fionnbharro: (Wild Thing)
As today is the Monday after the Easter Holiday ("Easter Monday" to those who celebrate), I offer a hearty Happy Dyngus Day to everyone on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.

May your legs suffer the switch of the pussy-willow in the good-natured fun that it is intended.

Who knew?

Apr. 23rd, 2015 09:44 am
fionnbharro: (Default)
As I rarely wear them -- much too formal, you see.....

Apparently, They're NOT pronounced /bau-tee/ and /tof-fit/, "bautee" and "toffit".

They're pronounced like two words, each:  "Boe" "Tie"  and "Top" "Hat".

Bowtie and Tophat.   Things you wear that aren't pronounced the way they're written.

Weird.



Whatever; I'm off to watch the poloponies.

fionnbharro: (Default)
Anyone ever notice that the lyrics to I Wish I Were an Oscar Meyer Weiner map really well into the melody of the Star Spangled Banner?
fionnbharro: (Triquetra)



But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

Divorce and Same-Sex Marriage,

by Daniel O’Rourke
26 July 2012

Recently the House of Deputies of the Episcopal Church became the largest U.S. denomination “to officially sanction same-sex relationships.” Hedging its bet, it said the rite is not a marriage ceremony, but the ceremony includes prayers and an exchange of vows and rings. It surely sounds like a marriage ceremony to me. The United Church of Christ is the only other major U.S. Protestant church that has endorsed same-sex marriage.

 

Read more... )

 

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

An Enlightened Grandfather on Mothers’ Day

by Daniel O’Rourke

Note. This column originally appeared in May 2006.

After breakfast the phone rang. It was my wife Marie. She had left earlier for a meeting, but after her meeting had a fender bender. No one was injured, but understandably unnerved she was waiting for the police. She had promised Susan my daughter in law to baby-sit three of our grandchildren so she could teach her college class. It was late. Would I alert Susan and go to Silver Creek and baby-sit? I said, “No problem, not to worry. Glad she wasn’t hurt. I’d take care of it.” Little did I know what was ahead.

The first premonition was my unanswered phone call. (I found out later Susan was picking up four-year-old Caitlin from pre-school.) I left messages saying Marie’s o.k. and I’m on my way. I hurried down Route 60 only to find traffic rerouted. So I backtracked, finally got onto Route 20, and headed to Silver Creek. I arrived late but in time for Susan to get to class. She told me Caitlin was not feeling well and was asleep in her bedroom. Jillian was crying, but we put her in a stroller and I pushed her back and forth. Soon she was quiet. It was twenty after twelve. All seemed peaceful.

Jillian fell asleep. I wheeled her into another bedroom; left her in the stroller and sat down with six-year-old Erin who two days before had her tonsils removed. Erin gave me an intelligent, step-by-step description, proudly showing me Peanut, a stuffed animal well loved and threadbare, that she was allowed to take with her into surgery.

We had a mature conversation over lunch. Then we moved to the family room where Erin read “Little House on the Prairie” and I dozed in an armchair. This is easy, I thought. It was almost two o’clock and Susan would be back by three. Then it happened.

Caitlin appeared and threw up all over the kitchen floor. The first word on the tip of my tongue was…. Well, it’s what the French call “merde,” but I did not say it. Good grandfathers do not model such scatological language for grandchildren. I did not say it, but I thought it -- and more than once as things turned out. Before I could get Caitlin into the bathroom she barfed again. This time she grazed some furniture and splashed a comforter. “Erin,” I shouted in panic, “where’s a bucket?”

Before Erin could help her frenetic grandfather, two other things happened simultaneously. The toddler still seat-buckled in the stroller woke up and was bellowing. Caitlin, pale as her underwear was sitting on the toilet crying for new clothes. “My clothes stink,” she said truthfully.

“Erin,” I cried more frenzied by the minute, “where can I get Cait clean clothes?” By this time I had found the paper towels and was more or less mopping up the stink and slop. The “quicker picker upper,” however, did not pick up. Wrong tool for the job. Still no bucket or ammonia. “Erin,” I shouted for the third time in two minutes, “Where’s that bucket -- and push Jill back and forth in the stroller so she’ll stop crying.” By this time Erin has pointed me towards the bucket and had found a change of clothes for her sister. I had deposited the soiled clothes in the laundry sink to soak them, but couldn’t get the sink stopper to work. I gave up and ran back with a bucket of ammonia water to the spreading mess.

Jillian was quiet now. Erin was pushing her back and forth. Looking up, though, I panicked again, “Don’t push the stroller through the vomit!” Erin changed direction but calmly informed me, “Jill needs her diaper changed.”

Although I believe television too passive for children, who’d be better off with educational books and games to develop their minds, I ditched this abstract philosophy and reached for the remote. The remote looked like something that should be part of the dashboard of a 747. I had no idea how to operate it. “That’s the wrong one, grandpa,” said Erin. “It’s the one for the TiVo.” She took the remote. Push, push, click, click and behold Teletubbies filled the TV screen. At that point it could have been “Desperate Housewives” as I was concerned. Peace descended.

With the children electronically sedated, I cleaned up the mess. By this time my knees were aching and I had to grab onto the furniture to stand up – unsteadily. But I shouldered on. I emptied the smelly garbage, discovered how to soak the stinky clothes and turned my attention to Jillian’s diaper. With her sisters she was lost in the Teletubbies’ world. Caitlin now in clean clothes and resting on the couch advised me, “Don’t get the poop on the carpet.”

Susan got back early -- as welcome as the flowers in May. I had rehearsed how to explain it all to her, but Erin beat me to it sparing none of the gory details. She deserved to tell the story. I could not have survived without her.

I drove directly home. Marie still unnerved from her accident, laughed out loud when I reported my baby-sitting tour. “Imagine,” she said, “it took you 70 years to figure out what mothers do!” Pondering that wisdom, I took a long nap.

In my office I have pictures of both my daughter in laws and my daughter with their children. I pray for them daily. I can’t imagine how they do it. They are nurse, program director, referee, maid and cook. And somehow they manage their children’s incessant, important needs. Through the sleepless nights, the sicknesses and diapers, through the soccer practices, doctor visits, squabbles and music classes, they keep on giving. And later despite teenaged disdain and rebellion, they will continue to help their children become decent adults.

Oh I know modern fathers do lots of this too, but it seems to me most of it still falls to moms. They deserve lots of recognition and more than one day a year. But this wiser grandfather wants all you mothers to know that this Mothers’ Day he understands much better.

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His regular column runs in The Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Catholic priest. His new book, “The Living Spirit” is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)
Our Things Are Not Ours

by Daniel O’Rourke
05/10/12

T

he wealth and things we have are not really ours. They are gifts, but they are only on loan to us. They are meant for us to shelter and help ourselves and our families, but also to help others, to heal others, and enable others to live more fully. Our money is like manure. If we pile it high and hoard it, it grows moldy and fetid. If we spread it on our fields and gardens, it nourishes the earth, makes things grow for ourselves and for our neighbors.

 

Shenanigans ahead... )

 

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His column appears in the Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Catholic priest. His new book, The Living Spirit is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book or send comments on this column visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

Legalized Marijuana

04/26/12 | Daniel O’Rourke

Marijuana has been in the news recently – all the way from South America to California and Washington State.

 

Read more... )

 

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His column appears in the Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Catholic priest. His new book, “The Living Spirit” is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book or send comments on this column visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

The Hunger Games

April 12, 2012 Daniel O’Rourke

At the promptings of my 12-year-old granddaughter, I read Suzanne Collins’ best selling trilogy and have seen the movie based on her first book: The Hunger Games. A quick summary: the book is a young adult novel; its chief character is 16-year-old, street smart Katniss Everdeen. She lives in a post-apocalyptic world in the country of Panem where the United States once existed. The Capitol is a prosperous metropolis, which holds absolute power over the rest of Panem.

 

Read more... )

 

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

The Oscars and the New Cardinals

by Daniel O’Rourke
3/08/12

The entire world has again endured the Investiture of new cardinals in Rome and the annual Oscar Academy Awards in Hollywood. I must admit there was a time when I had a fleeting interest in these two reoccurring international extravaganzas. Now, however, they seem more like the Roman bread and circuses: superficial diversions and distractions from the real issues confronting the church and world. Think of the worldwide financial meltdown, or Syria, Iran and Afghanistan. Or even matters closer to the Academy and the Roman Church, like plummeting movie attendance and pedophilia.

Yet these two diverse, glitzy superparties have much in common. Aging White men control both and both place an exaggerated emphasis on dress. For the cardinals it’s the silk robes, the silly slippers on their aging feet, and the “red hats” on their graying and balding heads. For the actresses at the Oscars it’s the colorful V-necked, strapless, backless, off-the–shoulders gowns on their young, sultry bodies. Both also have their jewelry: rings for the cardinals, necklaces for the glitterati. Of course, there were differences too. The cardinals appeared Medieval; the actresses were definitely twenty-first Century.

I guess it’s my Catholic roots, but all that Vatican foppery makes me nauseous. The Church is far, far from Jesus. I once heard Karen Armstrong confess to a theological fantasy. (There are lots of fantasies of another kind about those actresses, but back to Armstrong’s theological one.) In her wild reverie, Armstrong dreams of meeting Jesus and taking him on a guided tour of the Vatican. Jesus would cry and say, “What in God’s name have they done to my church?”

Jesus would be turning over in his grave – if he had one. As for his Apostles, they were ordinary working stiffs. They wouldn’t recognize a red silk robe if they reeled it in with their fishing nets and neither would their wives.

I freely admit that the Catholic Church has an admirable record in serving the world’s poor and needy. Its charities, schools and hospitals have been in the forefront for workers’ rights, prisoners’ rights, social justice and human dignity. But Blessed Mother Teresa caring for dying untouchables in Calcutta or Saint Damien ministering to lepers on Molokai are far from Rome – and not only geographically.

But back to the Oscars and the investiture of cardinals, they both had their stars. Meryl Streep won best actress for her brilliant portrayal of Margaret Thatcher in “Iron Lady.” The cardinal star was the charismatic and outgoing Timothy Dolan, the now Cardinal Archbishop of NewYork. His humor even made the Pope smile and the Italian press have labeled him “papabile” as a possible future pope. But I wouldn’t bet on it, as Dolan himself said with self-deprecating charm and humor, “The Mets have a better chance of winning the World Series!”

More significantly, though, are whom the Oscars and Rome passed over. The Academy nominated the actress Viola Davis for best actress in “The Help,” but she did not receive the award. (She lost it fair and square to Meryl Streep.)

Then there’s the outspoken Diarmuid Martin, Archbishop of Dublin. He’s the only bishop in Ireland whom the people trust. Snubbing him was not fair and square at all. In a just church, the Pope would be kissing him on the cheek and plunking a red hat on his head. But in the sex abuse scandal in Ireland Martin cooperated with the government’s investigation. He gave 65,000 files on child abuse cases to the Murphy Commission – files his predecessor had refused to turn over. In so doing he infuriated the Irish bishops and angered Rome. Last Sunday Archbishop Martin told the full, sordid story to Bob Simon on “60 Minutes.” He teared-up when speaking of the young, innocent victims.

The Motion Pictures Academy and the Vatican have much in common. They both put on dazzling opulent shows, but some of it is rotten and rancid.

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His column appears in The Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Catholic priest. His new book, “The Living Spirit” is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book or send comments on this column visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

Gambling Is Good for Your Soul

by Daniel O’Rourke
02/23/12

As I write this we are still recovering from the publicity and hype of Super Bowl Sunday.  This year’s Super Bowl set a record as the most-watched television show in our history. An estimated 111.3 million watched. That’s more than ever viewed an inaugural address by a President of the United States.  Who said we Americans don’t have our priorities right!

Read more... )

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Silence Is Productive

by Daniel O’Rourke
02/09/12

This year’s Academy Awards have nominated The Artist for an Oscar. The Artist is a silent comedy. In many different categories the bookies’ odds favor The Artist. In a few weeks we will know if the gamblers are right, but the fact that a silent firm is being seriously considered is itself major news.

 

Silence is not in vogue, these days.... )

 

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

The Big Eight-O


 

by Daniel O’Rourke | 1/12/12

On December 31st last year, I turned eighty-years-old. Back in 1931 when taxes were lower and not a raging national issue; I was a tax exemption for my parents.

 

I was born with the blue baby syndrome and they feared I was going to die. )

 

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His column appears in the Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Catholic priest. His new book, “The Living Spirit” is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book or send comments on this column visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

What If the Wise Men Were Women?

Daniel O’Rourke
12/22/11

Shortly after Thanksgiving, when Christmas decorations were already in the stores and Christmas merchandise crowding the shelves, my twelve-year-old granddaughter with a twinkle in her eye asked me, “Grandpa, what if the Christmas wise men were women?”

 

I pleaded ignorance.... )

 

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His column appears in The Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Roman Catholic priest. His new book, The Living Spirit is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book or send comments on this column visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

You Are Not Up There, God

12/08/11

by Daniel O’Rourke

Non-believing readers won’t like this column. It will be far too spiritual for them. There is no political red meat, but some of them would like the Darrell Hammond book that prompted the column. His book is a ribald, smutty, foul mouthed and often-hilarious look inside the troubled life and mind of this Saturday Night Live star.

 

I'm F*cked )

 

Retired from the administration at State University of New York at Fredonia, Daniel O’Rourke lives in Cassadaga, New York. His column appears in he Observer, Dunkirk, NY on the second and fourth Thursday each month. A grandfather, Dan is a married Catholic priest. His new book, “The Living Spirit” is a collection of previous columns. To read about that book or send comments on this column visit his website http://www.danielcorourke.com/

fionnbharro: (Triquetra)

Give Thanks For Life

by Daniel O’Rourke
11/24/11

Obviously, thanksgiving means giving thanks. On Thanksgiving Day we typically give thanks for the harvest, for the food before us, for our families and friends. Of course we should continue being thankful for all that. In past columns on this feast day, I have often advised us to do so.

 

Read more... )

 

fionnbharro: (Default)

The Things that Count Cannot be Counted

by Daniel O’Rourke
11/10/11


 

Albert Einstein loved wordplay. He once wrote on a classroom blackboard at Princeton, “Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”

 

Read more... )

 

fionnbharro: (Default)
Yes, I haven't posted anything in weeks.  New year and trying diligently to keep to the new resolutions -- and it's  a lot of 'attention-to-detail' -type work.  Which leaves less time for posting.  As if mindless work warrants some blog posts about it.

One of the things I'm doing in keeping the resolutions is "get organized".  Well, there's more to it than that (actually, most of the resolutions can be summed-up as "get my shit together"), but this weekend's portion was 'clean out the garage.'

Among the other things I've decided to part with (mostly old motherboards, scads of memory for said motherboards and the like) is a 250MB Colorado Tape drive AND controller, manufactured around 1993 (the date is taken from the  Serial Number tag).  There are no tapes.  And it's dusty.  I have absolutely NO need for these things.

Separately, they go for about $50 on ebay or other refurbished computer peripherals re-sellers' websites.  That's $50 each.  And you can't operate one without the other (meaning, the tape drive only works with this particular controller.  Yes, the controller can also handle floppy drives, but it was manufactured for this particular tape drive.).  And I haven't seen them sold together.

And I'm giving them away.

I don't want to put something that might be useful to someone in the 'electronics recycling' box (Got old tapes and no way to read them?).  And I don't want 'just anyone' to get them on FreeCycle; if someone who reads my journal entries wants them, they're yours.

Let me know by this coming Saturday (the 29th), or they're being posted on FreeCycle.
fionnbharro: (Triquetra)
As per tradition...

I present:  A Christmas Miracle.  It Truly Is.



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