Short Post

Last night’s post The Truth really opened up some space for me. Telling the truth about my loss and my feelings are helping me work through this horrific experience.

Growing up in a political family, I learned to take political disagreement with a grain of salt. So when I encounter inflexible and hateful ideologues in the real world, I don’t know how to deal with them.

So I still want everybody in the Whole Wide World to love me for the lovable old curmudgeon that I am, just as I love pretty much all comers.

We went from day time highs of mid sixties to lower nineties within a day of each other, it seems.

Had the ball joints replaced in the ’98 Mercury Grand Marquis, my Dad’s (Junior) old car. I want it to run forever

The Truth

I have been hiding out for about ten weeks. The Lenten sabbatical worked well, but not posting frequently when Ascension Day is one week away requires an explanation.

Here It Is

About ten weeks ago, a man whom I counted as a friend for thirtynine years ended our friendship because I told him that I really didn’t care what Donald Trump says or tweets. I still don’t. For someone who has followed politics since I was thirteen, this is a radical departure. Truth is I am burned out.

When that friendship ended, part of me died. I had deluded myself into thinking friendships are some sort of indisolvable bond. They are not. After two failed marriages, I should have known better. So my enthusiasm for life has faded. Maybe it will return.

I can no longer fly “under the radar”, pretending that adultery doesn’t contradict my values. The fact that many of the blogs I follow are from bloggers in sexually unconventional arrangement may seem hypocritical on my part. Maybe it is. But by now, after a couple of years of reading, I’m rather engaged by the narratives.

So I’m a hypocrite. At least I won’t die of loneliness.

Felafel

A few years ago, before my surgeries, I went to the Indian/Halal grocery to get some goat meat. While there, I saw a bag of chickpeas that looked thick enough to stop a magnum round. It was 3 lbs. So I bought it, thinking I will make my own hummus and felafel one day. That day finally arrived. The pressure cooker makes easy work of cooking the garbonzos. And a good blender/ food processor makes the prep for the hummus easy. The Kitchen Aid stand mixer makes easy work prepping the felafel. I use Moosewood Cookbook for the recipes for both. ( Hint: If you don’t own a copy, acquire one. It is one cookbook worth owning.)

The felafel met with some push back from Mrs CorC?. She is not exactly a culinary experimenter. She did eat them and found them palatable. I experimented with how to cook them; I found cooking them on the convection setting at 350° worked very well. They browned up nicely. There was no fat used in cooking them in the convection oven. I ate them in a BIG salad (Seinfeld). Earlier I tried them stuffed in a pita half. That’s OK but the salad offers more flavors to complement the spicy felafel. Moosewood has a yummy tahini/lemon sauce that is fantastic with the felafel.

Other than cooking, straightening, organizing, and waiting for my government check, I’m keeping out of trouble.

Things Happen.

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Back in late February, 24 February, to be exact, my stepmother fell, fracturing her femur. She is 92, so this is a very big deal. After surgery, and a hospital rehabilitation, she is back at home, continuing her rehab, with the hope of walking again without the aid of a walker. Her days of living alone, however, are over.

Saturday was cold and rainy, more like late February than early April. Homemade macaroni and cheese seemed like the perfect dish. I made a cheese sauce, and, upon discovering a complete absence of macaroni, broke up the linguine and angel hair pasta I had open in boxes. It works just as well. I’m taking the pasta and cheese sauce over to my stepmom in a few minutes.

Things happen. Elderly people fall. Lives change.

There are things that happened during my blogging hiatus I will eventually share. D’s femur fracture is but the first.

There is a deep emotional hurt I will post about, but it is political in nature. I’m not ready to write about it because the pain after almost eight weeks is still too raw, reminiscent of the collapse of my first marriage that ended forty years ago, coincidentally in the early Spring. I am still losing sleep over this recent incident.

More later.

Radical De-Cluttering.

I’m back. It was a needed hiatus to sort out what’s important in my life and hence what I should consider blogging about.

As a Lenten exercise, abstaining from a worldly thing or activity serves to direct one’s thoughts to God and to Eternity. (End of homily. More later. Maybe.)

Yes, I have spent this six weeks de-cluttering. De-Cluttering, I would define, as getting rid of the crap in your spaces, be that space a closet, a dresser drawer, a kitchen cabinet, or the space between one’s ears.

MrsCorC? and I had, more or less, been decorating with junk. We had been putting things away secretly hoping the cabinets, closets and drawers would magically “disappear” for us the things we didn’t use or need or want, but lacked the emotional ruthlessness to toss willfully. For example, we have a plastic cup from Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium commemorating the last season played there by the Oreos, err, Orioles. A treasure? Would my as yet unborn grandchild appear on PBS’s Antiques Roadshow in 2051 with said cup and discover that this little propylene gem is worth a Zillion Dollars?

Imagine that.

We have made several trips to the thrift shop with our stuff and it feels pretty good. We saved tins from crackers, cookies, candy, coffee, dishwasher pods. They lived on top of the kitchen cabinets, attracting grease and dust. Finally I said we’re putting them to good use or recycling them. And I did just that. And they actually look pretty good. They hold the baked goods or coffee or dishwasher cleaning pods and they look kinda cool doing just that.

Last night, however, I discovered whilst cleaning and dusting the exteriors and tops of the cabinets that said cabinets were held to the wall by long wood screws going through a strip of particle board. One tore off the wall when I touched to climb down from the step stool/ladder. Down it came, breaking numerous cups and glasses Oh Well.

Kitschy Kitchen Kontainer featuring Astro

Charming cracker tins attest to the homeowner’s commitment to adaptive reuse.

Cabinet on Floor, not wall. Tulips came from our garden.

Note particle board strip up top.

Giving Up The Cyber World. For Lent. For Good?

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I’ve been terminating a newspaper subscription, The New York Times. I stopped supporting three Patreon artists. I realized I could not afford them. I feel enormously relieved. I want to delete completely my Facebook account. And I did! Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty I’m free at last!

The Cyber World just isn’t worth it. I don’t trust people. Likewise, don’t trust me. So I will take a hiatus through Lent and reevaluate on Easter Monday.

I realize I am not a COOL GUY. I never will be. I am a heteronormative patriarch. I never will be any different. Not Ever.

See y’all on 2 April. If you are interested, that is.

Going Dark.

I have decided to close this blog. I am also considering getting rid of my cell phone and closing my e-mail accounts. I have had enough of the cyber world.

As soon as I can figure out how to move the blog entries some place else I will be gone.

Our Other Mother

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Can you imagine the Blessed Virgin Mary driving the car pool?

She notices the driver worried and distraught from her perspective as the statue on the dashboard. She looks at the driver, smiles and says, “You be still. I’ll take over. Turn me around and then do as I say.”

Yes fantasy. Hallucination perhaps. And yet she is our Protectress. We still have to do the work, but she prays for us and with us when we ask her. She is as much my mother as my birth mother was. She is ever near.

She is my great strength when I beseech her aid as I face all of the temptations and distractions that work their way between Her Son Our Lord and me. I used to think that this notion absurd until I actually implored her aid. It’s not magic. The temptation is still there. Yet its power is gone. The yearning for a dubious comfort has left when the HAIL MARY leaves my throat.

Go figure

From Archbishop Sheen.

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https://book-and-rifle-papist.tumblr.com/post/170743049874/celibacy-is-not-the-renouncing-of-a-person-outside

This is one of those challenges that puts my narcissism into focus. I have been living as half a person, waiting for my dormant sexuality to awaken and flower again, except that never seemed to happen, unless I wanted to destroy my marriage.

So I would live a vicarious sex life through various sex blogs, or watching pornography. I wondered if I would ever regain the intimacy that sexual pleasure with my wife would afford.

It never entered my mind that there was perhaps a “still more excellent way.”

Sex is pretty damned exploitative and self-serving, the way we pursue sexual satisfaction in this culture. Tear out the procreative motive and the exploitation is even worse.

I never thought I would be writing this. Please don’t think I am preaching at you. This is my choice, decision and perspective. I was simply trying to find happiness down a path I was not meant to walk.

Phishing, Etc.

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So somebody was phishing and trying to get information from me. That’s bad. Then I consider all the information I give out and Google, among others, tracks. It’s called “Surveillance Marketing”. Google records all kinds of metadata about us that we innocently provide, legally, through those User Agreements that we never read. Then we get ads on our Smartphone pages from merchants we’ve used both online and/or brick and mortar. We become super-customers. We reassure ourselves that this isn’t creepy, or only just a little bit. Yet we know that this is merely Big Brother Watching Us version 2.0

The truth is the Internet is anything but anonymous, anything but private. Like God, the Internet never forgets. Unlike God, it never forgives. Whatever we put there, wherever we go, that click is always there.

The Information Age plutocrats, Bezos, Zuckerberg, Gates, etc. are all in bed with the politicians, so don’t expect your Internet privacy to suddenly be respected if these tycoons can make money off of you. They work campaign “contributions” into their cost structures.

This begs the question, “How do I go dark?” Will I have to end this blog, as much as I enjoy writing it? I feel like The Google people are digitally groping my “junk” and squeezing my ass every time I go online. And I’ve had enough.