My brother John just sent me a short story about one of his earliest childhood memories. I was amazed how vividly he described the cluelessness of innocence. It's a dreamy state of awareness, where the pieces of the puzzle to whom we are becoming seem to just float into place. In isolation, those early events are mysterious, and at times wonderful, and sometimes scary. But a mother's love, or a teacher's genuine care can help bring order to the chaos, and in doing so, positively influence our developing lives.
Do you remember putting together jigsaw puzzles as a child? I think I remember every one. We would always start by putting the borders together first. It was almost a rule. It makes sense when you think about it, because we would usually set up the card table first. Then each kid would find their spot around the table, and immediately look for the pieces that have a straight edge. I'd get a little endorphin rush every time I got those first two pieces to fit together? That's when that voice inside would say "yea, you can do this". Gradually those two pieces became a line, and then four lines merged and met at the corners. You know, I can't ever remember bickering while we were working on a puzzle together. We'd willingly share pieces and the lid, knowing that each child was focused on a different portion the same goal. The more difficult puzzles might have taken days to assemble. Players would come and go. Mom and Dad, even Grandma would sometimes join in the fun. Occasionally, the last piece would be AWOL for a while, only to be found on the floor under the card table, all mangled and saliva-soaked? After a brief interrogation, the dog would usually fess up by looking confused and worried that he was about to be eaten by the family he had grown to trust?
There's been a lot of jigsaw puzzles in my life; some more difficult than others. But I am so grateful for the company I've kept and the time we've shared at the table. Even though the picture changes, I can still count on someone to say "hey, I think this is one of the pieces you've been looking for."
And above all, I still routinely refer to the lid. I think that everybody does in one way or another - especially at this time of the year.
So let me share the lid with you this holiday season, through the lyrics to one of my favorite songs. It's called Round & Round, by John and Carol Barnett.
Round and round, up and down,
Chasing the eternal sound,
The prayers of saints like incense rise
Up to Your throne, before Your eyes.
And day by day, and night by night,
You see between the wrong and right.
When world's collide and fall apart,
You find the pieces of each broken heart.
We exalt You Lord. We exalt Your Name.
From age to age Your Word remains.
We will sing your Praise in the Holy Place.
And we'll shine like stars to the glory and the honor of Your Name.
Merry Christmas Y'all
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Random Thing #2
I used to be a political activist.
I hated Richard Nixon. And so did everybody I knew - except my grandmother. She loved "Tricky Dick" like nobody else. She gloated when he won reelection over what's his name in 1972. I bet her $10 that following Christmas that he wouldn't finish his second term of office. (I think they were just beginning to connect the dots in the Watergate breakin.) Anyway, I knew he was sleezy, and that it was just a matter of time. I was 19 years old and becoming politically active.
One cold Monday in early January I headed down to D.C. with a few other like-minded citizen friends to protest his second inauguration. After spending the night in the halls of Georgetown University, we joined a throng of peace marchers that eventually wound up at the Lincoln Memorial. I'd like to think that Pete Seager, Joan Baez and Alan Ginzberg were there too, but considering how much marijuana I smoked in those days, I can't be too sure.
Either way, we got bored with the crowds and the rhetoric and the lack of sanitary toilets, so we decided to mosy (mosie, mozy, mozie?) on over to Pennsylvania Avenue to catch a glimpse of the President. We passed the Washington Monument just as the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) was(were) finishing up its(thier) senseless paint job. I remembered how incongruous swastikas were with the concept of democracy, but I guess that's not the first time that's ever happened.
The crowd lining the parade route was impenetrable. I've never seen anything like it. They were maybe 50 people deep. We kept sliding across the back of this mass of conservative humanity, hoping to out-flank it somehow. As we inched closer to the White House, some bleachers appeard, so we decided to make an assault on the high ground. My attempt to climb up the back of the bleachers was repelled by a plain clothes officer. Grabbing the hem of my US Army surplus overcoat, he pulled me down off of the bleachers, and told me to get lost, or else I could go to jail. I called him a fascist pig and ... wait a minute ... no, that's what I was thinking. What I said was more like, "uh,yes sir" and soon rejoined my friends. At that point, another offical looking person in a black trench coat handed us $200 worth of tickets to see the President and said, "Here, stay out of trouble". Each $50 ticket had a glossy picture of Richard Nixon and Spiro T. Agnew on it, and officially granted us admission to the expensive seats, right in front of the White House. We had no trouble finding a place to sit down, because the bleachers were only half full. Based on the amount of real fur and cashmere that surround us, we speculated that this was a VIP section, and that we had just been given free tickets to make it appear full for the TV cameras. We had the best freakin' seats you could get to see the inaugural parade!
The Chicago Police Motorcade led the procession. There were at least a hundred of them and they looked like Nazi wannabies, rumbling along on their Harlies and in their black leather boots, pants, jackets and caps. It made me wonder, what might be under all that sadistic outerwear. If I'm ever elected president, the Shriner clowns will lead my parade in their wacky little cars.
They were followed by a host of politicos and government big shots all itching to bask in the glow of the sunshine on this cold January morning. I recognized Admiral Thomas Moorer, Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff in his navy dress blues. Then along came Spiro. He was already being investigated for tax evasion as former governor of Maryland, to which he soon pleaded "no lo contendre". (One down - one to go.) We couldn't resist the urge: the opportunity was perfect. As Spiro's limosine approached the friendlier part of the parade route, all four of us rose to our feet, and in mystical union, extended the middle fingers of welcome to the Vice President of the United States. About a half-dozen secret service agents slid one gloved hand inside their lapel, and stuck the index finger of the other inside their ear. Spiro T. glared at us with equal parts of disgust and disappointment. They didn't expect us to be there. We didn't belong there.
But fate has its fortunes, and this was our day to shine. Richard Millhouse Nixon was our next victim. It's not often you get to tell the President of the United States exactly how you feel about his foreign policy. We might have become a little boisterous, and intoxicated by the circumstances, but we got his attention. The message was a simple and clear...f*** you! About then the thought, "I'm going to jail" crossed my mind. But "The Trick", in characteristic fashion, stood up in the limosine, smiled, and returned the salute with arms extended outward above his head, fingers on both hands forming the universal sign for victory.
He was famous for that pose. If I'm not mistaken, the last film image that we have, is of him bording an Air Force One helicopter in disgrace, saluting the viewing public in like manner. Every politician since has eschewed this gesture, knowing how much bad karma is attached to it.
Grandma never paid up. She died shortly thereafter - of a broken heart I think. But I'll never forget that cold January day, and the profound impact I made on the American political system.
I hated Richard Nixon. And so did everybody I knew - except my grandmother. She loved "Tricky Dick" like nobody else. She gloated when he won reelection over what's his name in 1972. I bet her $10 that following Christmas that he wouldn't finish his second term of office. (I think they were just beginning to connect the dots in the Watergate breakin.) Anyway, I knew he was sleezy, and that it was just a matter of time. I was 19 years old and becoming politically active.
One cold Monday in early January I headed down to D.C. with a few other like-minded citizen friends to protest his second inauguration. After spending the night in the halls of Georgetown University, we joined a throng of peace marchers that eventually wound up at the Lincoln Memorial. I'd like to think that Pete Seager, Joan Baez and Alan Ginzberg were there too, but considering how much marijuana I smoked in those days, I can't be too sure.
Either way, we got bored with the crowds and the rhetoric and the lack of sanitary toilets, so we decided to mosy (mosie, mozy, mozie?) on over to Pennsylvania Avenue to catch a glimpse of the President. We passed the Washington Monument just as the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) was(were) finishing up its(thier) senseless paint job. I remembered how incongruous swastikas were with the concept of democracy, but I guess that's not the first time that's ever happened.
The crowd lining the parade route was impenetrable. I've never seen anything like it. They were maybe 50 people deep. We kept sliding across the back of this mass of conservative humanity, hoping to out-flank it somehow. As we inched closer to the White House, some bleachers appeard, so we decided to make an assault on the high ground. My attempt to climb up the back of the bleachers was repelled by a plain clothes officer. Grabbing the hem of my US Army surplus overcoat, he pulled me down off of the bleachers, and told me to get lost, or else I could go to jail. I called him a fascist pig and ... wait a minute ... no, that's what I was thinking. What I said was more like, "uh,yes sir" and soon rejoined my friends. At that point, another offical looking person in a black trench coat handed us $200 worth of tickets to see the President and said, "Here, stay out of trouble". Each $50 ticket had a glossy picture of Richard Nixon and Spiro T. Agnew on it, and officially granted us admission to the expensive seats, right in front of the White House. We had no trouble finding a place to sit down, because the bleachers were only half full. Based on the amount of real fur and cashmere that surround us, we speculated that this was a VIP section, and that we had just been given free tickets to make it appear full for the TV cameras. We had the best freakin' seats you could get to see the inaugural parade!
The Chicago Police Motorcade led the procession. There were at least a hundred of them and they looked like Nazi wannabies, rumbling along on their Harlies and in their black leather boots, pants, jackets and caps. It made me wonder, what might be under all that sadistic outerwear. If I'm ever elected president, the Shriner clowns will lead my parade in their wacky little cars.
They were followed by a host of politicos and government big shots all itching to bask in the glow of the sunshine on this cold January morning. I recognized Admiral Thomas Moorer, Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff in his navy dress blues. Then along came Spiro. He was already being investigated for tax evasion as former governor of Maryland, to which he soon pleaded "no lo contendre". (One down - one to go.) We couldn't resist the urge: the opportunity was perfect. As Spiro's limosine approached the friendlier part of the parade route, all four of us rose to our feet, and in mystical union, extended the middle fingers of welcome to the Vice President of the United States. About a half-dozen secret service agents slid one gloved hand inside their lapel, and stuck the index finger of the other inside their ear. Spiro T. glared at us with equal parts of disgust and disappointment. They didn't expect us to be there. We didn't belong there.
But fate has its fortunes, and this was our day to shine. Richard Millhouse Nixon was our next victim. It's not often you get to tell the President of the United States exactly how you feel about his foreign policy. We might have become a little boisterous, and intoxicated by the circumstances, but we got his attention. The message was a simple and clear...f*** you! About then the thought, "I'm going to jail" crossed my mind. But "The Trick", in characteristic fashion, stood up in the limosine, smiled, and returned the salute with arms extended outward above his head, fingers on both hands forming the universal sign for victory.
He was famous for that pose. If I'm not mistaken, the last film image that we have, is of him bording an Air Force One helicopter in disgrace, saluting the viewing public in like manner. Every politician since has eschewed this gesture, knowing how much bad karma is attached to it.
Grandma never paid up. She died shortly thereafter - of a broken heart I think. But I'll never forget that cold January day, and the profound impact I made on the American political system.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Gimme a Break!
It's July 17, 2007, and that means that it's time for me to wax political. We're a year and a half away from electing a new president, and as the excitement builds, I'm happy to share my opinion.
Did you know that there's a cartoon series called Lil' Bush? It's on Comedy Central every Saturday morning, (which technically satisfies the FCC requirement that every station provide a modicum of children's programming), but in truth, it's very sophisticated, adult, political satire. Which according to experts who study this kind of thing, only serves to fuel the apathy that consitently prevents young liberal voters from actually voting. Which in my mind, is just another fine example of why freedom of speech as guaranteed by the Constititution is nothing to be feared. If all of the totalitarian governments throughout the world only knew this secret truth, they could stop worrying about losing their jobs, relax a little bit, and laugh a whole lot more.
Unfortunately, I have to admit that I'm already getting bored with the run up to the election. At this time, it appears that the Republican front runner is Fred Thompson, who's not even running. Huh? Well, at least he's another actor, and if history does in fact repeat itself, that could turn out ..... O.K.
For me, the high water mark of the American Political System was reached in 1998, when Jesse Ventura was elected the 38th governor of the great state of Minnesota. A.k.a Jesse "The Body" Ventura, a renouned professional wrestler, defeated 2 other "legitimate" candidates in what can only be described as the greatest political smack down in U.S. history. Jesse's other credentials included: retired Navy SEAL, body guard for the Rolling Stones, actor, talk radio host, NFL color commentator and mayor of a small town in Minnesota. Jesse embodied all that is good and safe and right with America. Who wouldn't want this guy to run their state for them?
Apparantly Minnesotans did, and in large numbers. By the end of his first year in office, he had earned a 73% approval rating, the highest in Minnesota state history. Bumper stickers proudly boasted "My governor can beat up your governor". The honeymoon only lasted for another year though, as a litany of "controversial remarks" (surprise) began to erode their confidence in his goobernatorial abilities. After 4 years in office, Jesse "The Body" Ventura did not seek reelection.
Jesse's meteoric political career represents what I have long suspected to be the essence of the American political system. That like professional wrestling, it's mostly fake. Wikepedia defines Pro Wrestling as "the performance, management, and marketing of a form of entertainment that is based on simulated elements of catch wrestling, mock combat and theatre." My apologies to all the Gomers out there who are hearing this for the first time,but THE OUTCOMES ARE PREDETERMINED. I'm not saying that elections are rigged, just that they're just for show, that's all. "We the people" individually decide who we're going to root for, and sometimes become passionately engaged in this mock struggle between good and evil. In a good election, our candidate wins, and we get to gloat in their victory right up untill we find out that, after a while, nothing really changes. If our candidate should lose, well that's not so bad. We get to criticize, mock and accuse the incumbant for at least 4 years. Likewise, nothing really changes. The issues are still the same: immigration, education, security, abortion, poverty, pollution, energy dependance, racism, inflation, taxation, health care, free enterprise, big government, ...... continue unaffected and undetected untill the advent of the next political season. Then the pundants, promoters and profiteers begin to work their magic and cast their spells upon their loyal but naive fan base, untill we're all cheering or geering ouselves into an emotional feeding frenzy called the electoral process. The ideal contest would be Hillary vs. Condoleeza Rice,(Yea, girl wrestling), but alas, Condie has no interest in running for office, ever.
Meanwhile, it's all about the money. But maybe that's the good news. Whoever is really running this country, is actually doing a pretty good job. The economy's strong. Our standard of living is still the highest in the world, and steadily rising. Maybe the effective input/interferance of "we the people" would just mess things up.
Nevertheless, I'm still going to vote. I'll continue to pursue the truth in the midst of all the emotional hype and deception.
No deja los bastardos a desanimarte.
Did you know that there's a cartoon series called Lil' Bush? It's on Comedy Central every Saturday morning, (which technically satisfies the FCC requirement that every station provide a modicum of children's programming), but in truth, it's very sophisticated, adult, political satire. Which according to experts who study this kind of thing, only serves to fuel the apathy that consitently prevents young liberal voters from actually voting. Which in my mind, is just another fine example of why freedom of speech as guaranteed by the Constititution is nothing to be feared. If all of the totalitarian governments throughout the world only knew this secret truth, they could stop worrying about losing their jobs, relax a little bit, and laugh a whole lot more.
Unfortunately, I have to admit that I'm already getting bored with the run up to the election. At this time, it appears that the Republican front runner is Fred Thompson, who's not even running. Huh? Well, at least he's another actor, and if history does in fact repeat itself, that could turn out ..... O.K.
For me, the high water mark of the American Political System was reached in 1998, when Jesse Ventura was elected the 38th governor of the great state of Minnesota. A.k.a Jesse "The Body" Ventura, a renouned professional wrestler, defeated 2 other "legitimate" candidates in what can only be described as the greatest political smack down in U.S. history. Jesse's other credentials included: retired Navy SEAL, body guard for the Rolling Stones, actor, talk radio host, NFL color commentator and mayor of a small town in Minnesota. Jesse embodied all that is good and safe and right with America. Who wouldn't want this guy to run their state for them?
Apparantly Minnesotans did, and in large numbers. By the end of his first year in office, he had earned a 73% approval rating, the highest in Minnesota state history. Bumper stickers proudly boasted "My governor can beat up your governor". The honeymoon only lasted for another year though, as a litany of "controversial remarks" (surprise) began to erode their confidence in his goobernatorial abilities. After 4 years in office, Jesse "The Body" Ventura did not seek reelection.
Jesse's meteoric political career represents what I have long suspected to be the essence of the American political system. That like professional wrestling, it's mostly fake. Wikepedia defines Pro Wrestling as "the performance, management, and marketing of a form of entertainment that is based on simulated elements of catch wrestling, mock combat and theatre." My apologies to all the Gomers out there who are hearing this for the first time,but THE OUTCOMES ARE PREDETERMINED. I'm not saying that elections are rigged, just that they're just for show, that's all. "We the people" individually decide who we're going to root for, and sometimes become passionately engaged in this mock struggle between good and evil. In a good election, our candidate wins, and we get to gloat in their victory right up untill we find out that, after a while, nothing really changes. If our candidate should lose, well that's not so bad. We get to criticize, mock and accuse the incumbant for at least 4 years. Likewise, nothing really changes. The issues are still the same: immigration, education, security, abortion, poverty, pollution, energy dependance, racism, inflation, taxation, health care, free enterprise, big government, ...... continue unaffected and undetected untill the advent of the next political season. Then the pundants, promoters and profiteers begin to work their magic and cast their spells upon their loyal but naive fan base, untill we're all cheering or geering ouselves into an emotional feeding frenzy called the electoral process. The ideal contest would be Hillary vs. Condoleeza Rice,(Yea, girl wrestling), but alas, Condie has no interest in running for office, ever.
Meanwhile, it's all about the money. But maybe that's the good news. Whoever is really running this country, is actually doing a pretty good job. The economy's strong. Our standard of living is still the highest in the world, and steadily rising. Maybe the effective input/interferance of "we the people" would just mess things up.
Nevertheless, I'm still going to vote. I'll continue to pursue the truth in the midst of all the emotional hype and deception.
No deja los bastardos a desanimarte.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
8 Random Things Abount Myself
A friend of mine who noticed that I had not blogged anything for the last 6 months, asked me to post 8 random things about myself. I don't know how to play this game, but I'll give it my best shot anyway. I'm guessing that I am supposed to reveal 8 things that other people might not know about me. So here we go:
1. I have been baptized 5 times. For a while, I thought this was some kind of record, and then I found out that people from the middle east do it all the time. It's an ancient ritual called a mikvah in Hebrew, and performed for a variety of reasons.
The first time was within minutes of being born. My obstetrician was a devout Catholic, and didn't expect me to live; and, since he was already dunking me in cold water to get me to breathe, I guess he figured, why not kill 2 birds with 1 stone? Subsequently, it took me 21 years to get over my fear of water.
A few months later I was ceremoniously baptized (a.k.a sprinkled), complete with Godparents and grandparents in attendance.
At 21, I rediscovered Jesus and was talked into it again. This was in one of those cheezy fish tanks that they have in the front of most Baptist churches. I walked down the steps into waist-deep luke warm water wearing a white robe over my street clothes. When the minister asked me to give my testimony, I leaned into the microphone only to receive one hellacious shock on the lips. You'd think that I would have stopped there, but no....
10 years later, I found myself in the Gulf of Mexico next to my wife, being baptized at sunset by her brother. It was beautiful, warm and wet. There were no sharks, stingrays or jelly fish, so things were beginning to improve.
My favorite one though was the fifth and most recent. Sue and I celebrated our 25th anniversary in Israel, and as part of this most awesome journey, we were baptized in the Jordon River. The gently flowing water was cold and the color of jade. A soft breeze played tricks with the light that filtered down through the willows and pine trees lining both sides of the Jordon. The baptizer this time was my friend and pastor-the guy who had made it possible for me to be there in the first place. Looking me straight in the eyes, he asked: "Charlie Riger, are you ready for this?" All I could utter was, "Oh yea, bring it on." Placing one hand in the small of my back and the other hand over my mouth, he started to recited those all too familiar words: "I baptize you, in the name of the Father, the.... The words faded as he gently dunked me, the way a dancer would dip his partner. Enveloped in the Jordon's cold greeness, I risked swallowing some, knowing that I may never get another chance to drink directly from this holy river. For a few seconds, I became one with the river, the moment, and possibly, the entire space-time continuum. Read the classic novel, Siddhartha and you'll know what I'm talking about.
.JPG)
So what's the deal with all these baptisms? I don't know, but I swear they were random. And as for the 7 other random things about me, maybe they'll become fodder for future blogs.
Shalom
1. I have been baptized 5 times. For a while, I thought this was some kind of record, and then I found out that people from the middle east do it all the time. It's an ancient ritual called a mikvah in Hebrew, and performed for a variety of reasons.
The first time was within minutes of being born. My obstetrician was a devout Catholic, and didn't expect me to live; and, since he was already dunking me in cold water to get me to breathe, I guess he figured, why not kill 2 birds with 1 stone? Subsequently, it took me 21 years to get over my fear of water.
A few months later I was ceremoniously baptized (a.k.a sprinkled), complete with Godparents and grandparents in attendance.
At 21, I rediscovered Jesus and was talked into it again. This was in one of those cheezy fish tanks that they have in the front of most Baptist churches. I walked down the steps into waist-deep luke warm water wearing a white robe over my street clothes. When the minister asked me to give my testimony, I leaned into the microphone only to receive one hellacious shock on the lips. You'd think that I would have stopped there, but no....
10 years later, I found myself in the Gulf of Mexico next to my wife, being baptized at sunset by her brother. It was beautiful, warm and wet. There were no sharks, stingrays or jelly fish, so things were beginning to improve.
My favorite one though was the fifth and most recent. Sue and I celebrated our 25th anniversary in Israel, and as part of this most awesome journey, we were baptized in the Jordon River. The gently flowing water was cold and the color of jade. A soft breeze played tricks with the light that filtered down through the willows and pine trees lining both sides of the Jordon. The baptizer this time was my friend and pastor-the guy who had made it possible for me to be there in the first place. Looking me straight in the eyes, he asked: "Charlie Riger, are you ready for this?" All I could utter was, "Oh yea, bring it on." Placing one hand in the small of my back and the other hand over my mouth, he started to recited those all too familiar words: "I baptize you, in the name of the Father, the.... The words faded as he gently dunked me, the way a dancer would dip his partner. Enveloped in the Jordon's cold greeness, I risked swallowing some, knowing that I may never get another chance to drink directly from this holy river. For a few seconds, I became one with the river, the moment, and possibly, the entire space-time continuum. Read the classic novel, Siddhartha and you'll know what I'm talking about.
.JPG)
So what's the deal with all these baptisms? I don't know, but I swear they were random. And as for the 7 other random things about me, maybe they'll become fodder for future blogs.
Shalom
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