- Neil A. Waring's - Confessions of a Writer of Westerns: Getting Older - Writing On - Enjoying Life

- Neil A. Waring's - Confessions of a Writer of Westerns: Getting Older - Writing On - Enjoying Life: When I was born, my life expectancy was just under 65 years. Today, for people like me born in the late 1940s, life expectancy is around 73....

CliffsNotes of the Zeitgeist, 129th Edition. An unfortunate observation of our times.

Lex Anteinternet: CliffsNotes of the Zeitgeist, 128th Edition. Attem...: The 127th edition of this was teed up to go before last night's White House Correspondence Dinner, or this would be that edition.  Havin...

I tend to over empathetic.

That might be an easy thing to claim, but it's true.  I'm often tortured in litigation by how little Plaintiff's lawyers care about their clients.  Indeed, I think it's a hallmark of being a Plaintiff's lawyer, which I'm not, to not really give a rat's ass about them.  Most of them are callous to it.  I'm also tortured, however, by the extent to which litigation is regarded as a mere business transaction while it wrecks the lives an livelihoods of real people.

I'm bothered by the personal plights of people I don't know.  In movies with sad situations I'll find myself tearing up.  The killing of the Iranian schoolgirls in the current war bothers me so much that I couldn't tell my wife about it without starting to tear up and saying "think about their poor parents".  I can hardly stand to think about it now and it fills me with rage that we killed them, even if it was a targeting accident.  We have excuses, but we have no sympathy.

I note all of this as I'm bothered today by the extent to which the horrible human being and his acolytes in the White House have actually made me so fatigued that I'm having a hard time caring about what occurred at the Press Dinner.

Intellectually, I know it was awful.  I don't support killing people.  I'm opposed to abortion.  I'm opposed to the death penalty.  I'm opposed to wars save in the case of absolute need, a part of which his self defense.  I'm realistic enough to know that people can take the lives of others in self defense, but murder of a person is never justified.

But day after day of Trump's assault on human dignity has worn me down so much that I'm not empathetic about yesterdays events.  I know that they were wrong, but it's just an intellectual acknowledgement of it.

Sooner or later, most likely sooner given his advanced age, Donald Trump is going to pass on and go to his reward.  He's publicly wondered if he's damned.  As a Catholic, I hold to the belief that we should hope and pray for his salvation and that we do not know who is amongst the damned.  Hans Von Baltazar posed the question if we might dare to hope that all men are saved, and while we might dare to hope it, I very much doubt that is the case.  Still, we have no idea who is amongst the damned and who is amongst the saved, but just by objective Christian criteria, there's not a single member of Trump's administration that I hear about often whom I would not regard as having their souls in jeopardy.

I hate fact that Trump is so vile that he's made it so that I'm having a hard time being empathetic about a horrible event.  If Trump was to choke on a Big Mac today I'd say a prayer for his salvation, but it wouldn't be one of those things were I consciously morn a death, as I usually do.  I'm not wishing for his death, but I'm so burnt out about all things Trump I'd say a prayer for the dead and then probably move on to other things.

Trump has made many things that way.  He's done such violence to our society and its norms that its reached the state where it's almost impossible to care about them. At this point, if the next President had to tear out the Reflecting Pool, I wouldn't care.

When Trump is gone the nation is going to have a monumental time repairing itself.  I guess we have the example of the post Civil War era, in which the country manage to come back together in spite of actually fighting itself.  How it managed that isn't really clear.  It seems like it just decided it would.

Here's to hoping that the Better Angels of Our Mercy might return.

Last edition:

CliffsNotes of the Zeitgeist, 128th Edition. Attempted assassination at a pointless event.

Labels: 2020s, 2025 White House Vandalization, 2026, Conspiracy Theories, Donald Trump, Men, Military, News, Secret Service, The Press, The roles of men and women, Weapons, Women, Zeitgeist

CliffsNotes of the Zeitgeist, 127th Edition. The Dipshit Edition. The Wyoming Freedom Caucus decides the a General officer of the U.S. Army is too "woke" to be the President of UW.

Labels: 2020s, 2026, Army, Education, Ignorance, Stupidity, United States Military Academy, University of Wyoming, Woke, Wyoming Freedom Caucus, Zeitgeist

Thursday, November 19, 1925. First lighted high school football game.

 The first nighttime lighted football game in the US was played between Midwest and Casper.

Let There Be Light!: 1st Prep Football Night Game

Midwest was a football titan at the time.

Out Our Way for the day:

That cartoon hits hard, in a way.

Footnotes:

Yes, this was published a day late.

Last edition:

Tuesday, November 17, 1925. Earthquake at Big Horn.

Labels: 1920s, 1925, Geology, Wyoming (Big Horn), Wyoming (Johnson County), Wyoming (Sheridan County)

The Agrarian's Lament: Dreams denied and abandoned.

The Agrarian's Lament: Dreams denied and abandoned.: I've seen this place from the side of the road quite a few times, although its in a remote location.  It wasn't until earlier this f...

Dreams denied and abandoned.

I've seen this place from the side of the road quite a few times, although its in a remote location.  It wasn't until earlier this fall that I realized that it's all on Federal Land.

I walked in, as you have to do, while hunting doves.  I only saw one.

It's a full homestead.  Barns, outbuildings, and a substantial house. This is very unusual as a lot of work went into this, but for some reason, it wasn't proved up.  I'll have to see if I can figure out the history of it. So far I've had no luck.

It was well thought out, and sheltered. A substantial hay field, on Federal Land, worked by the current leaseholder remains. What's really surprising, however, is the house.  It was very well built. So much so, that for a time I debated it if was a school, but it was better built than rural schools by quite some margin, and frankly larger.  It's a house.

Usually, although not always, when you walk up on an abandoned homestead, they're on private, not Federal, land.  And that makes sense.  It only took five years to prove up a homestead, and proving it up was one of the first things the people eligible to do so did.  It protected their investment, which was substantial, both in terms of time and labor, but moreover in actual cash outlays, which were actually quite a bit more extensive than people imagine.

The peak year for homesteading was 1913, during which 11,000,000 acres were claimed.  I"m a bit surprised by that, as I thought it was 1914.  World War One caused a massive boom in homesteading which was aided by the weather.  A lot of people took up dry land farming in that period, following the naive popular assertion of the time that "rain follows the plow.

Abandoned wagon.

It doesn't.

A large part of what inspired homesteading entries at the time was the Great War. With Imperial Russia off of the farming export market, which was a huge portion of its GNP at the time, and with European farming massively impacted by the war, grain production, beef production, and horse production turned to the United  States, Canada, and Australia.

Trouble began to set in after the war, although interestingly not immediately so.  1919 was the last year that American farmers had economic parity with those who lived in municipalities.  That started changing soon thereafter, however, and its never reversed.  The Agricultural Depression of the 1920s set in early in the 1920s, and basically carried on until the Great Depression hit in 1929.  Having said that, people continued to attempt to file homestead entries, some people naively believing that if they couldn't make it in town, they could as a farmer or rancher.

The buildings on this spread, however, are too nice to be a late homestead entry.  I've seen a few comparable ones that were abandoned, but they were all earlier homesteads in which the owners became over extended and couldn't make their bank payments during the Great Depression.  A lot of money went into some houses and whatnot while things were going well.  That must have been the case here. So what happened?

That is, at least right now, impossible for me to say.  But what seems clear is that a lot of money went into this spread during good times, and the owners pulled out when hard times hit.  That, and the fact that the abandoned equipment is horse, not vehicle, drawn would suggest that the homesteaders were doing okay during World War One but didn't weather the change in the economic climate of the Agricultural Depression of the 1920s.  If I had my guess, this was probably a World War One vintage homestead which collapsed, after a huge investment of time, effort and money, soon after the war.

They didn't last long enough in order to prove up.

Their dreams must have been crushed.  I hope, and pray, that the rest of their lives went well.  

I'd also note that, more than ever before, when I see places like this I have a maudlin tinge of regret.  My dream was something like this too.  At age 62, I won't make it.

Going Feral: Lex Anteinternet: Saturday, November 3, 1945. Wyoming Game Wardens Game Wardens Bill Lakanen and Don Simpson murdered.

Going Feral: Lex Anteinternet: Saturday, November 3, 1945. Wyom...: Lex Anteinternet: Saturday, November 3, 1945. Chinese Civil War, G... : China's civil war was acknowledged now to be a major conflict ...

Lex Anteinternet: Saturday, November 3, 1945. Wyoming Game Wardens Game Wardens Bill Lakanen and Don Simpson murdered.

Lex Anteinternet: Saturday, November 3, 1945. Chinese Civil War, G...: China's civil war was acknowledged now to be a major conflict and two Game Wardens were found dead near Rawlins. The Chinese Civil War w...

Linked over from Lex Anteinternet, which also discussed the Chinese Civil War.

Saturday, November 3, 1945. Chinese Civil War, Game Wardens Killed.

China's civil war was acknowledged now to be a major conflict and two Game Wardens were found dead near Rawlins.

The Chinese Civil War was the topic of a political cartoon as well.

The murdered Game Wardens were Bill Lakanen and Don Simpson who were killed by ardent Nazi sympathizer and German immigrant Johann Malten.   The same Game Wardens had arrested Malten for game violations when investigating, interestingly enough, claims that Malten had been involved in espionage and was relaying weather reports on shortwave, something that was illegal during the war when there was a blackout on weather reporting as the information was useful to submarines.  Upon visiting Malten's cabin in the Sierra Madres they found he had committed numerous game violations.

On this occasion they were stopping by to see if Malten had continued to ignore the law.  They were shot down out of hand when they arrived.

Malten burned his cabin down and it was officially reported that he'd died within it, although the evidence of that is very poor.  There were reported sightings of him for years thereafter.

And a selection of 1945 cartoons.

I knew about this story because former Wyoming Game Warden David Bragonier wrote about it in his book about Wyoming Game Wardens, Wild Journey: On the Trail With a Wyoming Game Warden in Yellowstone Country.  It's a good book, and I recommend it.

Bragonier discusses this event, although I clearly don't remember everything I read in his account.  That's probably not too surprising as I read the book in 1999.  What I recall but didn't see in the accounts on the murder you can find here is that the investigation was associated not only with the killer's German nationality and his strong Nazi sympathies, but also with shortwave radio transmissions that could not be pinned down.  

There's a bunch of interesting things that could, and if a person had time, should be explored here as the story raises all sorts of undeveloped oddities.

One of them is that Lakanen and Simpson are two out of the three Wyoming Game Wardens who were murdered by immigrants (to the extent I know why the various ones who lost their lives in the line of duty did).  I'm not saying that immigrants murder game wardens, but this is an interesting fact.  The other one is John Buxton, who was murdered by a youthful Austrian immigrant in 1919.  In that instance he had taken a .30-30 Savage rifle from a 17 year old who drew a revolver and killed him.  The reasons that Buxton was checking the boys is unclear.  Stories frequently claim they were hunting out of season, but that seems incorrect.  They were certainly overarmed for rabbits, however, with a .30-30 being way too large for that pursuit.  Buxton might have been checking them as their activities seems suspicious, which frankly they do, or because there was a state law at the time that prohibited aliens from carrying firearms.

The killers handgun, we might note, was concealed.

I only note this as its odd.  Hunting is common in Germany and Austria, and indeed there's a strong hunting culture there, but it's highly regulated.  As a result, poaching is fairly common as well, even though its highly criminal.  Indeed, one of the SS's units during World War Two, the Dirlewanger Brigade, was originally made up of convicted poachers, although it moved on to other criminals over time.

Anyhow, I wonder if these people were just hugely out of sink with any culture at all.

In the earlier murder, it's been noted that the young men had been in run-ins apparently with Italian immigrants in the same location. Austro Hungaria and Italy had been on opposite sides of World War One.  Again, I'm not saying that caused the murder, but I do wonder if they conceived of themselves as being very much on the outside of things.

Another interesting thing, although having nothing to do with the focus on this page, is the lingering Nazi sympathies in some quarters amongst German immigrants who chose to continue to live in the country.  That carried on, quietly, well after the war, even after the news of the Holocaust became known.

Odd.

If Malten was actually a spy, that may explain the killing in and of itself.

Another thing this story oddly brings up is the extent to which trapping remained economically viable.

Trapping was pretty common in Wyoming up into the 1970s, when there was a fur market price collapse.  I had, well still have, traps, although I haven't set them for decades.  In the 1970s high school kids like myself supplemented our incomes by trapping or hunting coyotes for their furs.  The market was so lucrative at the time that there were people who flew in from out of state and hunted coyotes near Miracle Miles, something we didn't appreciate very much as we didn't have those sorts of resources available to us.  The Federal Government was also big into predator control at the time which we also didn't appreciate much for the same reason.

Furs are, fwiw, an actual renewable resource fabric, one of the few.

Fur coats were a big deal for women at this time and would, again, be throughout the 1950s.  They were not nearly as much of a luxury item as people like to remember.  My mother had a heavy mink coat that she brought down from Montreal that she wore on really cold days.  As a kid I loved it when she brought it out, due to the feel of the soft minks.  

It was, in spite of Donald Trump and the Sweet Home Alabama crowe dof the GOP may believe, colder then.

I've never looked into it but I suspect that synthetic fabrics had as much to do with the decline in furs as anything else.  That started during World War Two and is well evidenced by the Air Force's switch from sheepskin flight altitude flight jackets to synthetic ones.  That trend continue into the 1950s and I suspect it just generally caught up with fur coats by the 1980s.  Indeed, the association of fur with luxury somewhat increased in that time, with it generally being the case that things are regarded as luxurious not only for their scarcity, but because they really aren't needed.

More on fur clothing some other time.

I guess the final thing I'll note is how dangerous of job being a game warden is.  A lot of the crimes you investigate are, by default, armed crimes.  

Given that, it's amazing to look back and realize that when I was a kid wardens didn't carry sidearms.  They weren't allowed to.  I recall when that changed and many did not take up what was then the option to carry them.  Now they're required to.

Indeed, I was recently stopped by a warden and frankly he wasn't very nice.  That's a new trend as well.  I don't like it.  But not only was he not nice, he was extremely intimidating carrying a government issued handgun on a government issued gunbelt and wearing a government issued flak jacket.  

I've really hated the militarization of the policy and this is all part of it. Everytime I see a policeman anymore, including a game warden, they're dressed like they're going into Hue in 1968.  All policemen of every type are civilians.  They're simply deputized civilians.  They shouldn't look like an occupying army.  And if the treat people rudely, and many do, and are standing their armed treating you like you are a detained Vietnamese villager, it's scary.

A little of that comes across, I'd note, in Bragonier's book, in spite of my recommendation of it.  It's a good book, but he displayed an element of contempt for the public he served in it.

David Bragonier must be, I'd suspect, gone to his reward by now  His biography indicates that he was born in Iowa in 1937 and moved to Wyoming after graduating high school.  He became a game warden over twenty years later, in 1958, something that would be extremely difficult to do now due to the education requirements.  He briefly worked for the Forest Service before that.

A man becoming a Game Warden at 39, which he did, would be really unusual now.  Probably impossible.

I actually have twice tried to plow that field myself, rejecting it once as I just go engaged.  I would have been about 30 at the time.  It'd be completely impossible for me to become a Game Warden now as I not have a wildlife management degree.  I suppose that requiring that specific degree is a good thing, but I do miss the days when a lot of Game Wardens were basically from ranching families.  Even when I was that age, many of them fit that category.  My cohort was probably about the last one that would meet that description.

I went on, of course, to a successful career in the law, and I was already a lawyer, of course at age 30, and had been for a few years.  I took one fork in the road.  You aren't supposed to look back.  Luke tells us, in a different context, that "No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God".  I'll confess I've looked back a lot.

Having said all of that, I spoke the same warden (turns out he's very green) as I found a poached elk about two weeks later.  I had to guide him in, by phone, to the location.  He was very nice on that occasion, and that's how things should be.

 

Dodgers Win World Series

Indeed, they did.  

I was rooting for the Blue Jays.  

I was really looking forward to this series, but when it arrived, I really didn't watch it.  It was a great series, but I just couldn't get into it.  I didn't even watch all of the concluding game, I was simply too tired and at some point went to bed.  Toronto was leading at the time.

This whole year has been sort of like that.  Stress, anxiety, fatigue, for a variety of reasons, take their toll.

My Father. My Self

 My Father. My Self

Escalators.

Yesterday, we had a post featuring elevators.

I'm not hugely keen on elevators, quite frankly, and I won't take one if I can avoid it.  I used to basically figure if a building was only three stories, I was taking the stairs.  Laziness would allow me to take one up if the structure was higher than that, but I have rethought that after being in an uncontrolled elevator fall (of three stories), something that puts me in a very unique category.  

I don't recommend it.

I dislike escalators even more than elevators.

Elevators generally don't scare me, I just don't like waiting for them and I don't like being packed into them like sardines in a can.  Escalatores, on the other hand, cause me some degree of trepidation.  They always have.

When I was growing up there were three escalators in the entire State of Wyoming, and they were all in Casper.  The J. C. Penny's building downtown had one, the 1st Interstate Bank building had one, and the airport had one.  

None of those escalators are still around.  

We didn't have the occasion to use those much when I was a boy.  Occasionally I'd be with my mother when she'd go into the bank, and if she had to use the second floor, it meant taking the escalator.  She had no problem with it, but I stare at the steps coming up from the floor trying to time when to step, and it'd take me some time. The same is true for the rare occasions in which we wanted to go to the second story of Pennys, which wasn't often. Shoot, we didn't go to Penny's often at all.   And, suffice it to say, there was even less occasion to take the escalator at the airport, which lead to a second deck once used for boarding planes.

It no longer has that use.  Indeed, they hoest events, like wedding receptions there now.  You have to take the stairs, or an elevator.

As an adult, about the only place I encounter then now is at the Denver International Airport, where I don't always take them.  I no longer hesitate before getting on the escalator, but I still don't like them.

And apparently a lot of other people don't either, as there aren't as many of them here.

Escalators are on the news as Donald J. Trump walked up to an escalator at the UN building and it stopped working.  Apparently a videographer tripped a safety device, but the MAGA's are outraged and view that as sabotage.  He incorporated the incident humorlessly in his babble in front of the UN, where he also had to deliver his babble without a teleprompter due to some error on the Trump team as well

Thursday, March 27, 2025 It's Opening Day, and I'm Not Feeling It

A post I really sympathize with:

Thursday, March 27, 2025

It's Opening Day, and I'm Not Feeling It

I'm not feeling it either, and for a lot of reasons.

Sunday, October 24, 1924. A glimpse of Natrona County.

Put up for reasons that matter to me. 

Last edition:

Saturday, October 25, 1924. Contrasts.

Labels: 1920s, 1924, Art, Girl Scouts, J. C. Leyendecker

Blog Mirror: My breakfast at Denny’s in Minot

 My breakfast at Denny’s in Minot

Some introspective blogs in the mirror.

What I Want For You

The Virtues of Dead Time

Wisdom From The Agrarians

Blog Mirror: Checking In with Myself

 

Checking In with Myself

Blog Mirror: A trip back home to get my bearings

A trip back home to get my bearings

Hindsight is 20/20. . .

Packer from the U.S. Forest Service Northern Region 

but at some point, that doesn't really do you much good.

And for that matter, it isn't really 20/20.

Human beings prognostic abilities are notorious poor, in spite of what we like to think.  We're really good at recognizing patterns, but it's been established that we see patterns in things that aren't actually there.

Added to that, while hindsight may be 20/20, immediate hindsight and distant hindsight aren't the same thing.  It's one thing to look at a recent mistake and conclude, well that was a mistake, or to look at something that was a success and realize that.  But mistakes in particular often don't really set in as to their full magnitude, if at all, for a long time.  By the time that hindsight snaps into focus, it may truly be difficult, or indeed too late, to do anything about them.

Which gives us that old adage about not looking back, which gives us such quotes as this from Churchill

What is done, is done. Learn from it and always look forward. Every day is a new opportunity to grow, to learn and be better than we were yesterday.

That's probably the best view, but it's not always the easiest one to take. 

A conversation with an old friend. The Good Death, and the Good Life and Existential Occupations.

A really old friend of mine and I were talking about it just last week.

I had to catch up with him as he was working on something for me.  It was Friday, but I was fairly formally dressed and he noted it. The reason was that I had just come from my uncle's funeral earlier that day.  He extended his sympathies, but I noted that my uncle had lived a long and good life.  Not a life free of troubles, as no such thing existed, but a long life, that was well lived, and he'd remained sharp right up until the end.  His health had declined in recent years, but only in very recent ones.  It was the last few months that were rough.

My friend and I, who first knew each other as National Guardsmen back in the 80s, are co-religious.  Neither of us was married when we first met, but both of us have, and have seen our kids grow up since then.  And of course, we've seen our parents pass away, his before mine.  He has siblings, which I do not, and one of his brothers died, only in his 50s.  I noted that in the Middle Ages, people often prayed for good deaths, and he noted that a prayer group that he's in now does that every week.

Prayer for a Happy Death

O God, great and omnipotent judge of the living and the dead, we are to appear before you after this short life to render an account of our works. Give us the grace to prepare for our last hour by a devout and holy life, and protect us against a sudden and unprovided death. Let us remember our frailty and mortality, that we may always live in the ways of your commandments. Teach us to "watch and pray" (Lk 21:36), that when your summons comes for our departure from this world, we may go forth to meet you, experience a merciful judgment, and rejoice in everlasting happiness. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I'm constantly amazed by people who work into old age, as I'd judge it, and keeping working.  A dear friend of mine, now in his 70s, noted that just the other day.  He doesn't have to, he just is.  Likewise, I know a collection of lawyers who fit that description.  The law is a hard job, surrounded by hard facts, hard people, and difficult scenarios

I think they just know nothing else, their real personalities, perhaps, burnt to the core eons ago.

In contrast, I'm also constantly amazed by those who have extensive plans for their retirements well before they can retire.  Another friend of mine fits this category, but when I look at him, I can tell his physical condition is so poor it'd be amazing if he lives long enough to retire.  It's one of those things where you don't know what to say.  If you were to be blunt, you'd say that the dreams of early retirement are probably forlorn, but that his dreams of retiring at all may be foreclosed by a bad early death, if some correction isn't made soon, and those corrections are harder to make once you are past your 30s.

The call came to my wife on Saturday.  I could tell from the tone what the topic was, without even being told.  A relative of hers was on his way to the hospital by helicopter.  Even though he was being sent in, in that fashion, I knew, but did not say it, that he'd not make it.  I'm not even sure if he wanted to.

And so another death.

In this case, unlike my uncle, he was much younger.  My age, in fact.  I hadn't seen him for many years, and before his troubles really set in.  He hadn't been able to adjust to them well.  The most common comment from people, none of whom were surprised, was that his torment was over.

I don't have any big plans, like one of my friends, for retirement.  I hope to be healthy, and just become more of an agrarian-killetarian than I presently am.  Funny thing is that recently I've been running into people who claim "you're looking really good". Somebody asked me the other day, indeed at the funeral gathering, "you're working out", the question in the form of a statement.  Not really.

Indeed, I've gained some weight I seemingly just can't lose, which I think is the byproduct of my thyroid medicine, which has made me hungry, and I know that I'm not in the physical condition I was before my recent health troubles commenced.  People close to me just won't accept that, which brings me to the other side of the retirement coin noted above.  Some lawyers I know are already planning for me to work into my 70s, as that's the thing to do, apparently. Long-suffering spouse, for her part, won't say something like that, but from an ag family, she doesn't really accept the concept of retirement anyhow.  Having said that, I wouldn't plan on my retiring from the ag operation either.

It finally occured to me, however, what's different about agricultural jobs as opposed to others, at least if you are an owner of the enterprise or part of it.  The occupation itself is existentially human.  It is, if you will, an Existential Occupation, or at least it is right now. The mindless gerbil like advance of "progress" may ruin that and reduce it to just another occupation.

Existential Occupations are ones that run with our DNA as a species.  Being a farmer/herdsman is almost as deep in us as being a hunter or fisherman, and it stems from the same root in our being.  It's that reason, really, that people who no longer have to go to the field and stream for protein, still do, and it's the reason that people who can buy frozen Brussels sprouts at Riddleys' still grown them on their lots.  And its the reason that people who have never been around livestock will feel, after they get a small lot, that they need a cow, a goat, or chickens.  It's in us.  That's why people don't retire from real agriculture.

It's not the only occupation of that type, we might note.  Clerics are in that category.  Storytellers and Historians are as well.  We've worshiped the Devine since our onset as a species, and we've told stories and kept our history as story the entire time.  They're all existential in nature.  Those who build certain things probably fit into that category as well, as we've always done that.  The fact that people tinker with machinery as a hobby would suggest that it's like that as well.

Indeed, if it's an occupation. . . and also a hobby, that's a good clue that its an Existential Occupation.

If I were to retire from my career, which I can't right now, I wouldn't be one of those people who spend their time traveling to Rome or Paris or wherever.  I have very low interest in doing that.  I'd spend my time writing, fishing, hunting, gardening (and livestock tending).  That probably sounds pretty dull to most people.  I could imagine myself checking our Iceland or Ireland, or fjords in Norway, but I likely never will.

What I can't imagine myself doing is imagining that age and decline don't occur, and that I should be in court in my 70s.  I don't think that the lawyers who do that realize that younger lawyers don't admire that, and most of the lawyers I'm running into in court are younger than me now.  

And indeed, frankly, it isn't admirable.  People who work a hard non-existential job and keep at it into their advanced old age, or at least past their 7th decade, have just lost something they were when they were young, and much of that is themselves.  They've lost who they were.

AN ACT OF FAITH IN ANTICIPATION OF THE HOUR OF DEATH

From the works of St. Pompilio M. Pirrotti

On my journey toward eternity, dear Lord,

 

I am surrounded  by powerful enemies of my soul.

I live in fear and trembling,

especially at the thought of the hour of death,

on which my eternity will depend,

and of the fearful struggle that the devil will then have to wage against me,

knowing that little time is left for him to accomplish my eternal ruin.

I desire, therefore, O Lord,

to prepare myself for it from this hour,

by offering you now, in view of my last hour,

my profession of faith and love for you,

which is so effectual in repressing and rendering useless

all the crafty and wicked schemes of the enemy

and which I resolve to oppose to him at that moment of such grave consequence,

even though he should dare alone to attack with his deceits

the peace and tranquility of my spirit.

I N.N.,

in the presence of the Most Holy Trinity,

the blessed Virgin Mary,

my holy Guardian Angel

and the entire heavenly host,

affirm that I wish to live and die under the standard of the Holy Cross.

I firmly believe all that our Holy Mother,

the holy, catholic and apostolic Church,

believes and teaches.

It is my steadfast intention to die in this holy faith,

in which all the holy martyrs, confessors and virgins of Christ have died,

as well as all those who have saved their souls.

If the devil should tempt me to despair

because of the multitude and grievousness of my sins,

I affirm that from this day forth

I firmly hope in the infinite mercy of God,

which will not let itself be overcome by my sins,

and in the Precious Blood of Jesus

which has washed all my sins away.

If the devil should assail me with temptations to presumption

by reason of the small amount of good

which by the help of God

I may have been able to accomplish,

I confess from this day forth

that I deserve eternal separation from God

a thousand times by my sins

and I entrust myself entirely

to the infinite goodness of God,

through whose grace alone I am what I am.

Finally, if the evil spirit should suggest to me

that the pains inflicted upon me by our Lord

in that last hour of my life

are too heavy to bear,

I affirm now that all will be as nothing

in comparison with the punishments I have deserved throughout life.

In the bitterness of my soul

I call to remembrance all my years;

I see my iniquities, I confess them and detest them.

Ashamed and sorrowful I turn to you,

my God, my Creator and my Redeemer.

Forgive me, O Lord, by the multitude of your mercies;

forgive your servant whom you have redeemed by your Precious Blood.

My God, I turn to you, I call upon you, I trust in you;

 to your infinite goodness

I commit the entire reckoning of my life.

I have sinned greatly, O Lord:

 enter not into judgment with your servant,

who surrenders to you

and confesses his guilt.

Of myself I cannot make satisfaction to you for my countless sins:

I do not have the means to pay you for my infinite debt.

But your Son has shed his Blood for me,

and greater than all mine sins is your mercy.

O Jesus, be my Saviour!

At the hour of my fearful crossing to eternity

put to flight the enemy of my soul;

grant me grace to overcome every difficulty,

for you alone do mighty wonders.

Lord,

according to the multitude of your tender mercies

I shall enter into your dwelling place.

Trusting in your pity,

I commend my spirit into your hands!

May the Blessed Virgin Mary

and my Guardian Angel

accompany my soul into the heavenly country. Amen.

We should all hope and indeed pray for a happy death.  And perhaps we should pray for a happy life, which is one worthwhile.  That doesn't, quite frankly, include the "I'm going to work here at my desk until I die".  That's surrendering to fear or meaningless, in most cases.

Again, there are exceptions.  People with Existential Occupations, people who own their own special business, and the like.  The list can't really be set out in full.

That doesn't include pouring through the latest edition of the IRS code for deductions, or reading the Restatement (Second) of Torts, or engineering an oilfield implement. 

Lex Anteinternet: St. Patrick's Day

Lex Anteinternet: St. Patrick's Day: A Celtic cross in a local cemetery, marking the grave of a very Irish, and Irish Catholic, figure. Recently I ran this item:  Lex Anteintern...

So, after the crabby entry, what did I do for St. Patrick's Day?

Well, my St. Patrick's Day really started on the prior day, March 16, as my daughter was in town.  We always have corned beef and I hadn't secured one, so after work (lawyers, you should be aware, often work six days a week. . . at least I do) I went to get one.

Usually, this isn't a problem, but it was on Saturday and I ended up getting one at a specialty butcher shop after going to three of them, which is a nice thing to think of in a way.  Distributism saved the holiday.

I now also have a corned pork butt, or corned pork roast, I'll have to look at the label, from the second one I visited, that visit being due to the recommendation of the first. They were really friendly at all of them, and at that one they insisted I try the corned pork, which they had just cooked one of for themselves.

It was quite good, much like pastrami.

Long-suffering spouse informed me that while she doesn't like corned beef (her DNA, I'd note, is almost as Irish as mine, but not quite) she hates pastrami.

Anyhow, I also went to the liquor store to buy stout and Irish whiskey.  I got the last six-pack of Guinness and some Irish ale I'd never heard of.

Which made me wonder what on earth was going on.  To see the shelves cleared that way was downright weird. And all the parking lots all over town were full.

I chose the liquor store as it was near one of the churches in town, and it gave me the opportunity to go to confession.  They informed me in the store, which was new, that the parking lot was full as their bar had just opened, and it was packed. That surprised me as it was about 1:00 p.m. which strikes me as really early to hit the bars.

I went to confession, as noted, and was right behind my next store neighbors.  I avail myself of the sacrament frequently, so I was comfortable speaking to my neighbor while in line.  I know what my sins and many failings are.  The very traditionally dressed women behind me in line, however, was clearly not happy with us chatting. Anyhow, it's odd as we live right next store, but we don't actually chat all that much.

Long suffering spouse is a better chatter than I am.

I went home and I fixed the St. Patrick's Day meal, which is my chore.  It was good, but the corned beef was uniquely not very fatty.  Long suffering spouse and daughter liked it better than the usual, grocery store bought, one.  I like the fatty one better.

We'll see what opinions are on the pork.

On St. Patrick of Ireland's day itself, the first thing I did was go to Mass.  The Gospel reading was as follows:

Gospel

Jn 12:20-33

Some Greeks who had come to worship at the Passover Feast came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee,  and asked him, “Sir, we would like to see Jesus.” Philip went and told Andrew;  then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. Jesus answered them,  “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Amen, amen, I say to you,  unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies,  it remains just a grain of wheat;  but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me,  and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.

“I am troubled now.  Yet what should I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven,  “I have glorified it and will glorify it again.” The crowd there heard it and said it was thunder;  but others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered and said,  “This voice did not come for my sake but for yours. Now is the time of judgment on this world;  now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And when I am lifted up from the earth,  I will draw everyone to myself.” 

He said this indicating the kind of death he would die.

It struck me because of this section:

Amen, amen, I say to you,  unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies,  it remains just a grain of wheat;  but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me,  and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.

The reason is that I've been going through a lot that's been forced up on me recently, together with others upon whom it's been forced, but I'm finding myself unique making decisions for everyone, and not for what I want to do, but for others. The stress of it has been gigantic and when I stop to think about it, it's depressing.

I went home and made a breakfast out of a bagel and left over corned beef.

In the afternoon, I went out fishing and took the dog.  On the way, I was listening to a podcast, like I'll tend to do.  It was a Catholic Answers Focus interview of Carrie Gress and it was profound.  I'll post on that elsewhere.  

We didn't catch any fish.  Nothing was biting, so we came home.

By that time, I'd finished the short Gress podcast and listened to This Week.  I've later listed to Meet The Press.  Both featured Republicans try to tell people that when Donald Trump promised a bloodbath if he isn't elected, he didn't really mean that, but was speaking instead about cars coming in from Mexico from Chinese factories. The full text of his speech stated:

We’re going to put a 100% tariff on every single car that comes across the line, and you’re not going to be able to sell those cars if I get elected, now, if I don’t get elected, it’s going to be a bloodbath for the whole — that’s gonna be the least of it. It’s going to be a bloodbath for the country. That will be the least of it. But they’re not going to sell those cars. They’re building massive factories.

It's interesting that Republicans feel compelled to continually tell you that Trump didn't mean what he said. It's also interesting that a person with such a strange pattern of speech is listened to.  He rambles and repeats.

The other thing that the shows all dealt with was Chuck Schumer calling for an Israeli election as he's upset with the current Israeli government.  A lot of people are upset with the current Israeli government, including a lot of Israelis, but an American elected official calling for a new government in another democracy is really beyond the Pale.

St. Patrick's Day's meal was left over corned beef and Brussels Sprouts, and cheese lasagna from the prior Friday.

No big blowout, no "Craic".  Just an observation that probably more closely resembles that of centuries of Irish people, in Ireland and the diaspora.  A small family gathering, a small feast, a little regional alcohol.  Reconciliation and Mass, and knowing that today the grim problems of the last two weeks, on this Monday, return.

St. Patrick's Day

A Celtic cross in a local cemetery, marking the grave of a very Irish, and Irish Catholic, figure.

Recently I ran this item: 

Lex Anteinternet: The Obituary: Mira qué bonita era by Julio Romero de Torres, 1895.  Depiction of a wake in Spain. I didn't have him as a teacher in high school, but I...

One of the things this oituary noted was:

"One more St. Patrick’s day craic for you, Dad."

That's nice, but what does that mean?

From Wikipedia:

Craic (/kræk/ KRAK) or crack is a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland.It is often used with the definite article – the craic– as in the expression "What's the craic?" (meaning "How are you?" or "What's happening?"). The word has an unusual history; the Scots and English crack was borrowed into Irish as craic in the mid-20th century and the Irish spelling was then reborrowed into English. Under either spelling, the term has attracted popularity and significance in Ireland.

A relative who kn3w the decedent well told me that in later years he really got into "being Irish" and had big St. Patrick's Day parties.

But is that Irish?

Not really.  That's hosting a party.

Granted, it's hosting a party in honor of the Saint, sort of. Or perhaps in honor of Ireland, sort of.  And there's nothing wrong with that whatsoever.  After all, "holidays" comes from "holy days", which were "feasts".   There are, by my recollection, some feast days even during Lent, and for that matter, it's often noted, but somewhat debated, that Sundays during Lent aren't technically part of it (although this post isn't on that topic, perhaps I'll address that elsewhere.

And St. Philip Neri tells us, moreover,  "Cheerfulness strengthens the heart and makes us persevere in a good life; wherefore the servant of God ought always to be in good spirits."

So, no problem, right?

Well, perhaps, as long as we're not missing the point.

The Irish everywhere honor this day, and some of that involves revelry.  Traditionally it was a day that events like Steeple Chases were conducted, sports being closely associated, actually, with religious holidays on the British Isles.  But the day is also often marked by the devout going to Mass, and as the recent Irish election shows, the Irish are more deeply Catholic than some recent pundits might suggest.

Perhaps it might be best, really, to compare the day to the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe in North America, which is widely observed by devout Catholics, and not only in Mexican American communities.

So, I guess, a purely bacchanalian event, which is so common in the US, doesn't really observe the holiday, but something else, and that risks dishonoring the day itself.  Beyond that, it's interesting how some in North America become particularly "Irish" on this day, when in fact the root of the day, and the person it honors, would import a different type of conduct entirely to some extent, if that was not appreciated.  Indeed, with many, St. Patrick would suggest confession and repentance.

Am I being too crabby?  

Probably, but we strive for authenticity in our lives and desire it.  That's so often at war with our own personal desires which often, quite frankly, aren't authentic.  Things aren't easy.