Shrines on New Years Eve

 

After reading LL's reflection on Guan Gong, it struck me that 1: I do not have a shrine or even a statue of the Chinese God of War but 2: I do have a shrine. It's just above my desk, aka "kitchen counter" and consists of a flag, crucifix and an Our Lady of Walsingham prayer card.

Not very warlike perhaps but appropriate for a padre, I think. That said, pistols, kukris, assorted bay'nets and knives have been known to find their way onto the multifunctional worksurface of the office, ahem, kitchen.

Dog

Speaking of which, many clergy keep something called "office hours." Off they drive to their churches, sit at a desk from 9-5 and then go home to their place in the suburbs. Almost as though they've taken "middle management" as some kind of beastly model or paradigm for ministry.

Never done such a thing, with one notable exception I've always lived next to the church. On the job which isn't a job but a way of life. That this has been in rural Texas for over a decade is providential, God has been very kind.

Just some trucks

This in mind, may He give us all every blessing from the beyond reckoning abundance of His grace in the coming year. More on that later, in the meanwhile, happy, almost, New Year. And pray for the repose of the soul of Benedict XVI, an exemplary servant of God.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Sun Rising

 

The day dawned bright, the sun shone in a clear sky as birds sang, no chemtrails here, life is good. Then, after Morning Prayer and the obligatory stroll to the Pick 'n Steal, I drove to Cleburne, population 30,289, quite the metropolis.

I tell you, it always feels out of place and stranger in a strange land when I leave the protected zone of this bucolic if asset stripped rural haven and venture into the world. There it is, Walmarts with polished concrete floors, strip malls in abundance, CPAs, all this cacophony which has become the way we live now.

Note GOLD ceiling strips. Yes, real gold

Some, who live in real isolation, will feel this more keenly, and there it is. Business taken care of I climbed back in the aging rig and headed for home and Stations of the Cross. Must get an oil change on the old truck, write up a talk on the final two petitions of the Pater Noster, clean some guns and pick up the Specialist from the Metrosprawl airport tomorrow.

While we're at it, could someone, please, bring the Ukraine adventure to a conclusion? Thanks, readers, in advance. Oh, and let's see the rest of Hunter's laptop hit the news too, apparently gigabytes are being uploaded somewhere in Switzerland. Yes, please.

God bless you all,

LSP

A Stroll To The Shop

The day dawned, with an already fierce sun rising above the treeline, a portent of heat to come. Undaunted, resolute, I loaded the Blue into the rig and drove to the "shop" to get the truck's indicator lever fixed.

Blue liked the ride, an adventure for him these days, and then we walked back to the Compound through the sylvan streets of old Lspboro. Great exercise for the furred Eschaton and good for me too, furthest I've walked since getting kicked off an Arab a year ago.

Safely back at the security of the Compound, I caught up with email, read the news, pondered the iniquity of Marxism, called up the flock, said the Office on the porch, and generally made myself useful until the "shop" called back, "All ready to go, buddy, $360." 

Pretty much exactly what I'd figured. So, off I strolled through the leafy boulevards of this small farming community to the jolly old "shop."

The sun was already rising high and its heat beginning to bounce and shimmer off the roads, paved and unpaved. It's a fierce climate, no doubt about it, which says something about the country people who live in it. 

A tough crew, for sure, but mostly friendly with it. Maybe that's because of a "we're all in this together against the climate" frontier spirit, sort of thing. 

Perhaps. I walked past the site of our old cotton gin, which closed in the 1950s. Good work, proto-globalist asset-strippers. It's becoming a storage facility for broken AC units and U-haul trucks. 

Around the corner from what used to be industry is a kind of open air market, or Suq. No one steals from it, for some reason, and there it sits, rusting metal under a hot, dry sun.

You can buy round bales too, though I don't, shamefacedly, know the cost. Hey, lotta money in grass and I'm glad it's not my job to shift it on and off the trailer.

A few shacks and an RV at the "shop" later, the mission was accomplished. One bright, shiny and working indicator lever achieved. It felt good to have it working again, though I resented having to unlock the safe and pry out cold, hard cash to pay for the plastic miscreant. Made in China? Better not be, and that's for sure.

Next stop? Walmart, where I have a virtual chapel and the wherewithal to buy steak in honor of the 4th, Independence Day. But what's that line?

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

Gentlemen and women, you have a Republic if you can keep it.

Your Patriotic Pal,

LSP