Catastrophe Averted

 

It started off well, very well, totally according to plan. Roll into Dallas, check on Ma LSP's property while she's on vacation in the Old Country and make sure everything's sound for her arrival. Simple, elegant, achievable. What a great plan. Then everything fell to pieces.

First off, where's my laptop? Not in the overnight duffle, not in the rig.  No, it was sitting safe and sound in the kitchen of the Compound and useless, even with modern tech, to me in the 'Sprawl. Fail. Attention to detail, LSP, and what about personal admin? Double fail.

You Little Gusher

But no big deal, work from your cell phone, such is progress. Fine, until the next day when it was time to mow the overgrown lawn. "What's this?" I thought over the hum of Ma's nifty electric mower, "Why is the ground so wet, rain?"

Wet as in fixing to become marshland. Hunh. Then lo and behold, not rain but a mini gusher by the pecan tree. I stared at it, Bloody Mary in hand, "It's only a small gusher, maybe we can leave it alone." No. Error. Little gusher became big gusher and the yard began to flood. So I poured a stiff one, got the water turned off to house and got on the line to plumbers.

Problem

They/he came out yesterday and got the job done, fixing a split water line with Sharkbite fittings and capping off a redundant sprinkler system in the process. Good work Tribeca, prompt, personable and at a reasonable cost. Give 'em a shot if you need emergency plumbing in DFW.

Solution

Net result? Water restored to the house and catastrophe averted. Thank God for that, Ma LSP can return home to a place that isn't flooded and has running water. Result. My carefully constructed plan? Shot to hell but you know what they say, improvise, adapt, overcome. Problem? Solution.

Cheers,

LSP

Buttigeig Redux

 

Gag

Keen-eyed readers, all three of you, might remember a weirdly disturbing photo of our transport supremo in a hospital bed, holding a baby and looking at another man, also holding a baby. You'd be forgiven for thinking they were blasphemously mimicking something holy, a mother and her husband overjoyed at the birth of a child.

One glance tells you it's all wrong, there is no mother, there is no birth, nothing to warrant a hospital bed. This thing is a fake, an affair of the mind and a blasphemous parody.  But pay attention to detail, here's Katherine:

I've finally discovered what bothers me the most about that photo of these two guys and the babies. It's about them, not the children! They're gazing into each other's eyes, and the swaddled babies are props. Any new mother, in a similar photo, besides looking very tired, will be looking at her child!

 

Yes, it's all about them. Pride, gentlemen and gentlewomen, comes before a fall. We can imagine the magnitude of the approaching collapse. 

Eschaton,

LSP

Stations & Benediction

So what's up, LSP? You ask, in that questioning way. Well I'll tell you. I drove to Dallas in ferocious highway rain to give a Lenten sermon in that space between Stations of the Cross and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.

Get a Haircut

It was good to get out and I like the church and its people. My theme (set by the Rector) was, "Give us this day our daily bread." I was pleased to talk about that, and they're a good crew at St. Matthias, Dallas.

O Salutaris

Somehow, "deadly assault rifle" got into my sermon. Unlike "fire and movement." Must work on that.

Homiletic skills,

LSP

Diocesan Convention, Gun Show, Yorkshire Pudding

I drove to Fort Worth today for our Diocesan Convention. It was good to meet up with like-minded clergy and people and I tell you, that's at a premium these days. But this is the Diocese of Fort Worth, so what d'you expect, a gang of gender advocacy clowns? A crew of labyrinth walking priestesses? 

No, none of that. There was a gun show next to the Convention and I went to that too. Uplifting to see all the guns, I always think. One old fellow said, "Father, you're a brave man coming here." I liked him for that and replied, "I love shooting," and that's the truth.

But when I'm not going to Conventions or gun shows, I tend to be searching for the perfect Yorkshire Pudding. I've tried a few recipes with varying degrees of success. Here's one that works for me.

Blend/whisk 4 eggs with 1 1/4 cups of flour and 1 1/2 cups of whole milk and 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Set aside and refrigerate for at least half an hour. Don't cut corners like a lazy soldier.

Preheat oven to 425. Put 1 teaspoon of oil/drippings into each indentation of a muffin tin. Put the tin in the oven until it's smoking hot, like the barrel of your carbine after a good blast at the opposition.

Take the batter out of the fridge. Give it a quick whisk, then use something to ladle it into the muffin tin so that each indentation is appx 3/4 full. It will sizzle. This is good, don't hang around pondering it like some kind of dumbass Buddhist, get the tin filled and back in the oven. Attention to detail.

Let the Yorkshire goodness cook for around 20 minutes at 425 until risen and golden. Do not open the oven like an idiot recruit. The puddings will sink and die. Like the Episcopal Church, or Wendy Davis' useless campaign to take over Texas.

There's other recipes, like the "Three Way Split," in which eggs, flour and milk all go together, 1 cup per ingredient. And many more, which I will try. In the meanwhile, the above works for me.

Some say Yorkshire is God's own County. That would make Texas God's own Country.

LSP