselves crave the mystery which surrounds the old kings, or simply tire of the cost of their upkeep, and the office is abolished.

I propose nothing here, certainly no return to hereditary monarchy, which depends on loyalties that simply have ceased to exist in today's world. But I do suspect we'll see a return of personal  rule in some form, for one of the great delusions of modernity is that we can build a workable social order simply by picking the right theory and following it.



Acornology
BOCK
[info]joetexx

Imagine, I said, that you are a a scientist and you have before you the object known as an acorn. Let us imagine further that you have never seen such an object and that you certainly do not know that it can grow into an oak. You carefully observe these acorns day after day and soon you notice that after a while they crack open and die. Pity! How to improve the acorn? So that it will live longer. You make careful, exquisitely precise chemical analyses of the material inside the acorn , and, after a much effort, you succeed in isolating the substance that controls the condition of the shell. Lo and behold, you are now in the position to produce acorns which will last far longer than the others, acorns whose shells perhaps will never crack. Beautiful!
 
The question before us, therefore is whether or not modern psychology is only a version of acornology.

Jacob Needleman


Reading: Interlibrary Loan
BOCK
[info]joetexx

Inspired by Ben Epsen and with time on my hands I decided to compile a list of my reading over the last few years. I'll start with a conveniently copied list of my interlibrary loan books,(most recently read first.) The list is light on fiction as I order little of that from ILL. It does not reflect my regular library borrowing or my purchases. I assure you I read a lot of trash.  I have omitted books I checked out but read little of; save where noted I have read through everything on the list, which is not to say, alas, that I actually absorbed all or most of it.       

  

 The diaries of Dawn Powell, 

Powell, Dawn  

Recommended  by: Gore Vidal

Powell's often harrowing and always funny life should make for great reading but somehow I couldnt get into it. I'll have to content myself with her brilliant post WWII novels, especially Wicked Pavilion
Willard Gibbs,

Rukeyser, Muriel   
 

 I was interested to see a poet tackle the biography of America's greatest mathematical physicist. Rukeyser wrote this when she was only 25. Alas I  got only as far as her account of Gibb's father, the attorney for the slaves in the celebrated Amistad case, before I had to turn the book in.
 
Read more... )

About me
BOCK
[info]joetexx
This is information from my journal biography along with stuff I did not bother to include there.

I am 56 years old, a citizen of the USA living in San Antonio, Texas, and am a passionate booster of my home town and state. I have undergraduate degrees in history and chemistry (BS not BA, the former is harder and I'm proud of it). I served in the US navy as a hospital corpsman. I worked for many years as a nurse in orthopedic, surgical, medical, emergency and especially oncology units. I have also worked as a laboratory inspector and data analyst, a salesman of electric scooters, a deliveryman for a dental prosthetic service, and a high school chemistry and physics teacher. I presently work part time as a science and mathematics tutor and plan to become certified as a braille transcriber in mathematics. I have never been a merchant seaman.

I  began this journal in December 2005 and posted just two entries; a rant from one of my favorite columnists at the time and the first page of a since abandoned fanfiction. Within in a few  days the pressures of illness killed any desire to chronicle my life and opinions online, and some months later my computer crashed. I had built it from scratch in 2001, an exhilrating experience which I had no desire to repeat. I made do with Kinko's and the public library until last month, when I acquired a spanking new laptop. In the last few days I have read with pleasure the LJ entries of several highly competent writers. and enjoyed browsing their comments section. This prompted me to resurrect my nearly-forgotten journal,  which quickened with surprising alacrity.

I used the Internet for the first time in 1997, largely to look up rules for scientific waste disposal in the Code of Federal Regulations. I also learned not to squabble online with well informed folks without consulting the Statistical Abstract of the United States.  As saith Uncle John, he who will not do the math is doomed to talk nonsense. My major online interaction was  from 1999 - 2003 when Buffy tVS became the first TV show in 25 years to arouse my serious interest. I signed on to the Watcher's Diary at buffyguide.com, still administered in attenuated form by the peerless Jamie Marie.  I developed a deep fondness for this forum and nearly all the folks who regularly posted. I waxed enthusiatic, quarreled and wrote at least a dozen Buffy fics, of which maybe three very short ones were ever finished. In 2003 I got involved in a lengthy argument over the Massachusetts same sex marriage decision. I was in a minority of one in opposing it. The argument got quite heated, while remaining (mostly) civil. I was disquieted not by the disagreement, having expected nothing else, but by the sheer inability of most of my forum mates to even imagine that anyone could hold such a position, and I was amazed by how formulaic and absurd most of my opponents' arguments were. It was a hothouse atmosphere and rather unreal, and it was a relief to resurface in real life and remember that most people agree with me.

Restart
BOCK
[info]joetexx
Journal taken up again after nearly 4 year hiatus.

Gay bishop
BOCK
[info]joetexx
RE: BISHOP ROBINSON [John Derbyshire]

I don't want to bang on about this too much, but I am in a state of black despair about this whole miserable business. Look: I'm an Anglican. I know the hymns and liturgy, I know the history. I grew up with it all. I go into an Episcopalian church as one going to a refuge from noise and money and the damn fool Zeitgeist. I go looking for eternal truth, and expecting to find it. If this church that I grew up with is going to be a club for homosexuals, turning its teachings upside down to accommodate every passing social fad, "celebrating" the "gay" ethos, what is there in it for normal people like me? But now where shall I go? The Roman Catholic church is headed the same way--half the priests are queer already, people tell me. I get e-mails--a surprising number--from people who have left the western Catholic churches and found a spiritual home among the Orthodox. Well, I'm open to the suggestion; but why, in my fifties, should I have to give up the devotional habits of a lifetime? Just losing the hymns would break my heart. And in any case, the Orthodox priesthood, with all those bright vestments and ministrational hierarchies, is going to be just as appealing to homosexuals as the Catholic churches have proved, and will sooner or later go the same way. We have let something loose in our society, and it won't rest until it has occupied the commanding heights and forcibly shut the mouths of all who object--bigots! homophobes! haters! I have never liked homosexuality, nor tried to hide that fact; but all my life I have supported tolerance towards homosexuals as a harmless minority who are just as entitled to pursue their private inclinations as the rest of us. I have always thought that the criminalization of homosexual acts was both foolish, and inhumane, and un-Christian. I am no longer so sure. Perhaps our grandfathers were wiser than us. Perhaps there are some things that we, the normal majority, SHOULD, deliberately and consciously, disapprove and marginalize. But what hope of that now? The toothpaste is out of the tube. To the catacombs!

Dear Mr. Derbyshire,

I am not Episcopalian, but as a Christian who was victimized by a "gay" ex-husband, I commend you on your insight that this "bishop's" real crime was what he did to his children. After 16 years of marriage, my husband abandoned me with 3 children, the oldest severely disabled, the youngest 3 weeks old, to run off with a food editor in what he said was a "lifetime commitment." That one lasted a couple months.

Put aside my emotional trauma (although 22 years have passed and I have been remarried for 15 I have NEVER recovered from his betrayal), my girls have suffered a sure and steady form of abuse, just by having to live through this. I made a conscious decision not to poison them against their father's lifestyle, thus raised them not to be intolerant of gays, but intolerant of people who lie, cheat and betray. I allowed him visitation until he started putting posters of naked men in his bathroom, and moved a guy in. From then it went to dinners only. But the damage continued. Their struggle with a sexually active gay father, and what it means regarding their own sexuality, their angst with their peers (which continues today) to say nothing of what they must think of me for loving such a man ...well, it's too complex to explore in this venue. Only our mutual sense of humor has kept us afloat.
As my middle daughter prepares for her wedding, the crisis rears its head again. "Daddy" wants to bring his partner.... most friends and family have not seen this man for 20 years, which means if he comes, the wedding will be "all about HIM," which has always been the case. The other daughter has had dreams of him showing up at her wedding in a Speedo. It will never end. Someday we'll have to explain "Gay Paw Paw" and his young friend.

We laugh, but we cry. For 20 years, we've heard the mantra from him that he deserves his "personal happiness," and that I'd better "deal" with the social/political issues of the gay world because, as he says, "we're queer and we're here!" He's never been an activist, but he is on the "circuit" and has chided us for years about the evils of the organized churches and how the gays would make these inroads. It's the only thing, sadly, he's been right about.

One other point. When my ex, a kind, churched midwest farm boy who made it big in the film business, traveled a lot, and often hung his hat in Hollywood and NY, "came out," he had a lot of help in leaving me. Don't be naive about recruitment (as I surely was). Even in 1981, there were "groups" who helped him "ease out" of his marriage and responsibilities. I did everything I could..... therapy (even found him a gay shrink who thought he should stay married) but to no avail. The pressures from the gay community to "be honest" and admit he was "gay," not an acting-out bi-sexual, won.

His sin, like Robinson's, was breaking his vows and shattering the emotional health of his daughters, not only by abandonment, but by forcing them to deal with issues beyond their psychological maturation skills. I believe God says something about not forgiving a person unless they ask for forgivness...... so I'm comfortable never forgiving this man. I left the United Church of Christ 10 years ago for their similar stance. Now with the Episcopals following suit, at least my ex will have plenty of places to pray. Trouble is, he's too busy shopping and following the party circuit (at age 60) to take the time.
If you'd like to reference any of my comments, feel free, but keep me anonymous for my girls' sakes.
Today, pray for that church, and for all the women and children who have been damaged by the gay community.

COO COO CA-CHOO BISHOP ROBINSON [John Derbyshire]

This is a dreadful event, a triumph for the forces of death over the forces of life. Robinson cheerfully acknowledges that he is an active homosexual. The Bible is perfectly clear that homosexual acts are sinful. Our Lord gave sinners strict and clear instructions: stop sinning, and repent your past sins. Robinson is in brazen violation of fundamental Christian doctrine. Nobody has to be a Christian; but if you are going to call yourself one, you should follow the rules. Further, Robinson abandoned two little girls in order to indulge his sexual urges. (His supporters are glossing this like crazy. They tell you--they are telling me--that his wife was entirely on board with it, and the whole family get together once a year and dance round a maypole together singing "Kumbaya," or some damn thing. Well, if his wife was agreeable, she is as big a moral criminal as he is. Little girls need their Daddy around. If Robinson doesn't know that, he is not fit for any position of responsibility, anywhere. If his wife didn't fight tooth and nail against his abandonment, she is no Christian woman. What did Mrs Robinson say when the tots asked: "Mommy, why has Daddy gone away?" Millions of ordinary Americans struggle through worse crises every day, and come down at last on the side of social responsibility and Christian duty. Robinson came down on the side of Woody Allen: "The heart wants what it wants." Feu!) That he could become a bishop in my church sickens and disgusts me. We can show tolerance and Christian obligation towards deviant minorities without handing them the keys to the house, can't we? Apparently not, not today, not in America. For shame! For shame!

http://www.nationalreview.com/thecorner/corner.asp


Robinson said Wednesday he hoped no one would leave the church because of the debate over his election.

Ashton
BOCK
[info]joetexx
Rounding the curve past the two-mile marker, Sara was panting just a little and feeling triumphant. Panting was a step up from gasping, and she had managed to match Toni stride for long-legged stride, though she was aware that her friend had slowed her pace to accommodate the five inches of short Sara had on her.

She stole a glance at Toni and was glad that she no longer felt the slight resentment that welled up when they first started their regimen. Toni was almost a month further along than Sara and was carrying twins. But with her bulky jacket and height she didn't show at all, and she just looked pleasantly flushed and pumped up, ready to run a marathon.

Toni's posture was a bit tense, however, and she scanned the open expanse of the main park anxiously. Sara realized that Parry had been out of their sight for the last two or three minutes, though the boy had promised to keep in sight of his mother and Sara. He must have run ahead after his red merle collie.

Toni visibly relaxed and gestured with her mittened right hand. Parry was about fifty feet away, next to the swing set, tugging insistently at a frisbee firmly locked in the collie's jaws.

"He's fine, mama hen," Sara said in amusement, "you're knocking yourself out trying to look after both of us. 'sides, Abner's right here." Sara waved at the big Liberian refugee who was the park's new custodian. Abner was emptying one of the drum trashcans into the dumpster. He waved back.

"Hello, hello, Miz Harp, Miz Lenson! Be round that path faster every day. When you two gonna start cross country?"

"Training never ends for the Expectant Moms' Volksmarching Team," Toni said. She waved too. "C'mon Sara, potty break while Abner watches."

"Don't need to," Sara said comfortably. She seated herself on a park bench and pulled out a bag of trail mix. "You go on, I'm gonna snack."

Toni shook her head in disbelief. "When I had Parry I had to go if I walked across the room. No morning sickness for you, either. Easy first puppy, girlfriend. Be grateful."

"Oh I am," Sara said, munching agreeably. "I'll be watching him too. Looks like he finally got that frisbee away from Dunk." In the distance Parry sent the disc flying and the collie bounded after it. Toni nodded and headed towards the ladies' room.

Sara tucked away her bag of mix and drowsed pleasantly for a bit. When she opened her eyes Dunk was sitting at her feet, frisbee between his front paws. The collie was looking towards Parry and whining softly.

The seven-year-old stood by the merry-go-round, peering up at a short man in trench coat and fedora who was leaning on a shepherd's crook cane. Parry pointed to Sara's bench, and the man nodded and began limping across the park lawn, the boy bouncing alongside him excitedly.

Sara rose to her feet nervously as the two approached. Toni was still in the restroom. Maybe she was silly, but still - grown stranger talking to little boy in park? Sara decided she needed to find out about the man with the cane. My God, Toni said Parry's father had gone overseas and not seen the boy since the uncontested divorce - it couldn't be him, could it?

Didn't seem likely as the man halted in front of her. He looked at least 45 and might be anywhere up to 60. Fedora tipped back on head, showing a thatch of brown hair liberally streaked with gray. His face was deeply lined and his clothes baggy, as though he'd recently lost a lot of weight. His blue eyes were bright and alert, though, and she noticed his walk was brisk and steady despite his limp.

The man held out his hand and whistled to Dunk, who sniffed suspiciously and barked once. He leaned on his cane again and smiled warmly at Sara.

"Afternoon, ma'am." Accent Deep South, but not comically so. "Ricky here tells me you're Miz Heart."

"Harp," Sara blurted, startled. Ricky? The boy's full name was Roland Parrish Sherill and Toni rarely called him anything but Parry. They suffered an interruption from Parry, who hopped up and down and cried out, "It's Uncle Jay! Where's Mom?"

"So I rate an Uncle, I guess." The man chuckled and turned back to Sara. "Honored, Miz Harp. I only met this young'un a few times, and he was about three, but we went on a couple helicopter rides together. Prob'ly remembers the 'copter better than me."

Sara opened her mouth to reply and saw boy and man were looking past her. She turned and saw Toni halted about halfway from the restrooms, staring fixedly and without expression at the man next to Parry.

The boy bolted to his mother, Dunk in hot pursuit. Toni grabbed his hand as he reached her and started at once towards them, Parry babbling "Mommomlookitzuncajaysocool..." Toni stopped next to Sara but kept a firm grip on her son's hand.

"Pat Jay," she said tonelessly. "You've looked better and worse."

"You look sensational as always, Story," he returned. "Me, rarely felt better. Rehab gives a man a chance for reverie and reflection. I actually miss it now that I'm out of the wheelchair."

"Jay. Ricky. Story. Sorry, I'm a bit confused," Sara said pointedly. Toni seemed very uptight and it was bothering her.

"Jill Story was her name when we knew each other," the man called Jay said amiably. "Not her real name, of course, but then Patrick Jay isn't mine."

Toni was silent long enough to make it a little uncomfortable. Then she spoke up with a little more life in her voice.

"Time you knew, then, Pat. I'm Ashton August, call me Toni. All my friends do. Of course, it's Ashton Lenson now. This is my friend Sara Harp. Sara, Pat's my ex-boss."

"I've had the pleasure of meeting her," said Pat Jay. "Miz Harp, Jill - Toni - is exaggerating just a tad. We was colleagues - I was only in charge on our last assignment."

"Bullshit, I never played in your league," Toni said shortly, but she seemed a little more relaxed. "Pat, I don't expect you to reciprocate - I mean about the names - but it's good for me to be real again."

"Got the advantage of me there, hon. No, gonna have to be Pat Jay a while longer," the man said soberly. Then he grinned broadly. "Damn all. Toni Lenson, huh?"

Toni shrugged. "Mike asked me after Kip had been gone a year. I like to think I wasn't desperate, but if I was it didn't matter. I picked a winner."

"Always said Mickey the Lens was a stand-up guy," Jay agreed. "Luckier than he deserves, though."

Sara broke in; "Mr. Jay, Michael and Mitt - that's my husband - will meet us here very shortly." She wasn't sure why she said this, unless the situation was getting a little spooky and she wanted to remind herself their men would soon be around. Sara had stuff in her own past that she was waiting to share with Toni, her best friend since prep school - but this - fake names? Mickey the Lens? Sounded more like a bookie or gangster than Toni's rather somber insurance appraiser husband. Sara wasn't sure whether she was more alarmed or ravenously curious.

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