SONNET XIX
ON HIS BLINDNESS
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask.
But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies,
'God doth not need either man's work or his own gifts.
Who best bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best.
His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.'
John Milton
A New Use For Speed Dial...
I've just completed reading a news report that further proves the banking industry "just doesn't get it." The report laid out the rewards still being granted to retired or fired CEOs from Citibank, Wells Fargo, Wachovia and Merrill Lynch. Seems the old farts, who previously raided their companies for millions in salary and fringes, remain today on the balance sheets. These banks, and the slugs currently in charge allow the replaced managers office and seceraterial support; cars and drivers, free air transportation for any purpose, and millions more dollars in on-going retirement or severance pay. Guess who's footing the bills for these feather beds!
Because the banks "just don't get it," and because Congress "just doesn't get it," I think its' time for all of us to put our local Congressman/woman & our duly (ha!) elected U.S. Senators on our speed dial on our personal phones. Doing this could be fun--informative--blood pressure reducing, and; simply maddening for our Representatives. It's the right thing to do!
If we all put these dolts on speed dial, imagine the ease we'd all have in communicating our sheer disgust to any of our Representatives after we read heard or witnessed their latest follies on the news or in print. Let's say my Congressman/woman represented 132,000 people here in the neighborhood. He/she says something really stupid; or votes for some onerous bit of legislation loaded with pork...Imagine the impact of say, 90,000 really, really angry calls into the Congressional switchboard during the standard business day. (Does Congress have a standard business day?)
I think a month, or so of being under the microscope this way might open up some eyes inside the Beltway.
It is after all our Country; is it not?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Oh, these passing years!
Integer Vitae
The man of life upright,
Whose guiltless heart is free
From all dishonest deeds,
Or thought of vanity
The man whose silent days
In harmless joys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude,
Nor sorrow discontent;
That man needs neither towers
Nor armour for defence,
Nor secret vaults to fly
From thunder’s violence:
He only can behold
With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep
And terrors of the skies.
Thus, scorning all the cares
That fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heaven his book,
His wisdom heavenly things;
Good thoughts his only friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn
And quiet pilgrimage.
Thomas Campian
There is an athlete taking center stage, who's current challenge to keep a job, makes me think of my fleeting years. His name is Ken Griffey, Jr.
As fine a baseball player as has been seen in the past 30 years; Griffey, Jr. is at the end of an illustrious career that may see him enshrined in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. And even though he has achieved wonderous things in his career, his age and loss of step; and salary requirements work against him in this off season. Will he fade into retirement; as I have? Or, will some team somewhere reward him for all he has done for the game? Nothing's certain in this close to a miserable winter.
I get a bit melancholy thinking of Griffey, Jr.
Our first sight of him was when he broke into Major League Baseball as a super-talented and athletic performer with the Seattle Mariners. His "persona" then--and even today, attracted fans like us to appreciate his skills, and his exhuberance. He might have always played with an opponent of our team; but much like Mickey Mantle before him, the fan in all of us held him in special esteem.
Today his step is slower. His defense not as reckless as in his youth. His booming bat not so dangerous any longer. And his options so much less...
We watched him as a man-child and were thrilled by what we witnessed. We watch today as his choices diminish.
Once upon a time, he was young. And we were young. But no longer; either he, or we. A sad and dark winter, it is!
The man of life upright,
Whose guiltless heart is free
From all dishonest deeds,
Or thought of vanity
The man whose silent days
In harmless joys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude,
Nor sorrow discontent;
That man needs neither towers
Nor armour for defence,
Nor secret vaults to fly
From thunder’s violence:
He only can behold
With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep
And terrors of the skies.
Thus, scorning all the cares
That fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heaven his book,
His wisdom heavenly things;
Good thoughts his only friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn
And quiet pilgrimage.
Thomas Campian
There is an athlete taking center stage, who's current challenge to keep a job, makes me think of my fleeting years. His name is Ken Griffey, Jr.
As fine a baseball player as has been seen in the past 30 years; Griffey, Jr. is at the end of an illustrious career that may see him enshrined in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. And even though he has achieved wonderous things in his career, his age and loss of step; and salary requirements work against him in this off season. Will he fade into retirement; as I have? Or, will some team somewhere reward him for all he has done for the game? Nothing's certain in this close to a miserable winter.
I get a bit melancholy thinking of Griffey, Jr.
Our first sight of him was when he broke into Major League Baseball as a super-talented and athletic performer with the Seattle Mariners. His "persona" then--and even today, attracted fans like us to appreciate his skills, and his exhuberance. He might have always played with an opponent of our team; but much like Mickey Mantle before him, the fan in all of us held him in special esteem.
Today his step is slower. His defense not as reckless as in his youth. His booming bat not so dangerous any longer. And his options so much less...
We watched him as a man-child and were thrilled by what we witnessed. We watch today as his choices diminish.
Once upon a time, he was young. And we were young. But no longer; either he, or we. A sad and dark winter, it is!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
In The Winter Of My Age
On Growing Old
What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Yes, but not for this alone.
Is it to feel our strength
Not our bloom only,
but our strength decay?
Is it to feel each limb
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Each nerve more weakly strung?
Yes, this, and more! but not,
Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be!
Tis not to have our life mellowed and softened
as with sunset-glow,
A golden day's decline!
Tis not to see the world
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And heart profoundly stirred;
And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,
The years that are no more!
It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young.
It is to add, immured
In the hot prison of the present, month
To month with weary pain.
It is to suffer this,
And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel:
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
But no emotion none.
It is last stage of all
When we are frozen up within, and quite
The phantom of ourselves,
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.
--Matthew Arnold
THE GRAND CONSPIRACY
Yesterday, the Associated Press reported that Wells Fargo Bank was throwing a shindig for its most "talented" employees. This soiree is to be staged at the Wynn Hotel (Las Vegas' most expensive lodging); and it is to occur over 12 days time. Now, in case you might have missed the news, Wells Fargo was deemed a failed bank by Congress, and presented with a 25 billion dollar gift by the U.S. Treasury. All part of the bail out or fail mentality rife inside the Beltway.
A spokeswoman for Wells Fargo replied to the incredulity expressed by the press, that this par-tay was in keeping with the banks "corporate culture".
I don't know about you, but this arrogance and financial misappropriation, kind of reminds me of the mindset of the french aristocracy on the eve of The Revolution. And it reminds me too of the great ballroom scene Edgar Allen Poe created in his Masque Of The Red Death. Its' simply a large caste of people believing they are divinely annointed to rape the land and its' inhabitants for their own personal gain.
I believe that the actions of the dumb and lunatic in Congress; and in the international banking community, will bring us to a point where civil unrest and civil disobedience will bring this republic to ruin.
And I believe this destruction will occur in my lifetime. That saddens me because I love my country.
What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Yes, but not for this alone.
Is it to feel our strength
Not our bloom only,
but our strength decay?
Is it to feel each limb
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Each nerve more weakly strung?
Yes, this, and more! but not,
Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be!
Tis not to have our life mellowed and softened
as with sunset-glow,
A golden day's decline!
Tis not to see the world
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And heart profoundly stirred;
And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,
The years that are no more!
It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young.
It is to add, immured
In the hot prison of the present, month
To month with weary pain.
It is to suffer this,
And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel:
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
But no emotion none.
It is last stage of all
When we are frozen up within, and quite
The phantom of ourselves,
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.
--Matthew Arnold
THE GRAND CONSPIRACY
Yesterday, the Associated Press reported that Wells Fargo Bank was throwing a shindig for its most "talented" employees. This soiree is to be staged at the Wynn Hotel (Las Vegas' most expensive lodging); and it is to occur over 12 days time. Now, in case you might have missed the news, Wells Fargo was deemed a failed bank by Congress, and presented with a 25 billion dollar gift by the U.S. Treasury. All part of the bail out or fail mentality rife inside the Beltway.
A spokeswoman for Wells Fargo replied to the incredulity expressed by the press, that this par-tay was in keeping with the banks "corporate culture".
I don't know about you, but this arrogance and financial misappropriation, kind of reminds me of the mindset of the french aristocracy on the eve of The Revolution. And it reminds me too of the great ballroom scene Edgar Allen Poe created in his Masque Of The Red Death. Its' simply a large caste of people believing they are divinely annointed to rape the land and its' inhabitants for their own personal gain.
I believe that the actions of the dumb and lunatic in Congress; and in the international banking community, will bring us to a point where civil unrest and civil disobedience will bring this republic to ruin.
And I believe this destruction will occur in my lifetime. That saddens me because I love my country.
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