I've been doing a bit of research on relations between the various British North American colonies, and the results are hilarious. About the beginning of the French and Indian War (AKA: Seven Years War to those lacking Texans), circa mid to late 1700s, a number of them were involved in a series of pier 6 brawls with each other occasionally to the point gunfire was exchanged. Most of the ill feeling was due to dueling charters and the fact that some British royals had the lifespan of a fruit fly or a Hollywood marriage.
Some of the causes of the merriment were:
1. Virginia operating under a grant from James I had all the lands from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from somewhere around the North Carolina border to the North Pole (generous guy, James).
2. Charles I granted Lord Baltimore everything from the Atlantic to the western end of the Potomac River and from the Potomac north to Latitude 40 for his Catholic colony.
3. William Penn's charter from Charles II granted him and his family the land west of the Delaware River to somewhere and from Latitude 40 to the New york border--wherever that was to end up (unlike his father, Charles didn't lose his head over the matter). There is the opinion that Penn apparently hired non-union surveyors because Pennsylvania's Latitude 40 happened to be 28 miles south of Maryland's Latitude 40. Revisionists on the other hand suggest that Penn's city of Philadelphia--already built at the time of the grant--awkwardly lying south of Maryland's Latitude 40 may have had something to do with the error in navigation (which is why one always puts the fence at least six inches in from the property line). This small discrepancy led to Cresap's War (1736-1738) between the Maryland and Pennsylvania militias. George II was forced to knock heads together and ordered a proper survey ("Paging Mr. Mason, Mr. Dixon. The Royal governors would like to speak to you about a job.").
4. At the same time, Connecticut claimed the Wyoming Valley in northeastern Pennsylvania (what would become the three counties around Wilkes-Barre--Scanton). That there were only two other colonies between the two halves of what might become the "Nutmeg State" seems to have slowed these enterprising Yankees not at all (shades of the Danzig Corridor--not to mention East and West Pakistan). Connecticut also claimed the Ohio county, Great Lakes, western New York, Michigan, Texas, and the Canadian Prairie provinces ("Worst case of MPD I've seen in all my years of practice.").
5. Adding to the fun, the Iroquois Confederation--suffering a bad bout of imperialism--and the various Indians of the Ohio country, Great Lakes, and southeastern Canada were on the edge of their very own version of a world war (though this didn't stop the Iroquois from spending their vacations in the Carolinas and eastern Tennessee visiting Rock City and beating up on the Cherokees and Catawbas--as it turns out, the Shenandoah Valley was their favorite freeway back and forth--"Look, Flitting Bird, I like North Carolina. It's the sitting in traffic four hours because some clown jacked-knifed a canoe that drives me nuts. And it's always between the Stucky's!").
6. And of course, to the north and west the wily French lurked waiting to flail good honest English men with baguettes and rosary beads.
Sometime in the future, I'll give Jacques' side of things and take a look at why American convenience stores tend to stock beer and occasionally questionable pre-made sandwiches rather than good wine and brie.
11 September 2010: Feast of St. Ambrose Edward Barlow. Battle of the Teutoburg Forest 9 AD, Battle of Stirling Bridge 1297, Battle of Brandywine 1777, Mountain Meadows Massacre 1857, September 11, 2001--need I say more?
Showing posts with label Pennsylania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pennsylania. Show all posts
Karina Fabian strikes!
Being the normally lazy sort I am, I tend not to put myself out blogging. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Karina Fabian, our lady of dragons, sent me a work of the musical kind sparked by my blog entry of yesterday (scroll down). My assumption is that this is suggested as incidental music for funerary celebrations in the Diocese of Pittsburgh. At the bottom is the various places online where Karina can be found (this is provided as a service to the hard working gentlemen of the Holy Office of the Inquisition in order that they go after her first, rather than me).
Oh! Holy Gas
Oh! Holy gas
We know you come from Grandma.
She's in the grave. Ash to ash, dust to dust
Oil's from dinosaurs
But gas now comes from Grandma.
We turn on lights, and we say a prayer for her.
Pittsburgh says, the graveyard's safe for drilling
The money's good, pays their utilities
O! Please don't smoke
At funerals or you'll blow up!
O! Na-a-tural gas
O fuel! Oh gas!
O gas from Grandma's tomb.
Karina L.Fabian, 19 August 2010
Fabianspace
Dragon Eye, P.I.
Facebook
Kickstart Marketing
20 August 2010: Feast of St. Philibert. Battle of Yarmouk 636, St. Stephen founds Hungarian state - National Day 1000, Battle of Fallen Timbers 1794, President Andrew Johnson declares end of War Between the States 1866, Leon Trosky fatally wounded in Mexico City 1940, Soviets invade Czechoslovakia 1968.
Oh! Holy Gas
Oh! Holy gas
We know you come from Grandma.
She's in the grave. Ash to ash, dust to dust
Oil's from dinosaurs
But gas now comes from Grandma.
We turn on lights, and we say a prayer for her.
Pittsburgh says, the graveyard's safe for drilling
The money's good, pays their utilities
O! Please don't smoke
At funerals or you'll blow up!
O! Na-a-tural gas
O fuel! Oh gas!
O gas from Grandma's tomb.
Karina L.Fabian, 19 August 2010
Fabianspace
Dragon Eye, P.I.
Kickstart Marketing
20 August 2010: Feast of St. Philibert. Battle of Yarmouk 636, St. Stephen founds Hungarian state - National Day 1000, Battle of Fallen Timbers 1794, President Andrew Johnson declares end of War Between the States 1866, Leon Trosky fatally wounded in Mexico City 1940, Soviets invade Czechoslovakia 1968.
Even I couldn't make this up!
This morning, I logged in and did a quick scan of my home page. I checked the weather and time in various places, whether I had any email and the baseball scores, and glanced at the headlines from the various news sources. I then looked at the calendar to make sure it wasn't 1 April and I'd slept eight months (or, conversely, lost four months--in the space-time continuum I appear trapped within, this seems as likely as not). What sparked this sudden interest in things temporal was a headline from the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review to the effect that the Pittsburgh Diocese had sold drilling rights to gas companies so they can drill for natural gas in Catholic cemeteries in western Pennsylvania ("They just drilled through Granny!!!" "Yeah, but she's delivering three hundred cubic foot per minute."). To prove that I neither drank, inhaled, shot-up, or snorted my breakfast (grits and tea by the way), here is the link to the story on this wonderfulness: "Catholic Cemeteries..."
The gas is trapped over a large part of Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, and West Virginia in the Marcellus Shale. Supposedly, a potential 50 trillion cubic feet of natural gas lies in the formation. The problem for the gas companies is that western Pennsylvania is mountainous so they prefer the flat places such as where most normal people like to build their stuff--say, between the ridges.
In the Pittsburgh area, topography laid down the rules of life early on. One was born and lived on the side of the mountain, worked down on the riverside flats, and was carried to the cemetery on top of the mountain at the end. With horses, the heavier the load, the lower on the mountain it stopped. A coffin and cargo was about the most a two horse hearse could get to the top. Of course, this allowed the saying in Pittsburgh, "Everybody gets to the top."
The potential of the Marcellus Shale has people somewhat split. The movers and shakers that run things smell lots and lots of money (taxes, sales, graft, etc.). The rest of the residents are a bit more leery ("You want to put that thing where?!!").
For Catholics such as myself (back-slider though I be), some questions now arise. Must special provisions be taken for the proper handling of gas from consecrated ground? I suppose it's okay to burn it as long as one does so in a proper respectful and religious manner. Maybe Vigil lights will be gas fueled from now on...Hmm, I wonder, should we say an "Our Father" or merely cross ourselves when we turn on the stove.
On another subject...
A nice website for the Daily Office (AKA: Liturgy of the Hours) can be found at Divine Office. Org.
19 August 2010: Feast of St. Bertulf. Battle of Knockdoe 1504, Charles Stuart begins the "Rising of '45" 1745, Lakota set out to attack New Ulm in Minnesota 1862, John Westely Hardin killed in El Paso 1895, first running of the All-American Soap Box Derby in Dayton 1934, liberation of Paris 1944.
The gas is trapped over a large part of Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, and West Virginia in the Marcellus Shale. Supposedly, a potential 50 trillion cubic feet of natural gas lies in the formation. The problem for the gas companies is that western Pennsylvania is mountainous so they prefer the flat places such as where most normal people like to build their stuff--say, between the ridges.
In the Pittsburgh area, topography laid down the rules of life early on. One was born and lived on the side of the mountain, worked down on the riverside flats, and was carried to the cemetery on top of the mountain at the end. With horses, the heavier the load, the lower on the mountain it stopped. A coffin and cargo was about the most a two horse hearse could get to the top. Of course, this allowed the saying in Pittsburgh, "Everybody gets to the top."
The potential of the Marcellus Shale has people somewhat split. The movers and shakers that run things smell lots and lots of money (taxes, sales, graft, etc.). The rest of the residents are a bit more leery ("You want to put that thing where?!!").
For Catholics such as myself (back-slider though I be), some questions now arise. Must special provisions be taken for the proper handling of gas from consecrated ground? I suppose it's okay to burn it as long as one does so in a proper respectful and religious manner. Maybe Vigil lights will be gas fueled from now on...Hmm, I wonder, should we say an "Our Father" or merely cross ourselves when we turn on the stove.
On another subject...
A nice website for the Daily Office (AKA: Liturgy of the Hours) can be found at Divine Office. Org.
19 August 2010: Feast of St. Bertulf. Battle of Knockdoe 1504, Charles Stuart begins the "Rising of '45" 1745, Lakota set out to attack New Ulm in Minnesota 1862, John Westely Hardin killed in El Paso 1895, first running of the All-American Soap Box Derby in Dayton 1934, liberation of Paris 1944.
Please ignore the frozen St. Bernard, it's spring!
Well, we seemed to have received a misdirected shipment of snow intended for our friends to the north. As proof I point to the address on the packing list inside the delivery. It plainly reads, "Calgary, Alberta." Apparently somebody at the originating point screwed up the postal code. I must admit to being a bit surprised, usually that concern is noted for getting it right. Of course, I suppose it's possible circumstances way beyond my ability to understand came into play.
Speaking of play, it's THAT time of year again. Spring training begins next Tuesday! No more will I have to listen to games from last year as I write [more on this below], the new season is starting up. Maybe this year the Orioles will go all the way (for further thoughts along these lines, see the musical "Damn Yankees").
A guy named Austin Gisriel has written a good book entitled Safe at Home: A Season in the Valley. [Note to FTC: Bought it myself boys, so go peddle your papers.] It follows the New Market Rebels through a season of Valley league baseball. The book is a good read for the light it throws on minor league baseball, the Shenandoah Valley, and life in small town Virginia. You can find a better writeup on it here: http://www.rebelsbaseball.biz/html/safe_at_home/index.html
and buy it here: http://www.rebelsbaseball.biz/html/safe_at_home/buy.html .
Earlier I spoke of listening to ballgames while writing (which may explain my often disconnected flow of thought). The web is a very fine thing for the ball fan. You have your choice of watching or listening to major league games for a (what I consider reasonable) price, or listening to minor league games from all over the country for free.
I keep a MLB subscription year round [Note to FTC: It's on my personal plastic, guys. See above snide remark.]. This lets me watch or listen to any games played in the regular season. As I tend to follow the Orioles, Rangers, and Blue Jays and occasionally look at the Diamondbacks, Padres, and Nationals (thinking about the last one, admit it--who would really turn away from a train wreck?), I can't remember how the games went, so they're new to me each time. MLB can be found at: http://mlb.mlb.com/index.jsp (look under "Audio & Video").
In the minor leagues, a lot of teams have feeds so you can listen to live radio broadcasts of the games. Most also have archived games that you can listen to anytime you wish. The minor league games I tend to listen to are those of the Valley League, The Washington Wild Things (Washington, Pennsylvania), and the Salem Red Sox, Virginia farm team of the Boston Red Sox. The joy of this, besides hearing good baseball (and people who talk like me), is it's free! I'll give the links below.
Valley League: http://www.valleyleaguebaseball.com/landing/index (Click on "Valley League Baseball Listen Live." For the archive, click "Click here to listen to archived broadcasts" under the blue letters saying, "Stretch Internet." The site will ask to download a couple of programs so your computer can run the games. They're harmless.)
The Washington Wild Things: http://www.washingtonwildthings.com/ . The games are found on the MSA Sports Network under "Archived College Broadcasts (don't ask me why, the Wild Things are professional)" at: http://www.msasportsnetwork.com/main_calendar.asp?region=1&m=5-2009&d=22
Salem Red Sox: http://web.minorleaguebaseball.com/index.jsp?sid=t414
Someone writing in Baseball Digest http://www.baseballdigest.com/ remarked that on opening day of spring training, every team is in first place. A rather reassuring thought.
20 February 2010: Feast of St. Wulfric of Haselbury. Orkney and Shetland given to Scotland by Norway as dowry payment 1472; U.S. Post Office Department established 1792; Lt. Edward "Butch" O'Hare USN becomes first U.S. ace of World War II 1942; Col. John Glenn USMC becomes first American to orbit the Earth aboard Project Mercury's "Friendship 7" 1962.
Speaking of play, it's THAT time of year again. Spring training begins next Tuesday! No more will I have to listen to games from last year as I write [more on this below], the new season is starting up. Maybe this year the Orioles will go all the way (for further thoughts along these lines, see the musical "Damn Yankees").
A guy named Austin Gisriel has written a good book entitled Safe at Home: A Season in the Valley. [Note to FTC: Bought it myself boys, so go peddle your papers.] It follows the New Market Rebels through a season of Valley league baseball. The book is a good read for the light it throws on minor league baseball, the Shenandoah Valley, and life in small town Virginia. You can find a better writeup on it here: http://www.rebelsbaseball.biz/html/safe_at_home/index.html
and buy it here: http://www.rebelsbaseball.biz/html/safe_at_home/buy.html .
Earlier I spoke of listening to ballgames while writing (which may explain my often disconnected flow of thought). The web is a very fine thing for the ball fan. You have your choice of watching or listening to major league games for a (what I consider reasonable) price, or listening to minor league games from all over the country for free.
I keep a MLB subscription year round [Note to FTC: It's on my personal plastic, guys. See above snide remark.]. This lets me watch or listen to any games played in the regular season. As I tend to follow the Orioles, Rangers, and Blue Jays and occasionally look at the Diamondbacks, Padres, and Nationals (thinking about the last one, admit it--who would really turn away from a train wreck?), I can't remember how the games went, so they're new to me each time. MLB can be found at: http://mlb.mlb.com/index.jsp (look under "Audio & Video").
In the minor leagues, a lot of teams have feeds so you can listen to live radio broadcasts of the games. Most also have archived games that you can listen to anytime you wish. The minor league games I tend to listen to are those of the Valley League, The Washington Wild Things (Washington, Pennsylvania), and the Salem Red Sox, Virginia farm team of the Boston Red Sox. The joy of this, besides hearing good baseball (and people who talk like me), is it's free! I'll give the links below.
Valley League: http://www.valleyleaguebaseball.com/landing/index (Click on "Valley League Baseball Listen Live." For the archive, click "Click here to listen to archived broadcasts" under the blue letters saying, "Stretch Internet." The site will ask to download a couple of programs so your computer can run the games. They're harmless.)
The Washington Wild Things: http://www.washingtonwildthings.com/ . The games are found on the MSA Sports Network under "Archived College Broadcasts (don't ask me why, the Wild Things are professional)" at: http://www.msasportsnetwork.com/main_calendar.asp?region=1&m=5-2009&d=22
Salem Red Sox: http://web.minorleaguebaseball.com/index.jsp?sid=t414
Someone writing in Baseball Digest http://www.baseballdigest.com/ remarked that on opening day of spring training, every team is in first place. A rather reassuring thought.
20 February 2010: Feast of St. Wulfric of Haselbury. Orkney and Shetland given to Scotland by Norway as dowry payment 1472; U.S. Post Office Department established 1792; Lt. Edward "Butch" O'Hare USN becomes first U.S. ace of World War II 1942; Col. John Glenn USMC becomes first American to orbit the Earth aboard Project Mercury's "Friendship 7" 1962.
"Gentlemen, it is to be war."
Main battles picked for 150th anniversary observance of the War Between the States/American Civil War.
A mite late for Lee-Jackson Day, but the American Civil War re-enactor groups' leaders have decided which battle re-enactments will be endorsed. Meeting in Chickamauga, Georgia, members of the Civil War 150th National Leadership Convention representing 12,000 re-enactors voted for the following battle observances:
2011
First Manassas/Bull Run -- Virginia
Shiloh -- Tennessee
2012
Second Manassas/Bull Run -- Virginia
Vicksburg -- Mississippi
2013
Gettysburg -- Pennsylvania
Chickamauga -- Georgia
2014
The Wilderness -- Virginia
Atlanta -- Georgia
2015
Bentonville -- North Carolina
Appomattox Court House -- Virginia
I used to take part in re-enacting back when I could move around better. I was a private in a Virginia Volunteer Infantry company or a Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry company (depending on which side was needed more--Federals outnumbered four to one by Confederates is just silly). After a while, I got old and tired and my case of Civil War bloat was just too embarrassing [see note]. Now adays, on those rare occasions I can get outside to attend a re-enactment, I stand on the sidelines with the other gawkers and dream. If I can manage it, I plan to see the sesquicentennial through as I did the centennial, though I admit the bicentennial might possibly be a bit of a stretch.
Note: Civil War Bloat.
Civil War bloat is a condition in which the re-enactor appears to has been dead in the sun for three days during the hot summer of 1863 while still standing up. It is brought on by age, a lack of regular exercise, and a wife who is far too good a cook. It is especially weird looking when the affected soldier is dressed in gray or butternut (putting the lie to the hard times in the South). The overly common amount of gray hair (if any) that often accompanies it also calls into question the fact that the men on both sides normally ranged in age from 16 to 35. This condition effects not only Civil War re-enactors, but those of many other periods. I've noted it at Alesia, Waterloo, Rorke's Drift, the Somme, and Normandy. The problem is old guys are the ones who have the bucks to shell out $600 for their wool trousseau (uniform, equipment, and rifle musket) and the time to burn on summer weekends out in the middle of nowhere (the young guys seem rather more intent on chasing girls for some reason).
Occasionally though, one does run across a unit of young, dirty, sweaty, ragged, skinny men in gray or blue and one realizes he is looking at his own great-great grandfather.
22 January 2010: Feast of St. Brithward of Ramsbury. Ashantis defeat British on Gold Coast 1824, Battles of Isandlwana and Rorke's Drift 1879, Commonwealth forces capture Tobruk from Italians 1941, Anzio landings 1944.
A mite late for Lee-Jackson Day, but the American Civil War re-enactor groups' leaders have decided which battle re-enactments will be endorsed. Meeting in Chickamauga, Georgia, members of the Civil War 150th National Leadership Convention representing 12,000 re-enactors voted for the following battle observances:
2011
First Manassas/Bull Run -- Virginia
Shiloh -- Tennessee
2012
Second Manassas/Bull Run -- Virginia
Vicksburg -- Mississippi
2013
Gettysburg -- Pennsylvania
Chickamauga -- Georgia
2014
The Wilderness -- Virginia
Atlanta -- Georgia
2015
Bentonville -- North Carolina
Appomattox Court House -- Virginia
I used to take part in re-enacting back when I could move around better. I was a private in a Virginia Volunteer Infantry company or a Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry company (depending on which side was needed more--Federals outnumbered four to one by Confederates is just silly). After a while, I got old and tired and my case of Civil War bloat was just too embarrassing [see note]. Now adays, on those rare occasions I can get outside to attend a re-enactment, I stand on the sidelines with the other gawkers and dream. If I can manage it, I plan to see the sesquicentennial through as I did the centennial, though I admit the bicentennial might possibly be a bit of a stretch.
Note: Civil War Bloat.
Civil War bloat is a condition in which the re-enactor appears to has been dead in the sun for three days during the hot summer of 1863 while still standing up. It is brought on by age, a lack of regular exercise, and a wife who is far too good a cook. It is especially weird looking when the affected soldier is dressed in gray or butternut (putting the lie to the hard times in the South). The overly common amount of gray hair (if any) that often accompanies it also calls into question the fact that the men on both sides normally ranged in age from 16 to 35. This condition effects not only Civil War re-enactors, but those of many other periods. I've noted it at Alesia, Waterloo, Rorke's Drift, the Somme, and Normandy. The problem is old guys are the ones who have the bucks to shell out $600 for their wool trousseau (uniform, equipment, and rifle musket) and the time to burn on summer weekends out in the middle of nowhere (the young guys seem rather more intent on chasing girls for some reason).
Occasionally though, one does run across a unit of young, dirty, sweaty, ragged, skinny men in gray or blue and one realizes he is looking at his own great-great grandfather.
22 January 2010: Feast of St. Brithward of Ramsbury. Ashantis defeat British on Gold Coast 1824, Battles of Isandlwana and Rorke's Drift 1879, Commonwealth forces capture Tobruk from Italians 1941, Anzio landings 1944.
...tenth, eleventh...Oh yeah, Twelfth Night!
Twelfth Night marks the last of the twelve days of Christmas (no, you heathen, they don't lead up to Christmas--that's Advent). Earlier today, the UPS guy delivers the last box of the twelve gifts your true love gives to you--hopefully charged to his card rather than yours. Your next move is to figure out what your going to do with twelve drummers drumming (as opposed to twelve lords aleaping--if the Brits want to get rid of them that bad, they can ship them to the Falklands).
In civilized places, there's a major blowout involving the Wassail bowl, shoe, canteen cup--whatever holds liquids--while the rosca de reyes or king cake is being baked for tomorrow (which probably explains how beans, coins, Baby Jesus figures, or whatnot end up in them--next year, keep Uncle Julio the heck away from the Wassail bowl or at least brace him and disarm him of the tequila bottle). Tonight before you hit the rack, don't forget to put one shoe filled with hay out for the Wise Men's camels, donkeys, water buffaloes, riding iguanas, or what have you. For tomorrow is Epiphany, Dia de Reyes, or Fastnacht.
In the less civilized places like were my folks come from, there is Berchtenlaufen. This is when several hundred young guys run through the streets cracking whips and ringing bells to chase evil spirits out of town--apparently said spirits are still hungover from the preceding twelve days of festivities. In even less civilized places, such activities mean your team won the championship.
Also, it's bad luck to leave Christmas decorations up after Twelfth Night (this is an update from Candlemas--2 February). A bosun's mate and his family I know seem to live to a rather different calendar. About All Saints, the lights go up and, a week after Easter, they come down. I must admit through, for those five months, the turkey, manger, and rabbit in their front yard make for one heck of a landmark when you're trying to give someone directions (people going from one end of Quantico to the other have been detoured via the Naval Weapons base just so it could be used).
It's also the name of a pretty decent play by some guy named Shakespeare.
Over the Fence
I received another letter from Homer Smute, the world's oldest minor league baseball player, the other day.
Homer:
The problem with living in the fast lane is you know what you did because of the bills, alimony, palimony, child support, community service, fines and jail time. But you can't remember the fun you had doing it.
I got to admit that Mitch Groengras. the Busters' grounds keeper is no quitter. To keep the grass down, the management let people run their cows on the field. Of course, Mitch had to go around with a shovel before games. But the cows didn't keep the grass short enough, so they tried sheep. Well, this got the grass down to about the right level, but Mitch had to come in twice as early with his shovel before games. Tim Molesight, our Left fielder, told me this morning over coffee at Karina's Good 'nough Cafe that Mitch told management yesterday he'd start paying one of the farmers out of his own pocket to cut the grass with his tractor.
The only problem with turning your cap into a "rally cap" is not only is your team losing, but now you look stupid too.
As team logos go, the Stump Busters' ain't one of the most uplifting. Let's face it, a tree stump, no matter what you do to it, just don't sing.
Now the Washington Wild Things (Washington, PA) has one of the best I've seen.
Note: Homer asked me to put in a link to their website: http://www.washingtonwildthings.com/
I don't know how much longer the team can keep going. The younger guys keep leaving to go someplace where they got a better chance of advancement, like Dundalk.
Remember the Catholic Writers Conference Online
26 February to 5 March 2010.
Free registration at: http://www.catholicwritersconference.com/
5 January 2010: Feast of St. Convoyon, George Washington weds Martha Dandridge Custis 1759, Benedict Arnold commanding British naval forces burns Richmond, VA 1781, Alfred Dreyfus sentenced to Devil's Island 1895, Richard Nixon orders development of Space Shuttle 1972.
In civilized places, there's a major blowout involving the Wassail bowl, shoe, canteen cup--whatever holds liquids--while the rosca de reyes or king cake is being baked for tomorrow (which probably explains how beans, coins, Baby Jesus figures, or whatnot end up in them--next year, keep Uncle Julio the heck away from the Wassail bowl or at least brace him and disarm him of the tequila bottle). Tonight before you hit the rack, don't forget to put one shoe filled with hay out for the Wise Men's camels, donkeys, water buffaloes, riding iguanas, or what have you. For tomorrow is Epiphany, Dia de Reyes, or Fastnacht.
In the less civilized places like were my folks come from, there is Berchtenlaufen. This is when several hundred young guys run through the streets cracking whips and ringing bells to chase evil spirits out of town--apparently said spirits are still hungover from the preceding twelve days of festivities. In even less civilized places, such activities mean your team won the championship.
Also, it's bad luck to leave Christmas decorations up after Twelfth Night (this is an update from Candlemas--2 February). A bosun's mate and his family I know seem to live to a rather different calendar. About All Saints, the lights go up and, a week after Easter, they come down. I must admit through, for those five months, the turkey, manger, and rabbit in their front yard make for one heck of a landmark when you're trying to give someone directions (people going from one end of Quantico to the other have been detoured via the Naval Weapons base just so it could be used).
It's also the name of a pretty decent play by some guy named Shakespeare.
Over the Fence
I received another letter from Homer Smute, the world's oldest minor league baseball player, the other day.
Homer:
The problem with living in the fast lane is you know what you did because of the bills, alimony, palimony, child support, community service, fines and jail time. But you can't remember the fun you had doing it.
I got to admit that Mitch Groengras. the Busters' grounds keeper is no quitter. To keep the grass down, the management let people run their cows on the field. Of course, Mitch had to go around with a shovel before games. But the cows didn't keep the grass short enough, so they tried sheep. Well, this got the grass down to about the right level, but Mitch had to come in twice as early with his shovel before games. Tim Molesight, our Left fielder, told me this morning over coffee at Karina's Good 'nough Cafe that Mitch told management yesterday he'd start paying one of the farmers out of his own pocket to cut the grass with his tractor.
The only problem with turning your cap into a "rally cap" is not only is your team losing, but now you look stupid too.
As team logos go, the Stump Busters' ain't one of the most uplifting. Let's face it, a tree stump, no matter what you do to it, just don't sing.
Now the Washington Wild Things (Washington, PA) has one of the best I've seen.
Note: Homer asked me to put in a link to their website: http://www.washingtonwildthings.com/
I don't know how much longer the team can keep going. The younger guys keep leaving to go someplace where they got a better chance of advancement, like Dundalk.
Remember the Catholic Writers Conference Online
26 February to 5 March 2010.
Free registration at: http://www.catholicwritersconference.com/
5 January 2010: Feast of St. Convoyon, George Washington weds Martha Dandridge Custis 1759, Benedict Arnold commanding British naval forces burns Richmond, VA 1781, Alfred Dreyfus sentenced to Devil's Island 1895, Richard Nixon orders development of Space Shuttle 1972.
The desert and the story teller.
For the teller of stories, the desert is often the place of the other. A place outside the world of settled man where strange and dangerous things and men move just on the edge of perception. It is seen as a place where anything can happen because the laws of normality don't apply there. The desert is a dimension from which monsters and raiders come. This still holds true for story telling today. It is probably no accident Stephen King set a large part of The Stand in the desert or that Michael Crichton placed the "Wildfire" lab in The Andromeda Strain there. Hollywood loves it as a setting. It's close, spooky, timeless, and relatively cheap in which to shoot a movie.
The thing that really hits you about the desert is the silence. It's not just quiet, sometimes, when there's no wind or flies, sound hasn't been invented yet. This affects people in different ways. Some try to be as quiet as possible. As if the least sound they make is deafening and may lead some doom down upon them. Others go the other direction. They try to fill up the silence all by themselves. They sing, talk, and make music much louder than is their wont when in civilization (or what passes for such). They seem to fear that the silence will suck away the sounds, so they must supply a surplus to even it out.
The desert blasts not only objects, but people also. It sometimes seems that anyone who lives alone long enough in the high desert ends up either a saint or a mass murderer.
For the writer, the desert is always there waiting. It would be terrible to waste it.
Buck Fever: The Deer Hunting Tradition in Pennsylvania. Mike Sajna. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1990.
Late November is special to me. Three major events in my life collide at that point in this month: my birthday, Thanksgiving, and deer season west of Blue Ridge. The week of Thanksgiving meant I would get to miss school for a week, much to the shared relief of both student and teachers (back before school administrators were under the impression that children belonged to them, it was sufficient that my mom sent in a note saying I wouldn't be in school the next week). Season opened in Virginia's Rockbridge and Augusta Counties the Saturday morning before Thanksgiving. So my daddy and I loaded the truck when he got home Friday afternoon and, after dinner with my mom, the two of us would head southwest. We'd get to the camp about 22:00 [10:00 pm] and be unloaded and in bed by 23:30 [11:30 am]. Ah, to sleep (like that was going to happen with deer season opening at daybreak). During the rest of the dark hours, the rest of the family, in-laws, and outlaws straggled into camp making sure to be in time for breakfast. Then, gray in the eastern sky, we headed for our spots on the mountain where we'd take that six, eight, or--can it be?--the thirty point buck.
Mike Sajna writes about one deer season at his family's deer camp in Warren County on Pennsylvania's Allegheny High Plateau. We meet the various members of his own platoon of the "pumpkin army." The hunters depicted are recognizable to everyone who has hunted with good hunters as opposed to the game hogs, drunks, and hunting slobs one hears about all too often. The Yoopers they ain't.
The reader also learns that deer hunting was destroyed in Pennsylvania by market hunting in the 19th century. How a group of hunters got together and started the state's first conservation organization, the Pennsylvania State Sportsmen's Association, which led in turn to the Pennsylvania Game Commission in 1895. Sajna tells of John MacFarlane Phillips who, horrified at the thought that he had killed the last deer in the state, set out to put the matter right. And put the matter right he did. Through his and his fellow hunters efforts, deer were successfully reintroduced to the state's woods. Upon his death at 92 in 1953, The Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph called him the "Grand Old Man of Conservation."
Best, Sajna limns the relationship between he and his father as hunters, men, and father and son.
Buck Fever is not a book only for hunters; it will show the non-hunter what goes on in and around a proper deer camp. This is a book that works on many levels as Sajna blends the several interrelated story lines in such a way that each compliments the others and builds a strong and enjoyable whole.
24 November 2009: Feast of St. Andrew Dung-Lac & companions, publication of Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species 1859, my birthday (you win some, you lose some).
The thing that really hits you about the desert is the silence. It's not just quiet, sometimes, when there's no wind or flies, sound hasn't been invented yet. This affects people in different ways. Some try to be as quiet as possible. As if the least sound they make is deafening and may lead some doom down upon them. Others go the other direction. They try to fill up the silence all by themselves. They sing, talk, and make music much louder than is their wont when in civilization (or what passes for such). They seem to fear that the silence will suck away the sounds, so they must supply a surplus to even it out.
The desert blasts not only objects, but people also. It sometimes seems that anyone who lives alone long enough in the high desert ends up either a saint or a mass murderer.
For the writer, the desert is always there waiting. It would be terrible to waste it.
Review (Note to FTC: I bought this dang book myself!)
Buck Fever: The Deer Hunting Tradition in Pennsylvania. Mike Sajna. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1990.
Late November is special to me. Three major events in my life collide at that point in this month: my birthday, Thanksgiving, and deer season west of Blue Ridge. The week of Thanksgiving meant I would get to miss school for a week, much to the shared relief of both student and teachers (back before school administrators were under the impression that children belonged to them, it was sufficient that my mom sent in a note saying I wouldn't be in school the next week). Season opened in Virginia's Rockbridge and Augusta Counties the Saturday morning before Thanksgiving. So my daddy and I loaded the truck when he got home Friday afternoon and, after dinner with my mom, the two of us would head southwest. We'd get to the camp about 22:00 [10:00 pm] and be unloaded and in bed by 23:30 [11:30 am]. Ah, to sleep (like that was going to happen with deer season opening at daybreak). During the rest of the dark hours, the rest of the family, in-laws, and outlaws straggled into camp making sure to be in time for breakfast. Then, gray in the eastern sky, we headed for our spots on the mountain where we'd take that six, eight, or--can it be?--the thirty point buck.
Mike Sajna writes about one deer season at his family's deer camp in Warren County on Pennsylvania's Allegheny High Plateau. We meet the various members of his own platoon of the "pumpkin army." The hunters depicted are recognizable to everyone who has hunted with good hunters as opposed to the game hogs, drunks, and hunting slobs one hears about all too often. The Yoopers they ain't.
The reader also learns that deer hunting was destroyed in Pennsylvania by market hunting in the 19th century. How a group of hunters got together and started the state's first conservation organization, the Pennsylvania State Sportsmen's Association, which led in turn to the Pennsylvania Game Commission in 1895. Sajna tells of John MacFarlane Phillips who, horrified at the thought that he had killed the last deer in the state, set out to put the matter right. And put the matter right he did. Through his and his fellow hunters efforts, deer were successfully reintroduced to the state's woods. Upon his death at 92 in 1953, The Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph called him the "Grand Old Man of Conservation."
Best, Sajna limns the relationship between he and his father as hunters, men, and father and son.
Buck Fever is not a book only for hunters; it will show the non-hunter what goes on in and around a proper deer camp. This is a book that works on many levels as Sajna blends the several interrelated story lines in such a way that each compliments the others and builds a strong and enjoyable whole.
24 November 2009: Feast of St. Andrew Dung-Lac & companions, publication of Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species 1859, my birthday (you win some, you lose some).
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