Bomb Cyclone Winter Eschaton

 

Many of you will laugh and shake your heads in scorn, but it's cold in Texas. Like no kidding, there's ice and even some snow. "Look," I announced in awe to a young soldier, "Snow, see it?" It took a while but he did, "Oh yeah, literal snow, wow." A few wind-driven icy flakes of it anyway.

So layer up, pull on an Arcteryx fleece, dust off the Carhart and face the new Ice Age. Such, my friends, is global warming. You see, the hotter it gets, thanks to people not paying carbon taxes, the colder it becomes.

I was struck by this, driving into a golden sunset across Lake Whitney dam to say Mass as clouds of mist steamed up from the water. Climate change can be dramatic, no doubt about it. Let's zoom in:

The Sacrament confected and the Sacrifice offered, ite missa est, it was time to drive back to the Compound, wary of black ice and grateful for the privilege of being able to celebrate the Eucharist. Where angels fear to tread, eh?

Domine non sum dignus,

LSP

A Good Sunday

 

After spirited, uplifting Sunday worship we ended up at Fort Hood's training grounds. Well, one of the entrances to the thing, and there it was, big Texas under a big sky and enough space for big Army III Corps to do its not inconsiderable thing, and then some.

The kid's proud to be part of that and fair play to him, I would be too, "Look, dad, this is where we ruck, and check out the 15 yard sight-in ranges, dead on at 300." Several motor pool drive-bys and a pit stop for food later we landed at the home of 57th Expeditionary Signals BN  (Enhanced) and that was that, "Train hard, think positive, fight easy," I offered by way of UKLF inspirational cozy farewell, and was met with a grin.

What a good result and what a good Sunday. The Sacred Mysteries offered, ite missa est, a son fast becoming a man under the watchful and doubtless patient eyes of good Command, thank you NCOs and Officers, and Fort Hood itself. Great result.

Next time I'll visit some of the post's museums, stay tuned.

God bless,

LSP

On The Road

 

On The Road. Did you know that infamous Beat author Jack Kerouac was a Catholic Christian? So was Andy Warhol too, but that's a different story. Studio 54 aside, I climbed in the rig, got on the road and headed West to say Mass.

The church was quiet and beautiful in the evening light while Christ came down to earth to lift us up to heaven, O Salutaris, and time stood strangely still as it always does when we worship God, not least in the Sacrament of the Altar. Then all too soon, "The Mass has ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord." Ite Missa Est. 

Back in the car park the sun was setting over Texas, no small thing, and I sent the record of it to an old friend who finds himself in LA doing something with pop music. "Look!" I whatsapped, "Sunset. Hope your musicians are behaving themselves." 

Apparently they were, "Big empty production stage. Phase 1 rehearsals. Secret location. All chilled here. Easy. STAY FROSTY." Always. Then back on the road to the Compound with the sun filling the rear-view with its golden radiance. I never tire of the vision and thank God for it, seriously, and therein lies a word to the wise.

Try and make a habit, a discipline of thanking God for the beyond reckoning good that he's given us. Perhaps it's easier to see in the countryside, where creation's comparatively less marred by wickedness than in, say, the DFW metrosprawl. But wherever you are the rule applies, and when followed covers a multitude of sins.

Here Endeth The Lesson,

LSP

Texas is Golden

 

The Mass was offered, ite missa est, go it is sent, and I drove back to the Compound in a golden haze of sunset. It reminded me of the final hour of a dove hunt and I asked myself, "Why is Texas so awesome?" wondering at the providence of it all. 

But why. Frontier spirit, big skies, the world's tenth or eleventh highest GDP, putting the Lone Star State above lesser countries such as Canada, Australia and Mexico? Well yes, opportunity, energy and growth, there is that, to say nothing of relative sanity compared to prison gulags like Australia and New York.

Maybe that's part of it. Unlike Alberta, no one here's about to tell you to get a serf vaxxport before you can enter a store. You can even clean the shotguns and pistols you don't have, put 'em in your rig and go out and shoot in a friend's field, we have that freedom. Texas and liberty, two very large things to conjure with.

Let's pray they continue to walk hand in hand. In the meanwhile, it's time to fry up some absurdly cheap, pre-Bidenflation steak. What?!? 

Yes, we can eat steak here in Texas, if you know where to look. It's hard to find but you can still get it, as opposed to the soylent cubes and insect hash doled out by our transnational elite, private jet, island owning Millionaire Socialist rulers.

#2A,

LSP