second best seat in the house
fiction
edward w pritchard
I thought I had the best seat in the house this morning before sunrise to watch the waning Moon slide past Planet Saturn in the southeast sky. It was a beautiful sight to behold. However as usual I realize God has one up-ed-me again.
As I was enjoying the cold early early morning Moon and Saturn bright and solitary in the cloudless southeast sky a jet plane flew across my field of vision South to North. Of course God's perspective of the inspiring spectacle of the quarter Moon and Saturn would be closer from the jet plane; ephemeral as it was.
I suppose God sees and experience everything everywhere at once across all time zones and eras.
That's an infinite number of things and revelations to notice and experience at once.
Please people don't busy up God's day with asking for sunny weather for your this afternoons upcoming picnic even if you are a believing praying soul.
Thursday, January 31, 2019
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
what better place to be on a sub zero night
what better place to be on a sub zero night
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's sub zero tonight here and despite global warming that's cold. Almost as cold as the time when I was ten that I walked 2 miles to school in 21 below zero weather. Of course back then school wasn't closed because of the cold and our teachers were at their posts.
Still what better place to be on a sub zero night than to imagine oneself transported back to their youth watching death valley days and watching the 20 mule teams pulling the wagons loaded with borax across the floor of death valley. It was always over 100 degrees in death valley. Once it was 134 degrees there, the hottest reading on the face of the earth.
Tonight I would like to be driving along artists way there in death valley enjoying the magnificent colors and scenery. I have never been there yet. I have reached the age where I have to consider I'll never make it to most of the places I would like to go. A pity really.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's sub zero tonight here and despite global warming that's cold. Almost as cold as the time when I was ten that I walked 2 miles to school in 21 below zero weather. Of course back then school wasn't closed because of the cold and our teachers were at their posts.
Still what better place to be on a sub zero night than to imagine oneself transported back to their youth watching death valley days and watching the 20 mule teams pulling the wagons loaded with borax across the floor of death valley. It was always over 100 degrees in death valley. Once it was 134 degrees there, the hottest reading on the face of the earth.
Tonight I would like to be driving along artists way there in death valley enjoying the magnificent colors and scenery. I have never been there yet. I have reached the age where I have to consider I'll never make it to most of the places I would like to go. A pity really.
who wrote that
who wrote that
fiction
edward w pritchard
a brief review of Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Mann
This author would never do anything to parody children or poke fun at students. So this comparison of Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Mann will not theme and focus on young students making comic mistakes concerning who wrote what.
Did Hemingway write "death in Venice"and did Thomas Mann write "death in the afternoon"and the parts of "the sun also rises" dealing with bullfighting? that's the premise
What if Hemingway himself had to sit at the beach in Venice and stare at the 14 year old Tadzio, character in Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice". How long would it take Ernest Hemingway who wasn't a homosexual to stare at a boy at the beach if he couldn't fish, drink excessively, try to pick up married women, dream of being a bull fighter or at least really run in Pamploma, Spain with the bulls.
Like wise what if Thomas Mann's character Aschenbach from " death in Venice" had to occupy one of Hemingway's novels praising the manly virtues of boxing, fishing, drinking, fighting, shooting lions,and whoring etc? What if Tom Mann himself was running with the bulls in Pamploma, was gored by a bull, tossed 23 feet into the air and trammeled to death?
Hemingway and Mann could not write each others novels. That's all there is to that.
fiction
edward w pritchard
a brief review of Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Mann
This author would never do anything to parody children or poke fun at students. So this comparison of Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Mann will not theme and focus on young students making comic mistakes concerning who wrote what.
Did Hemingway write "death in Venice"and did Thomas Mann write "death in the afternoon"and the parts of "the sun also rises" dealing with bullfighting? that's the premise
What if Hemingway himself had to sit at the beach in Venice and stare at the 14 year old Tadzio, character in Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice". How long would it take Ernest Hemingway who wasn't a homosexual to stare at a boy at the beach if he couldn't fish, drink excessively, try to pick up married women, dream of being a bull fighter or at least really run in Pamploma, Spain with the bulls.
Like wise what if Thomas Mann's character Aschenbach from " death in Venice" had to occupy one of Hemingway's novels praising the manly virtues of boxing, fishing, drinking, fighting, shooting lions,and whoring etc? What if Tom Mann himself was running with the bulls in Pamploma, was gored by a bull, tossed 23 feet into the air and trammeled to death?
Hemingway and Mann could not write each others novels. That's all there is to that.
unknown author reviews "der tod in vendig" by Thomas Mann
unknown author reviews " der tod in vendig" by Thomas Mann
fiction
edward w pritchard
Below is the attempt by unknown author to review " der Tod in Vendig" aka "death in Venice "by German author Thomas Mann.
Pritchard begins: Aschenbach an aging writer with writer's block health is suffering and he decides to travel to Venice and sit at the beach. While there he sees an beautiful 14 yer old boy in a sailor's suit and spends several days follow the boy about with his eyes. In an attempt to be more attractive Aschenbach dons a jet black wig, smears himself with stage makeup, polishes his false teeth and buys expensive foppish new clothes. Lastly unable to rise successfully from a deck chair at the beach the writer dies.
traditionally the story by Mann ends here: a commentary on death and beauty in the ancient Greek tragic sense
but Pritchard takes it further and asks what happened to the body?
Pritchard adds an unusual suggested ending to Mann's famous novel
why didn't Mann spend a few pages walking the reader through the practical matter of what happened to Ashenbach's body after he expired. Who carried old Ashenbach away and where did they ultimately leave him?
Below is Pritchard's suggested ending to Thomas Mann's famous short story novel "Death in Venice"
ornery author with no beer in the house in a cold freeze
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
repost/ edit
fiction
edward w pritchard
Below is the attempt by unknown author to review " der Tod in Vendig" aka "death in Venice "by German author Thomas Mann.
Pritchard begins: Aschenbach an aging writer with writer's block health is suffering and he decides to travel to Venice and sit at the beach. While there he sees an beautiful 14 yer old boy in a sailor's suit and spends several days follow the boy about with his eyes. In an attempt to be more attractive Aschenbach dons a jet black wig, smears himself with stage makeup, polishes his false teeth and buys expensive foppish new clothes. Lastly unable to rise successfully from a deck chair at the beach the writer dies.
traditionally the story by Mann ends here: a commentary on death and beauty in the ancient Greek tragic sense
but Pritchard takes it further and asks what happened to the body?
Pritchard adds an unusual suggested ending to Mann's famous novel
why didn't Mann spend a few pages walking the reader through the practical matter of what happened to Ashenbach's body after he expired. Who carried old Ashenbach away and where did they ultimately leave him?
Below is Pritchard's suggested ending to Thomas Mann's famous short story novel "Death in Venice"
ornery author with no beer in the house in a cold freeze
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
repost/ edit
Recycling- repost
author liked this and posted it again, and now again
for my brothers
Here in Louisville, Ohio we are very environmentally conscious. That's why I am taking my brother Few to be recycled. It's not the money.
Few died last night. Everyone will miss Few.
Green movement or not I will not pay the transport fee. In it's obsession with taxation my township has imposed a transport fee on bringing bodies in for recycling. At the recycling center, right next to the canister for broken glass and old papers is a chemical reducer to return a body to it's original elements. Few would understand why I decided to have him recycled. Life is expensive and Few is dead; my Brother would understand me saving a few bucks on his burial and it's PC and environmentally responsible to recycle him.
I put my brother Few in the backseat of the car and we are just now pulling into the recycle facility. I didn't wrap my brother Few in a plastic trash bag, that would be wrong. Plastic bags take a long time to decompose. All of the containers are green here except the chemical reducer which is a very soft shade of blue. Like moonlight after a storm at sea. I stripped old Few of his clothes and dumped him into the blue chemical reducer. It gave a whirl and there was a whiff of sea water and then old Few was decomposed.
I think I will hire the minister on duty over there in the trailer to perform a brief service. Few was my Brother after all. Few would have liked the idea of the smell of the ocean, he always liked fishing and fishing always called for a couple of beers. I will use some of the recycling money I received from the County to send old Few off properly with a couple of cold beers down at Donley's Lakeside Inn. I'll sit by the window and watch the moon shine across the Lake. Old Few would have liked that.
for my brothers
Here in Louisville, Ohio we are very environmentally conscious. That's why I am taking my brother Few to be recycled. It's not the money.
Few died last night. Everyone will miss Few.
Green movement or not I will not pay the transport fee. In it's obsession with taxation my township has imposed a transport fee on bringing bodies in for recycling. At the recycling center, right next to the canister for broken glass and old papers is a chemical reducer to return a body to it's original elements. Few would understand why I decided to have him recycled. Life is expensive and Few is dead; my Brother would understand me saving a few bucks on his burial and it's PC and environmentally responsible to recycle him.
I put my brother Few in the backseat of the car and we are just now pulling into the recycle facility. I didn't wrap my brother Few in a plastic trash bag, that would be wrong. Plastic bags take a long time to decompose. All of the containers are green here except the chemical reducer which is a very soft shade of blue. Like moonlight after a storm at sea. I stripped old Few of his clothes and dumped him into the blue chemical reducer. It gave a whirl and there was a whiff of sea water and then old Few was decomposed.
I think I will hire the minister on duty over there in the trailer to perform a brief service. Few was my Brother after all. Few would have liked the idea of the smell of the ocean, he always liked fishing and fishing always called for a couple of beers. I will use some of the recycling money I received from the County to send old Few off properly with a couple of cold beers down at Donley's Lakeside Inn. I'll sit by the window and watch the moon shine across the Lake. Old Few would have liked that.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
never ask: what happened to your grandmother
never ask: what happened to your grandmother
fiction
edward w pritchard
In Paul Cezanne's perfect picture "the card player" the two characters sitting at a table playing cards never speak. When two cowboys in an old West movie cross paths on horseback no one ever asks " what happened to your grandmother".
Me I don't ever have a real conversation anymore.
How about you- any one ever ask your opinion on anything other than at work.? Too many taboo subjects I suppose.
It's understandable- it must be the times we live in.
fiction
edward w pritchard
In Paul Cezanne's perfect picture "the card player" the two characters sitting at a table playing cards never speak. When two cowboys in an old West movie cross paths on horseback no one ever asks " what happened to your grandmother".
Me I don't ever have a real conversation anymore.
How about you- any one ever ask your opinion on anything other than at work.? Too many taboo subjects I suppose.
It's understandable- it must be the times we live in.
Monday, January 28, 2019
women and IQ
women and IQ
fiction
edward w pritchard
Author writes recently in "Tesla at the Pennsylvania [hotel in NYC] of history's tendency to forget women of high IQ, in effect ignoring their existence once they are gone.
Currently among many books I am reading a little at at time one is by the woman philosopher Iris Murdoch.The book is "Metaphysics as a guide to morals". Certainly not a book most Americans would be interested in but one in which I think we are hearing from a very high IQ woman writer. She explores many of the issues of philosophy and explains them very briefly like a Bertrand Russell or Will Durant for the general reader.
Among many subjects discussed by Iris Murdoch in a guide to morals is the needed for people to demonstrate loving kindness and to protect as two of the highest moral values. It's time to recognize women writers and artists of the past despite the paucity of praise their contemporaries sent forward to us about the value of their works.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Author writes recently in "Tesla at the Pennsylvania [hotel in NYC] of history's tendency to forget women of high IQ, in effect ignoring their existence once they are gone.
Currently among many books I am reading a little at at time one is by the woman philosopher Iris Murdoch.The book is "Metaphysics as a guide to morals". Certainly not a book most Americans would be interested in but one in which I think we are hearing from a very high IQ woman writer. She explores many of the issues of philosophy and explains them very briefly like a Bertrand Russell or Will Durant for the general reader.
Among many subjects discussed by Iris Murdoch in a guide to morals is the needed for people to demonstrate loving kindness and to protect as two of the highest moral values. It's time to recognize women writers and artists of the past despite the paucity of praise their contemporaries sent forward to us about the value of their works.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Napoleon on technology again
Napoleon on technology again
fiction
edward w pritchard
The scene begins with Napoleon just having left Russia in 1812. Napoleon had just lost to the Russian winter, enterprising Russian peasants and mad cossacks marauders on horseback seeking revenge and spoils from his grand army [about 400,000 of his soldiers and personal friends dead]. Leaving Russia behind Napoleon must go back to France to suppress an over throw attempt on his
sovereignty to rule as Emperor.
Back then Napoleon was racing across Poland in winter in his horse carriage basically alone to get to France to regroup and start over sans one half million of his soldiers and loyal subjects. Once arrived in France Napoleon would have only his personality to convince the French that he deserved an another chance to conquer and change the world.
The technology of the day would be ill suited to the task Napoleon faced. Only his pen to write letters
and his voice to make face to face speeches to convince.
Would that Napoleon had had Facebook friends, The internet, Siri the computer voice, bloggers, network newscasters,cellphones, minute by minute stock market updates worldwide, and presidential tweets to assist him.
How much easier would technology have made it for Napoleon to meet his Waterloo three years later in 1815.
fiction
edward w pritchard
The scene begins with Napoleon just having left Russia in 1812. Napoleon had just lost to the Russian winter, enterprising Russian peasants and mad cossacks marauders on horseback seeking revenge and spoils from his grand army [about 400,000 of his soldiers and personal friends dead]. Leaving Russia behind Napoleon must go back to France to suppress an over throw attempt on his
sovereignty to rule as Emperor.
Back then Napoleon was racing across Poland in winter in his horse carriage basically alone to get to France to regroup and start over sans one half million of his soldiers and loyal subjects. Once arrived in France Napoleon would have only his personality to convince the French that he deserved an another chance to conquer and change the world.
The technology of the day would be ill suited to the task Napoleon faced. Only his pen to write letters
and his voice to make face to face speeches to convince.
Would that Napoleon had had Facebook friends, The internet, Siri the computer voice, bloggers, network newscasters,cellphones, minute by minute stock market updates worldwide, and presidential tweets to assist him.
How much easier would technology have made it for Napoleon to meet his Waterloo three years later in 1815.
my dear sir
my dear sir
fiction
edward w pritchard
My dear sir:
This is Eric Blair, aka George Orwell and I wish to give you some advice.
First keep your writing short for the reasons listed below.
1. Do not use dying metaphors
2. Avoid pretentious diction and trite attacks on orthodoxy.
3. pick out short appropriate verbs and avoid the passive voice
4. if you must parody, parody yourself
5. and as I write elsewhere "into the dustbin where it belongs"
No need to footnote me. Have a nice day
eric blair
fiction
edward w pritchard
My dear sir:
This is Eric Blair, aka George Orwell and I wish to give you some advice.
First keep your writing short for the reasons listed below.
1. Do not use dying metaphors
2. Avoid pretentious diction and trite attacks on orthodoxy.
3. pick out short appropriate verbs and avoid the passive voice
4. if you must parody, parody yourself
5. and as I write elsewhere "into the dustbin where it belongs"
No need to footnote me. Have a nice day
eric blair
banks can be so Kafkaesque
banks can be so Kafkaesque
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once my banks sent me a calendar now it's Kafkaesque notices.
Duplicity is a sin. A overly complex set of business practise-s confronts me when I deal with the big bank but their representatives are smooth as butter if I can ever reach them through their unfriendly phone trees looped across several US states and time zones.
Corporations have no heart no soul and no conscience.
Stick to deposits and small checking accounts. I worked at a bank once and been banked with lately here in my old age. My, my how things can change.
Thank goodness for Community reinvestment act. It will keep the large banks honest in their dealings until they need another government bailout forgivable loan.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Once my banks sent me a calendar now it's Kafkaesque notices.
Duplicity is a sin. A overly complex set of business practise-s confronts me when I deal with the big bank but their representatives are smooth as butter if I can ever reach them through their unfriendly phone trees looped across several US states and time zones.
Corporations have no heart no soul and no conscience.
Stick to deposits and small checking accounts. I worked at a bank once and been banked with lately here in my old age. My, my how things can change.
Thank goodness for Community reinvestment act. It will keep the large banks honest in their dealings until they need another government bailout forgivable loan.
Friday, January 25, 2019
brief thoughts on eternity
brief thoughts on eternity
fiction
edward w pritchard
Somewhat honored I realized God had asked me a question. Wanting my opinion. "Why did Napoleon lose the battle of Bordino?"
With my thumb and finger cupped to my chin I thought it out. Borrowing heavily from my remembrances of Tolstoy I formulated an answer deep my mind.
At length receiving no thanks or a shadow of a nod I returned to other things.
Contentment flooded my system. Like me was He like him was I.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Somewhat honored I realized God had asked me a question. Wanting my opinion. "Why did Napoleon lose the battle of Bordino?"
With my thumb and finger cupped to my chin I thought it out. Borrowing heavily from my remembrances of Tolstoy I formulated an answer deep my mind.
At length receiving no thanks or a shadow of a nod I returned to other things.
Contentment flooded my system. Like me was He like him was I.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
out sourced by intelligent machine technology
out sourced by intelligent machine technology
fiction
edward w pritchard
Howie was meeting Wadsworth a new friend at the Summit Lounge for a drink in an hour and a half giving him easily time enough for a 45 minute session with a Mr. Tongit an 82 year old patient at a nursing facility a top the old Bell building on Euclid ave in downtown Cleveland. After the session since it was a nice evening he could walk as he dictated his post session notes into his cellphone. Hopefully Howie could hand walk his recorded notes of the session tomorrow to the Colombus Insurance Group, his client on this assignment and then get Tillie in accounts payable to give him a check for his $225 fee in time to pay his car insurance due to lapse three days hence.
Mr. Tongit's story had upset Howie the freelance psychologist and as he walked he was having trouble organizing his thoughts into a brief request for payment to Columbus Insurance.
Tongit had worked as a telemarketer his first job out of college 60 years past. 75 times per hour eight hours per day Tongit was required in his new telemarketing job to call people from a series of lists and pretend to be a recorded machine offering a prospective client for life insurance 12 cans of Campbell's soup if they would agree to have an agent into their home to review their need to purchase life insurance.
It took Howie only 13 minutes to complete his session with Tongit but Howie needed to beef up his post session notes if he was to receive a full fee from Columbus Insurance. What could you say about a man who stayed 51 years in a telemarketing job pretending to be a machine recorded voice 75 times per hour eight hours per day for his entire working career.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Howie was meeting Wadsworth a new friend at the Summit Lounge for a drink in an hour and a half giving him easily time enough for a 45 minute session with a Mr. Tongit an 82 year old patient at a nursing facility a top the old Bell building on Euclid ave in downtown Cleveland. After the session since it was a nice evening he could walk as he dictated his post session notes into his cellphone. Hopefully Howie could hand walk his recorded notes of the session tomorrow to the Colombus Insurance Group, his client on this assignment and then get Tillie in accounts payable to give him a check for his $225 fee in time to pay his car insurance due to lapse three days hence.
Mr. Tongit's story had upset Howie the freelance psychologist and as he walked he was having trouble organizing his thoughts into a brief request for payment to Columbus Insurance.
Tongit had worked as a telemarketer his first job out of college 60 years past. 75 times per hour eight hours per day Tongit was required in his new telemarketing job to call people from a series of lists and pretend to be a recorded machine offering a prospective client for life insurance 12 cans of Campbell's soup if they would agree to have an agent into their home to review their need to purchase life insurance.
It took Howie only 13 minutes to complete his session with Tongit but Howie needed to beef up his post session notes if he was to receive a full fee from Columbus Insurance. What could you say about a man who stayed 51 years in a telemarketing job pretending to be a machine recorded voice 75 times per hour eight hours per day for his entire working career.
Monday, January 21, 2019
Babylonian lamentation
Babylonian lamentation
fiction
edward w pritchard
In the Babylonian courts of yore
remorse, regrets and anguish
could only be remonstrated
on the night of the full moon
once each month
and sometimes twice on a blue moon
ritual lamentation
brought sanity and order
tonight, like ancient forebears 2,500 years gone
methodically suffer I voluntary banishment
walking frozen lake in sub zero winds
aches in heart
frozen tear stained forlorn face
unheard echoed forgotten voice
bounces off lifeless satellite
never to return
through drawn curtains
moon casts no shadow
nor acknowledges lamentation
fiction
edward w pritchard
In the Babylonian courts of yore
remorse, regrets and anguish
could only be remonstrated
on the night of the full moon
once each month
and sometimes twice on a blue moon
ritual lamentation
brought sanity and order
tonight, like ancient forebears 2,500 years gone
methodically suffer I voluntary banishment
walking frozen lake in sub zero winds
aches in heart
frozen tear stained forlorn face
unheard echoed forgotten voice
bounces off lifeless satellite
never to return
through drawn curtains
moon casts no shadow
nor acknowledges lamentation
Saturday, January 19, 2019
Tesla at the Pennsylvania hotel
Tesla at the Pennsylvania hotel
fiction
edward w pritchard
My oldest son and his daughter, and my youngest son and I four or five years ago took a train to New York city and stayed at the Pennsylvania hotel. While we were in NYC my youngest son and I went to the Metropolitan museum to see the great art while my oldest son and his daughter hung out in NYC having a grand old time.
The Pennsylvania hotel was a once majestic hotel now suffering from the demises of age and lack of investment but it had a lot of character and many many rooms once inhabited by the very rich. We very much enjoyed our stay there at the Pennsylvania and the faded glory of our room, actually a room and a half for a modest price [for NYC].
Recently I was checking out on the internet the imagined IQ of George Orwell the writer whose essays I was reading about one Saturday night during a severe snowstorm here in Ohio. While researching the IQ of Orwell I did a little reading on another very high IQ genius Nicola Tesla the inventor.
I came to find out from my reading that Nicola Tesla the inventor was not only thought to be a genius of IQ plus 185 but he had once stayed extended stay style in NYC at the Pennsylvania hotel back in the 1930's. Apparently Tesla was quite eccentric and often moved from one fine NYC hotel to the next often without paying his bills and while residing in his hotel room Tesla had a bad habit of be-friend-ing injured NYC pigeons who were incapacitated and unable to live in the local parks.
While I found it interesting that Tesla once stayed at the Pennsylvania hotel in NYC where I once stayed with my oldest grand daughter and two of my sons something else troubles me about my new knowledge of two geniuses Nicola Tesla and George Orwell. Looking at a half dozen lists of possible highest IQ persons throughout history no women were listed. How can I explain that to my grand daughters if they ask me about that after reading this blurb about the Pennsylvania hotel in NYC?
fiction
edward w pritchard
My oldest son and his daughter, and my youngest son and I four or five years ago took a train to New York city and stayed at the Pennsylvania hotel. While we were in NYC my youngest son and I went to the Metropolitan museum to see the great art while my oldest son and his daughter hung out in NYC having a grand old time.
The Pennsylvania hotel was a once majestic hotel now suffering from the demises of age and lack of investment but it had a lot of character and many many rooms once inhabited by the very rich. We very much enjoyed our stay there at the Pennsylvania and the faded glory of our room, actually a room and a half for a modest price [for NYC].
Recently I was checking out on the internet the imagined IQ of George Orwell the writer whose essays I was reading about one Saturday night during a severe snowstorm here in Ohio. While researching the IQ of Orwell I did a little reading on another very high IQ genius Nicola Tesla the inventor.
I came to find out from my reading that Nicola Tesla the inventor was not only thought to be a genius of IQ plus 185 but he had once stayed extended stay style in NYC at the Pennsylvania hotel back in the 1930's. Apparently Tesla was quite eccentric and often moved from one fine NYC hotel to the next often without paying his bills and while residing in his hotel room Tesla had a bad habit of be-friend-ing injured NYC pigeons who were incapacitated and unable to live in the local parks.
While I found it interesting that Tesla once stayed at the Pennsylvania hotel in NYC where I once stayed with my oldest grand daughter and two of my sons something else troubles me about my new knowledge of two geniuses Nicola Tesla and George Orwell. Looking at a half dozen lists of possible highest IQ persons throughout history no women were listed. How can I explain that to my grand daughters if they ask me about that after reading this blurb about the Pennsylvania hotel in NYC?
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Enzo's song
Enzo's song
fiction
edward w pritchard
third birthday prophecies for my grandson
First don't go through life on a song, instead think a grand purpose for your long life
then
undertake the risky voyage through life cheerfully
walking forward armed only with dead reckoning pursue the paths of your life joyfully, and on the voyage into your future may you underestimate the journey by 3/4 and carry only 1/3 the needed provisions
and if
being constantly in great adversity may you know gentle winds and sunny days
whatever else
may your life be a story without end
to begin now
armed only with your thoughts may you contemplate African animals and nature of which you are an intimate part
and
going about your youthful business go the gymnasium and bounce, bounce, bounce across endless trampolines, jump, jump jumping svelte and agile as you weave across unknown landscapes
and if at times you are a slave to circumstances then may you be also be a slave to your hopes,
as you protect your Mother and sister, honor your Father and respect your four Grandparents
all the while
using the brains you have inherited to mathematically plot your one way journey across the universe
while you remain undaunted in your faith that your life is unfolding as it should
later
studying the light of the changing Moon may your heart someday find your boon companion
and creating children may your beloved kids reach for the stars and may your grandchildren often reach for your hand in your old age
and when you reach the end of your life and unknown territory may God grant you intuition, fortitude and luck
and when after your death in the unknown place beyond may the landscape be familiar known territory
and years later may you be remembered with respectful reverence
fiction
edward w pritchard
third birthday prophecies for my grandson
First don't go through life on a song, instead think a grand purpose for your long life
then
undertake the risky voyage through life cheerfully
walking forward armed only with dead reckoning pursue the paths of your life joyfully, and on the voyage into your future may you underestimate the journey by 3/4 and carry only 1/3 the needed provisions
and if
being constantly in great adversity may you know gentle winds and sunny days
whatever else
may your life be a story without end
to begin now
armed only with your thoughts may you contemplate African animals and nature of which you are an intimate part
and
going about your youthful business go the gymnasium and bounce, bounce, bounce across endless trampolines, jump, jump jumping svelte and agile as you weave across unknown landscapes
and if at times you are a slave to circumstances then may you be also be a slave to your hopes,
as you protect your Mother and sister, honor your Father and respect your four Grandparents
all the while
using the brains you have inherited to mathematically plot your one way journey across the universe
while you remain undaunted in your faith that your life is unfolding as it should
later
studying the light of the changing Moon may your heart someday find your boon companion
and creating children may your beloved kids reach for the stars and may your grandchildren often reach for your hand in your old age
and when you reach the end of your life and unknown territory may God grant you intuition, fortitude and luck
and when after your death in the unknown place beyond may the landscape be familiar known territory
and years later may you be remembered with respectful reverence
Monday, January 14, 2019
some tough dudes
some tough dudes
fiction
edward w pritchard
I chanced to watch some NFL playoff football last night which I enjoyed. For the part I watched there was no politics or polemics just good old fashion hitting.
I enjoyed the violence of football back when I played. So it was with some awe that I noticed that most of the New Orleans defensive players did not wear any arm or elbow pads. I also heard the announcer say New Orleans saints were the best defensive unit in their league.
Playing at that level without elbow pads. Those are some tough dudes.
Thanks to the NFL for getting their act together and presenting an enjoyable game.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I chanced to watch some NFL playoff football last night which I enjoyed. For the part I watched there was no politics or polemics just good old fashion hitting.
I enjoyed the violence of football back when I played. So it was with some awe that I noticed that most of the New Orleans defensive players did not wear any arm or elbow pads. I also heard the announcer say New Orleans saints were the best defensive unit in their league.
Playing at that level without elbow pads. Those are some tough dudes.
Thanks to the NFL for getting their act together and presenting an enjoyable game.
the despair of perseverance
the despair of perseverance
fiction
edward w pritchard
I feel the despair of perseverance has entered the collective unconsciousness of America of late. I see it in the eyes and grimaces of the young working people hurrying in and out of the gas station/ convenience stores as they race out of the stores to the expensive super trucks after scanning their phone to settle their bills.
Fortunately I am immune to despair from once having lost something special. Still I can feel their pain, evidenced across their eyes as they head for their jobs that will support their life style.
Somewhere along the way chatting to siri the talking machine with light heart-ed questions and cataloging scores of self pictures on the hand phone seems a bit irrelevant I suppose when one is faced with the continuous fast approaching changing unknowable future awaiting our Country.
It's been along time since I heard anyone mention Shakespeare- as in tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, Ecclesiastes-as in the glass is half empty or full, or even keep your chin up friend.
Advice from an old guy? Stay off of yahoo news. It's mind control as in sophisticated Orwellian thought control 1984.
fiction
edward w pritchard
I feel the despair of perseverance has entered the collective unconsciousness of America of late. I see it in the eyes and grimaces of the young working people hurrying in and out of the gas station/ convenience stores as they race out of the stores to the expensive super trucks after scanning their phone to settle their bills.
Fortunately I am immune to despair from once having lost something special. Still I can feel their pain, evidenced across their eyes as they head for their jobs that will support their life style.
Somewhere along the way chatting to siri the talking machine with light heart-ed questions and cataloging scores of self pictures on the hand phone seems a bit irrelevant I suppose when one is faced with the continuous fast approaching changing unknowable future awaiting our Country.
It's been along time since I heard anyone mention Shakespeare- as in tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, Ecclesiastes-as in the glass is half empty or full, or even keep your chin up friend.
Advice from an old guy? Stay off of yahoo news. It's mind control as in sophisticated Orwellian thought control 1984.
Sunday, January 13, 2019
America the unflappable
America the unflappable
fiction
edward w pritchard
Last post author mentioned the Italian attribute to personally have figura, an unshakable faith in oneself.
Us Americans, that's you and me project our collective unconsciousness as unflappable me. Everything under control.
For richer or poorer, in sickness or health everything is so good. No worries my friend.
Meanwhile here it's the dead 7 am Sunday of the first winter day in mid January and the roads to anywhere are partially closed this morning, the stores are raising prices, 17 days to the first of next month and more bills, and yes the government of America is partially closed today.
The Chinese collective unconsciousness say " the ten thousand things interact and I watch for the rebound."
As a teenager we went to church Sunday and I often skipped services and went to the basement and shot basketball. Sometimes some of the girls would rebound dressed in their Sunday finery. Things were good then.
I can still hear the basketball bouncing across the thin veneer of normalcy here in my country.
America the unflappable.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Last post author mentioned the Italian attribute to personally have figura, an unshakable faith in oneself.
Us Americans, that's you and me project our collective unconsciousness as unflappable me. Everything under control.
For richer or poorer, in sickness or health everything is so good. No worries my friend.
Meanwhile here it's the dead 7 am Sunday of the first winter day in mid January and the roads to anywhere are partially closed this morning, the stores are raising prices, 17 days to the first of next month and more bills, and yes the government of America is partially closed today.
The Chinese collective unconsciousness say " the ten thousand things interact and I watch for the rebound."
As a teenager we went to church Sunday and I often skipped services and went to the basement and shot basketball. Sometimes some of the girls would rebound dressed in their Sunday finery. Things were good then.
I can still hear the basketball bouncing across the thin veneer of normalcy here in my country.
America the unflappable.
Saturday, January 12, 2019
keeping one's appropriate balance
keeping one's appropriate balance
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Italian's have "la bella figura" meaning one should always look properly good in the sense of being irresistible, appropriately dressed, and making a memorable presentation in each and everything one is, delivers or does.
The ancient Chinese had yin and yang. Proper balance in everything.
Aristotle and the Greeks proclaimed the golden mean.
I once told my children when they were young to keep your balance as a sort of running joke as when they were jumping about breaking up the furniture to " keep your balance" [in life] . The first rumblings of their philosophical training from the old man.
As for me, the most memorable Italians [after Giorgione, the painter of "the Tempest" and Antonio Gramsci, the Marxist was St Francis of Assisi a simple man.
Keep your balance my children.
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Italian's have "la bella figura" meaning one should always look properly good in the sense of being irresistible, appropriately dressed, and making a memorable presentation in each and everything one is, delivers or does.
The ancient Chinese had yin and yang. Proper balance in everything.
Aristotle and the Greeks proclaimed the golden mean.
I once told my children when they were young to keep your balance as a sort of running joke as when they were jumping about breaking up the furniture to " keep your balance" [in life] . The first rumblings of their philosophical training from the old man.
As for me, the most memorable Italians [after Giorgione, the painter of "the Tempest" and Antonio Gramsci, the Marxist was St Francis of Assisi a simple man.
Keep your balance my children.
Friday, January 11, 2019
sometimes I wish I was Catholic
sometimes I wish I was Catholic
fiction
edward w pritchard
The latest crisis in America is that the federal government is partially shut down and there is no one for the average person to grouse to if the shutdown seriously hurts them in some way because politically all the elected officials and federal and state public workers, like it or not are part of the problem and the buck doesn't stop anywhere anymore. Everyone is caught up in chaos of free markets run a muck.
My problem at the moment though concerns high US pharma prices not the federal government shutdown. Since I don't currently have pharma coverage for prescriptions with my medicare which I pay for each month by the way, every few months my prescriptions go up in price at the Walmart. If I had a better phone with going online anywhere capabilities I could print a coupon for a discount off the higher prices using the poor persons rate, only available once using special coupons online, or I could guess which of my heart pills I could stop taking while I applied for a State Medicaid prescription subsidy card even though I feel by doing that I would be taking money from the state food stamp program which feeds lots of hungry children each day. I am also considering ordering the heart medicines from Canada or Mexico because there the heart pills I need are 80% cheaper than in America because of the clout of the big pharma lobbyists.
Sometimes I wish I were Catholic so I could complain to the Pope about the inequity people of modest means face in America because of the ruthlessness of unrestrained capitalism and the free markets. I read once that back in 1077 a Catholic Pope made the King kneel in the snow before he would meet with him.
When folks in America have a good job and a big house in suburbia the system rewards them for their industriousness and good fortune. Given enough time in America however most simple folks find they or those they love are playing the game on an uneven playing field. That's about it from me for now since I don't even know the current Pope's name or address should I wish to contact him with my complaints.
fiction
edward w pritchard
The latest crisis in America is that the federal government is partially shut down and there is no one for the average person to grouse to if the shutdown seriously hurts them in some way because politically all the elected officials and federal and state public workers, like it or not are part of the problem and the buck doesn't stop anywhere anymore. Everyone is caught up in chaos of free markets run a muck.
My problem at the moment though concerns high US pharma prices not the federal government shutdown. Since I don't currently have pharma coverage for prescriptions with my medicare which I pay for each month by the way, every few months my prescriptions go up in price at the Walmart. If I had a better phone with going online anywhere capabilities I could print a coupon for a discount off the higher prices using the poor persons rate, only available once using special coupons online, or I could guess which of my heart pills I could stop taking while I applied for a State Medicaid prescription subsidy card even though I feel by doing that I would be taking money from the state food stamp program which feeds lots of hungry children each day. I am also considering ordering the heart medicines from Canada or Mexico because there the heart pills I need are 80% cheaper than in America because of the clout of the big pharma lobbyists.
Sometimes I wish I were Catholic so I could complain to the Pope about the inequity people of modest means face in America because of the ruthlessness of unrestrained capitalism and the free markets. I read once that back in 1077 a Catholic Pope made the King kneel in the snow before he would meet with him.
When folks in America have a good job and a big house in suburbia the system rewards them for their industriousness and good fortune. Given enough time in America however most simple folks find they or those they love are playing the game on an uneven playing field. That's about it from me for now since I don't even know the current Pope's name or address should I wish to contact him with my complaints.
Thursday, January 3, 2019
early celebrity doesn't always lead to fame and fortune
early celebrity doesn't always lead to fame and fortune
fiction
edward w pritchard
Early celebrity doesn't always lead to fame and fortune. You see when I was a kid I had my five minutes of fame on local TV far off Broadway and far from Hollywood.
I enjoyed as a boy building model plastic airplanes held together with glue and displaying them in my room. As my Father was in the Air Force in the War I suppose he influenced me in this hobby.
I remember we went down to local TV station WAKR, Akron-Ohio back in 1959 to the Professor Jack show and I on live TV got to show my model air plane I had built to the host Professor Jack. There might have been other boys there as well.
Me being on TV was talked about a lot around our house. But gradually came the 1960's, a time of great changes here in America and that was the last time I was on TV. Although I was on TV several times back in 1969 when I played high school football. Sadly that wasn't a speaking part.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Early celebrity doesn't always lead to fame and fortune. You see when I was a kid I had my five minutes of fame on local TV far off Broadway and far from Hollywood.
I enjoyed as a boy building model plastic airplanes held together with glue and displaying them in my room. As my Father was in the Air Force in the War I suppose he influenced me in this hobby.
I remember we went down to local TV station WAKR, Akron-Ohio back in 1959 to the Professor Jack show and I on live TV got to show my model air plane I had built to the host Professor Jack. There might have been other boys there as well.
Me being on TV was talked about a lot around our house. But gradually came the 1960's, a time of great changes here in America and that was the last time I was on TV. Although I was on TV several times back in 1969 when I played high school football. Sadly that wasn't a speaking part.
how I got cured from watching too much TV back in the 1950's america
how I got cured from watching too much TV back in the 1950's america
fiction
edward w pritchard
When I was five my Dad was at work, Mom slept a lot, our other kids were babies and I got to watch a lot of TV. My favorite show was local programming originating from Cleveland about 45 miles north of our house there in Tallmadge, Ohio.
Captain Penny was host of a local TV show sometimes on twice a day. I watched the show religiously. Keeping a running commentary of folksy humor and old time advice Captain Penny would announce an episode of the little rascals or three stooges and now and then a cartoon. I watched the show five days per week for two years before I started to school.
Once as a treat for me, my Mother took me by bus downtown Akron to the O'Neil's department store to see the Celebrity Captain Penny in person. Turns out Captain Penny was different in real life than he was on TV.
We waited a longtime in a long line to see Captain Penny and our bus, the last of the evening was leaving in a few minutes so my Mom and I jumped line to see the Captain up close. Ignoring my Mom and without missing a beat with the kid he was talking to in the front of the long line the Captain looked down at me and said "back of the line Kid. He said it mean like with an unfamiliar glint in his eye.
That's how I got cured from watching too much TV back in the 1950's america.
To this day I don't watch any more children's TV and I don't quite trust authority figures.
fiction
edward w pritchard
When I was five my Dad was at work, Mom slept a lot, our other kids were babies and I got to watch a lot of TV. My favorite show was local programming originating from Cleveland about 45 miles north of our house there in Tallmadge, Ohio.
Captain Penny was host of a local TV show sometimes on twice a day. I watched the show religiously. Keeping a running commentary of folksy humor and old time advice Captain Penny would announce an episode of the little rascals or three stooges and now and then a cartoon. I watched the show five days per week for two years before I started to school.
Once as a treat for me, my Mother took me by bus downtown Akron to the O'Neil's department store to see the Celebrity Captain Penny in person. Turns out Captain Penny was different in real life than he was on TV.
We waited a longtime in a long line to see Captain Penny and our bus, the last of the evening was leaving in a few minutes so my Mom and I jumped line to see the Captain up close. Ignoring my Mom and without missing a beat with the kid he was talking to in the front of the long line the Captain looked down at me and said "back of the line Kid. He said it mean like with an unfamiliar glint in his eye.
That's how I got cured from watching too much TV back in the 1950's america.
To this day I don't watch any more children's TV and I don't quite trust authority figures.
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
our stuff won't survive us for long
our stuff won't survive us for long
fiction
edward w pritchard
Sad it was when I worked in a nursing home as a college student when an old timer, man or woman
died at the nursing home without any surviving spouse or friends or family who cared enough to get their few personal items out of their dresser drawers there in the room after they passed on.
We, the RN Nurse and I the orderly had to hurry and go through the pictures and love notes of some old ladies first boyfriend who her husband never talked about because there at the nursing home another old man or woman needed the room for their last remaining years. Of course by then, when the next old person nursing home resident passed on, I the orderly would have another part time college job and the RN would have a new job at a higher salary at the Children's hospital. That's the cycle of life I suppose. Someday the RN would be like the old lady who died and I would be like the dead husband.
I am not sure where most people's stuff ends up if they aren't prominent enough to have a presidential museum built to honor their personal items someday or if their daughters aren't organized enough to distribute the things of the deceased among the grand children. I do remember that the janitor there
at the nursing home I worked at would often burn the recently deceased things in the incinerator behind the building. One of my jobs as orderly was to watch the janitor burn the stuff because if the nursing home staff took things that would be considered stealing. I thought it was a little sad then but the janitor was a bit more c'est la vie and would switch the conversation between us to which of the nurses did I think was best built. After the burning I had to race back inside to help the new resident put her memorabilia away. Some times the new old lady would cry and I could see her soul as it was when she was a beautiful young woman. After that I would drive to college for class, and after that I would watch the years fly by.
When I remember working in a nursing home, and things like this little story sometimes I'll have a few beers if it's not too early in the morning, or I'll try to see the grand children, or I'll give some of my relatives a bible or Koran but usually I'll just get rid of some of my junk and stuff early.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Sad it was when I worked in a nursing home as a college student when an old timer, man or woman
died at the nursing home without any surviving spouse or friends or family who cared enough to get their few personal items out of their dresser drawers there in the room after they passed on.
We, the RN Nurse and I the orderly had to hurry and go through the pictures and love notes of some old ladies first boyfriend who her husband never talked about because there at the nursing home another old man or woman needed the room for their last remaining years. Of course by then, when the next old person nursing home resident passed on, I the orderly would have another part time college job and the RN would have a new job at a higher salary at the Children's hospital. That's the cycle of life I suppose. Someday the RN would be like the old lady who died and I would be like the dead husband.
I am not sure where most people's stuff ends up if they aren't prominent enough to have a presidential museum built to honor their personal items someday or if their daughters aren't organized enough to distribute the things of the deceased among the grand children. I do remember that the janitor there
at the nursing home I worked at would often burn the recently deceased things in the incinerator behind the building. One of my jobs as orderly was to watch the janitor burn the stuff because if the nursing home staff took things that would be considered stealing. I thought it was a little sad then but the janitor was a bit more c'est la vie and would switch the conversation between us to which of the nurses did I think was best built. After the burning I had to race back inside to help the new resident put her memorabilia away. Some times the new old lady would cry and I could see her soul as it was when she was a beautiful young woman. After that I would drive to college for class, and after that I would watch the years fly by.
When I remember working in a nursing home, and things like this little story sometimes I'll have a few beers if it's not too early in the morning, or I'll try to see the grand children, or I'll give some of my relatives a bible or Koran but usually I'll just get rid of some of my junk and stuff early.
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