Daily Dose from Beliefnet...

Be loving, be kind
And follow the ways of goodness.
Committed, and longing for the goal,
Always keep going with courage.
To dally and delay will not help you.
But to be ardent is sure and safe.
When you see it, cultivate the path,
So you will touch and make your own
The Deathless Way.

-Psalms of the Early Buddhists

There's a Hole in the Bucket

There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, dear Liza,
Then mend it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, mend it.

With what shall I mend it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a straw, then, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a straw.

If the straw is too long,
Then, dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then cut it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, cut it.

With what shall I cut it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a knife, then, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a knife.

If the knife is too dull, then,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then sharpen it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, sharpen it.

With what shall I sharpen it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a whetstone, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a stone.

If the stone be too dry, then,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then wet it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, wet it.

With what shall I wet it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With water, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with water.

How shall I fetch it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
In a bucket, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, in a bucket.

There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, dear Liza,
Then mend it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, mend it.

This song demonstrates futility in such a happy way.

Idle Questions to be read out loud

Who do I hold to some higher level of expectation? Who do I hold accountable for each syllable they let fall from their mouth?

On the other hand, who exists near and dear to my heart because I am somehow able to explain their faults? Who is it allowed to prick my sense of self-importance reaping the reward of my laughter and not my anger in the form of a defensive response?

Whose words do I listen to, perhaps consider changing my stance for, and whose words are assumed to belong to someone who just doesn't understand?

Personal choices based on what process of elimination? What motivates those choices? What fires are fueled by them?

What is gained? What is lost?

Evolution vs. Creationism

Okay, I admit it... this is a recent bug I have had. Ever since starting to read Greg Laden's Blog I have become accutely aware of the dividing line between folks who believe in creationism and those who believe in evolution.

My religious views can be found rather easily within the blatherings of my blog, but just in case it isn't as apparent as I might think... I don't like religion. But I have great faith. I have little faith in translations scribed by humans, let's face it, most if not all humans have agendas no matter how pure or free of human urges they (or others) perceive themselves to be.

I have asked this question of others, infact, I just shot off an inquiry to the folks at http://www.christiananswers.net/ - Keep in mind I am not trying to be combative, I truly believe there is peace to be found here.

Here is the note I sent to ChristianAnswers.net (and you, should you deem it worthy of responding too):

I am very curious as to the reasons that the process of evolution can not be used as a means of explaining the logistics of "how" God's creations came to be.

In an attempt to imagine what a measure of a day would be in an infinite lifespan, why can't evolution be a mile-stone mapping of the process of creation?

If we accepted evolution and archealogical finds as snapshots of God's process of creation, would we think any less of God's immense powers?

It seems to me that evolution has the capacity to be an elegant answer as opposed to such a clearly alienating concept.

Grey Hair

Before I get to the point, I have to ask: Have you ever found yourself leaning toward one spelling of grey/gray over the other? They are both acceptable. I like "grey."

I'm beginning to think there is a direct correlation to the amount of grey hair spewing forth from my follicles and the amount of time I spend living in the past.

Hmmmm...

Good Morning

*SMILE*

Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning!

For all those times I couldn't/didn't/wouldn't smile and tell you good morning.

Tip Toe Through the Tulips with Me

La dee da dee da
UPDATED! For some unknown reason, it became incredibly important to make that audio file available.
So NOW clicking on the link will load a Windows Media file version... I know, sorry! BUTT hearing the song is bound to make you smile - who cares why?!

*Say Cheese!*

In Case You Were Wondering...

...about the state of the dumpsters over at Carol's Lighting today in the booming metropolis of Humble, TX:

A Rooster's Tale

Years ago, a family lived behind me who had a run-down tool shed they converted to a chicken coop and promptly filled the shanty with a dozen or so chickens.

It wasn't long after the foul penal colony began before the whole damn flock escaped and ran amok throughout the 'hood.

They took to random garden sabotage and committing other acts of gang violence. I really didn't mind the fact that they totally annihilated most of my pseudo-maintained gardens in search of food, or the fact that they developed a preference for roosting in my loquat tree at night, because it gave me countless hours of free entertainment observing them as they went about the business of being chickens.

One thing was clear: Who the poor bastard was that held the prestigious title of "End of pecking order." There was this one chicken-shit, beat-to-hell rooster who did his damndest to stay out of harm's way with the other birds. In contrast to him, way at the other end of the order was always a very proud, confident, finely-feathered fellow, the cock of the walk who would defy anything, everyone, and to his own demise any dog he foolishly encountered in the rampaging of backyards.

The loss of El' Presidente' always worked out okay because there was another fine specimen of a bird eager to fill the vacated position.

Slowly but surely, the flock was whittled down to one lowly rooster, you guessed it- the little chicken-shit one. Because he grew up in a world of constant fear he was quite cautious. He KNEW in his little chicken-brain that any one approaching him surely meant to inflict pain and suffering, he never trusted anything well enough to stick around and challenge it.

He is about six years old now. His feathers are gorgeous! He hangs out at the other end of our dead-end street so my husband and I don't have to wake up to the melodious morning song he cuts loose with every day. I have listened to neighbors complain about him and threaten to have him captured and carried away.

However, as you can plainly see, he seems to be avoiding everyone just fine.

Time to Tattle on the Neighbors!

I've had enough! Apparently, Carol's Lighting in Humble, TX is doing GREAT business. I know this because the trash generated by their incoming inventory consistantly exceeds the capacity of their two very large dumpsters - for well over five years this has been the case.

Looking through the fence at work today, this is the site I see. I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that all the litter within a 1-mile radius of these dumpsters originated right here.

Time to add a new dumpster to the collection guys!

The Other Library

I work for a small software company that has employed anywhere from 8 to 12 people at a time for the last 11 years. We work in a building that has two side-by-side unisex restrooms. Despite the fact that these bathrooms are unisex, myself and the rest of the staff here ALWAYS go to a specific bathroom based on gender. In other words, men always go to the one on the left and women always go to the one on the right.

There are of course rare occasions that nature gets the best of one of us and it coincides with someone else's rythm and forces that person to use the other bathroom. It is on one of these rare occasions that I found myself rifling through a stack of magazines in the men's room.

I have often wondered about the male half of our species and their total lack of discreetness when it comes to publicly entering a bathroom with literature in hand. There is no doubt about it that they are about to take a dump and most likely be quartered within the stall for an abundant amount of time while they become engrossed in some good article.

Somehow the thought of this subtle act of personal abandonment appealed to me in such a way I defiantly began openly excusing myself to the restroom with my own reading material, and soon took it upon myself to not only stock my bathroom at the house with my favorite magazines, but also cycle out all my old ones by keeping the ladies room here at work well-stocked.

It caught on. It was like some sort of quiet revolution! Women began openly contributing to the "Yes! I'm taking a shit and reading a magazine to circumvent my boredom" bathroom library. Cool huh?

All the above has nothing to do with the point of this post other than to establish the fact that we have had for quite some time two really nice magazine collections here at work.

Interestingly enough, most (if not all) of the magazines are science-related: Scientific American, Natural History, Popular Mechanics, Omni, Smithsonian, Discover, Popular Science... and so on and so forth. I've always thought it was interesting that everyone who contributes to our dual libraries seems to like things having to do with science.

Now for the point of this post. Last week SOMEONE brought in a People magazine. I am not saying I haven't perused its shallow pages, but I feel as though our intellectually stimulating library has just been infiltrated by a gossip-ridden Hollyweird-fluff mag.

To top it all off, whoever brought it, left it right smack on the sink counter instead of placing it in the stack on the back of the toilet. No one here has ever casually left a mag out of place like this before, and so far no one has taken the initiative to properly relocate this mysterious intruder to its spot in the stack.

It is as if all the women going into the bathroom share the same sort of reaction as mine..."What IS this thing doing here? I'm not touching it!"

Every time I go to the bathroom, I am forced to look at the mag on the counter in front of me while I sit on the pot. As an added bonus, because of the big-ass mirror behind the sink I also get to look at myself, as I look at the mag, just oddly sitting there (yes, both of us.) I like to make faces in the mirror to demonstrate my reaction to the magazine's presence... This is my look of disbelief, this is my "shocked-and-awed look," my "Who reads this crap?!!" look... Oh! and here's my "Good-gawd-Brad-and-Angelina-are-adopting-again?!" look.



Is this a psychological study of some kind? a test? The beginnings of another literary revolution in the hallowed hall of the loo, meaning more of these types of magazines will be showing up soon? Is this someone's personal protest about being tired of Science magazines? It's driving me nuts... WHO the hell brought this thing here?