tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56180006933218016052024-03-12T20:16:26.187-07:00Hot Rod AnglicanAnglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.comBlogger561125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-4550917601083016122022-06-02T11:30:00.001-07:002022-06-02T11:36:04.382-07:00Poem - A Woman Takes Up Her Calling<p><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A Woman Takes
Up Her Calling</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">Whoso beset her* round<br />
with dismal stories,<br />
do but themselves confound—<br />her* strength the more is.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">(John
Bunyan, “He Who Would Valiant Be”, Verse 2)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Circled by her saboteurs,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Mocked by the Accuser,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Hobbled by provocateurs,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And labeled as a Loser –</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Trying to focus on her goal,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Shutting out their prattle,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Stands the lone creative soul</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In solitary battle.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She hoists up a bipartite freight:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The heft of her vocation</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Added to the ballast weight</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Of adverse cerebration.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Summon all your strength!“ I say,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The thing’s within your reach!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Stand up tall, prepare to slay</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">By action or by speech.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And now she rises to full height,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And now she flies away.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And now puts enemies to flight,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Now merges work with play.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To see a woman thwarted makes me furious.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To see her at full strength -- a thing most glorious!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">©</span>2022
– Paul Erlandson<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">*It is of course “him” and “his” in
Bunyan’s original -- PE<o:p></o:p></p>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-33140139538972181422022-05-22T15:48:00.002-07:002022-05-22T15:49:42.847-07:00 Heroes, Villains, and the Judgment of Charity<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The Heroes and Villains part of this post comes from the great Beach Boys song of that title -- a song which I commend to you all.</span></p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br />The "Judgment of Charity" part comes from something I learned from Fr. <span class="bnpdmtie diy96o5h" spellcheck="false">Steven J. Kelly</span>, although I've also read about it from R. C. Sproul. Basically, the Judgment of Charity is to always to assume the best possible motives for other people. This is the story of how, 15 years late, the Judgment of Charity turned a Villain into a Hero in my mind.<br /><br />It was about 15 years ago, I think, because our daughter <span class="bnpdmtie diy96o5h" spellcheck="false">Violet</span> was about 9, I think. Our family was making our annual summer trek to either Oklahoma or Texas, and we had stopped at a gas station (and convenience store) in Arkansas. We all piled out of the car to use the restroom. On Violet's way back to the car, and older black man approached her and spoke to her: "Are you alright? Is everything okay?"<br /><br />I saw at once what he was thinking -- that a young black girl with a white couple may have been a kidnapping or human trafficking victim. He wanted to make sure that she was getting into our car voluntarily and was not a captive.<br /><br />My reaction at the time was to take offense at this. If I recall, Violet gave him a "are you crazy?" look and walked a bit faster towards the car. I was offended because it seemed wrong, almost racist to me at the time that this man did not consider it within the realm of normality to have a black child raised by white parents. I viewed him (only mildly) as a bit of a Villain.<br /><br />But I think differently now. He took some risk to approach her. I was standing right there, pumping the gas, watching. He put himself out there, just in case there was a chance that she was being coerced. He got involved when he didn't have to, and when it could have cost him something. Hero.</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-55783338966872246882022-03-07T03:18:00.001-08:002022-03-07T03:18:27.788-08:00Christ Church Anglican - Columbus, Ohio<p><span color="var(--primary-text)" style="font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Out with the old; in with the new. The exterior shot is the former location of Christ Church Anglican, our home-away-from-home in Columbus, Ohio. The interior shot is the sanctuary of the new church building in Westerville, Ohio.</span></span></p><p><span color="var(--primary-text)" style="font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Still 1928 BCP and Hymnal 1940!! A wonderful worship service with great people, always!</span></span></p><p><span color="var(--primary-text)" style="font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span color="var(--primary-text)" style="font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCSu3w82Bp9hu3It5-Sb1sZZ-560dO0COW-XW1EphPGxi616UjWk1lR1_8sAuYOnveuXqx0mFgyCz-uPR3Lk7sjN2NoRsde5blJu5CUCxjszJFxlSt4QRl75FhqJgi9CRQBbAfuS2hk6ab_Gr3UKmuaPUDZQ5YNoh8MvLonNx1tI7HvJnb0pXfFvFzHg=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCSu3w82Bp9hu3It5-Sb1sZZ-560dO0COW-XW1EphPGxi616UjWk1lR1_8sAuYOnveuXqx0mFgyCz-uPR3Lk7sjN2NoRsde5blJu5CUCxjszJFxlSt4QRl75FhqJgi9CRQBbAfuS2hk6ab_Gr3UKmuaPUDZQ5YNoh8MvLonNx1tI7HvJnb0pXfFvFzHg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></span></div><span color="var(--primary-text)" style="font-size: 0.9375rem; 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transition-property: opacity; transition-timing-function: var(--fds-animation-fade-out);"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="cwj9ozl2 tvmbv18p" style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 4px;"></div></div></div></div>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-46347315277381598072020-07-23T14:34:00.000-07:002020-07-23T14:34:17.180-07:00Leaving Henry's Building ... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglK7KmoylM3QNUH5kyC3hVn6D8n6k_TqirJ1XH_dbigXXqDbhPWM4Fu0Q7jAi2w4OcRGrP-i3yN4d-XntqSkaGAW7owvhC9brX4Y9tPP9Gd1X_KWH5vdBM38dkbEEfX09tpvMzHaNhGZci/s1600/FEL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="745" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglK7KmoylM3QNUH5kyC3hVn6D8n6k_TqirJ1XH_dbigXXqDbhPWM4Fu0Q7jAi2w4OcRGrP-i3yN4d-XntqSkaGAW7owvhC9brX4Y9tPP9Gd1X_KWH5vdBM38dkbEEfX09tpvMzHaNhGZci/s320/FEL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Who is left among you that saw this house in her first glory? and how do ye see it now? is it not in your eyes in comparison of it as nothing?" (Haggai 2:3)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The consensus of my friends is that I shouldn't be so sad that I'll never work in that glorious Ford Motor Company engineering laboratory building again. When I hired on in 1992, it was the EEE building, and though I didn't work there, multiple shifts of engineers worked there each day. My friend Harland, from Texas, had also moved to Michigan, and worked midnights there. He got me into the building once in the middle of the night, and showed me the pencil markings on the pillar where "H. Ford" had marked his height to compare it against the height of his peers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just kidding -- Henry Ford had no peers. But he did have his office in this exact building, on what is called "mahogany row" for its GORGEOUS mahogany-panelled conference rooms ... where, up until the COVID panic, I was allowed to attend engineering meetings. All that is gone. Or rather, it's there, for the time being. But I'll likely never place my hand on the handle where H. Ford's hand gripped to pull open the ridiculously heavy brass door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To me, places are sacred. Worship spaces especially, which is one reason that Live Streamed church is not real church. But what we think of as "secular" spaces are holy in their own right. And the building I left today forever was among the holiest in Ford Motor Company history. It was later the POEE building (not the best-sounding acronym it ever had) and currently the FEL building. But it means something to me ... the brass, the mahogany, the marble, and the spirit of H. Ford resting about the place, urging me to do better and better work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So amid all your appeals for me to "get over it" and your admonitions that "the world is changing" ... please leave me a little space to be sad about this. Something important is being lost.</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-23393622196896519542019-11-14T07:23:00.000-08:002019-11-14T07:23:50.823-08:00For the Purveyors of Macho Christianity<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have composed this blog entry in my head perhaps half a dozen times over the past ten years, but I never got to the point of typing it all out before, much less posting it. It could ruffle some feathers, and perhaps hurt some feelings. I didn't want to do that. But the particular kind of Christian leader who pushes this kind of "hard-edged men / soft women" teaching has driven me to the point of actually writing the thing down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's the teaching in a nutshell: God has made men and women to be very distinct. They have different acceptable gender roles, and should pursue different sets of virtues. Men are to pursue the hard, aggressive, combative virtues, and women the soft, nurturing virtues. Additionally, we must look the part. Most of these teachers mock men who choose not to wear beards as being not fully Christian and not fully male. They do things like form pipe (or cigar) clubs at the churches they pastor. They may cultivate a taste for single malt whiskey. They talk about pirates and warriors and sports. A lot.<br /><br />The motivation for at least some of these purveyors of macho Christianity is not hard to find. Our entire culture is howling wasteland of gender dysphoria. They seek to clarify male and female roles. Typical of the burden they lay on people is the responsibility of every Christian to emphasize, as far as possible, the differences between males and females.<br /><br />And, for the male Christian, their prescription can be boiled down to a single word: hardness. Christian men should be courageous, strong, immovable, unyielding, but mostly hard as (well, you fill in the blank).<br /><br />The thing is, nearly all these Christian priests, pastors, and thought leaders are fat. They are incredibly soft. Maybe if they were not sitting at 20 to 25% body fat, I would take serious what they say about the hardness, and about being warriors in training for battle. But, with a few notable exceptions, they are fat or even obese. I know one priest who competes in bodybuilding and other who runs marathons. Perhaps I could stand to hear such a teaching from one of them. But not from these doughnut-scarfing fatties.<br /><br />So to you fat purveyors of hard-edged Christianity for males: Just stop! You look ridiculous doing it!</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-54554404396254572722019-11-12T07:19:00.000-08:002019-11-12T07:19:14.372-08:00A (new) Poem in Praise of Scar Tissue<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Scar Tissue</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How often I have bloodied up these hands,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These arms, upon some jagged engine block,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or on the razored shrouds of cooling fans,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And left upon my flesh a mark or pock.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">O opener of many lesions, Thou,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who rule the world we were allowed to spoil;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">God of the thistle and the sweaty brow,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ordainer of the blood of all our toil --</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These scars are very agents of your grace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We might have bled to death from modest cuts,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except new tissue fills each wounded place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scar tissue heals us from those bloody ruts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The scars are stark and most corporeal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They neither fade, nor leave our lives to cease;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But of each hurt they make memorial,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And from each gaping wound they grant release.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">© 2019, Paul Erlandson</span><br />
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Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-74148975527712119762019-07-17T09:56:00.001-07:002019-07-17T09:56:53.610-07:00The Rival (a Poem I Wrote for My Wife 5 Years Ago)<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My wife likes birds. She is smitten with the cardinals that are with us in the good weather. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Rival<br /><br />My lady arises and opens the shade,<br />And bends at the waist to peer out of the pane,<br />Where my rival intones his melodious refrain.<br />I lie on our cool morning bed, yet unmade.<br /><br />His love song enthralls her, she hears and obsesses.<br />No part of her mind is on me or our bed.<br />Her thoughts are ablaze with his feathery red.<br />I gaze on the form her brief nightgown caresses.<br /><br />On guard, my opponent, I’m stealing your tune!<br />I’ll learn it, refine it, and bring it alive.<br />I shall serenade her at five-forty-five,<br />And steal her attention away from you soon.<br /><br />But no, there’s your color. She aches for a glimpse <br />Of your bright apparel. My clothing is lame.<br />I’ll hie me to Kohl’s™, for a shirt bright as flame!<br />My color, not yours, shall then capture her glance.<br /><br />But, no, there’s your flying; she loves you for this.<br />Had she wings of her own and the power of flight, <br />She’d fly off to find you, and with you alight. <br />You’ve won her, my rival, by bringing her bliss.<br /><br />But still I’ll adore her fine form from this view,<br />And watch her as closely as she watches you.<br /><br /><br />© 2014, Paul Erlandson</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-82526726723480233302019-05-02T08:54:00.001-07:002019-05-02T08:54:20.147-07:00Language<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3r53n-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span style="color: white font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I like hearing English spoken with many and varied accents. I remember that at my company, more than 20 years ago, there was an Accent Reduction Team, formed by Indian-American engineers who felt that their career fortunes would improve if they spoke like native Michiganders. I remember objecting at the time, stating that I loved to hear English spoken by my Indian-born colleagues. The musical lilt they gave to my native tongue was something wonderful to the ear.
Whenever God reverses a curse, he does more than simply put things back to the way they were before the curse. So, when God in Christ redeemed the world, he did not simply put men back to the original Edenic state. No, he went far beyond that, taking humanity into Himself in the Person of Jesus Christ. Thus, a Redeemed person is even more blessed than an unFallen person.
It is the same with language. When God reversed Babel's curse, He did not merely put us back to a common language such as Esperanto. No, He did something FAR more glorious. He allowed us to keep the rich diversity of languages, and one step beyond that. He allowed us to have each language spoken in a plethora of accents. The whole things is just so rich and beautiful and glorious. It is far more than a simple utilitarian solution of allowing us to comprehend each other's words. It is a majestic amplification and magnification of language. It is a phenomenal enrichment of human experience.</span></span></div>
Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-71535574867100364022019-04-26T11:33:00.003-07:002019-04-26T11:33:46.890-07:00Another New Poem - The Small Commission<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The Small Commission</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When school yearbooks are thrust forth to be signed,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We give out life advice. We speak our mind,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And charge our classmates to keep some small vow:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Recall our good times!” “Stay as you are now!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As Christ did with his Great Commission bind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His church to teach and baptize all mankind,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So do the yearbook’s Small Commissions urge</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Obedience to some much less solemn charge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If we look back to that glad time remote,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shall we have held to what our friends then wrote?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Were Small Commissions in our hearts enshrined?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or were their words forgotten over time?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, one of these at least I’ve kept so far:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Dear Paul, please stay as crazy as you are!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">©<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> 2019, Paul Erlandson</span></span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-67639661925564672612018-12-24T05:11:00.002-08:002018-12-24T05:11:38.785-08:00Merry Christmas - 2018<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For this year's Christmas cards, we are recycling and old poem of mine from 1997. Here it is:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsbMKO7EebpoFEj3xKNQgqkkXSPSzgojtydGR2Oqkk5mGpbW_9o4IH3zgd9hKgPd1OPtYLOjmKR8SzlSKolIIPQOrnY4SF-z5IYDiIcd3lHSosGxkCEiSyjkJxIbYRjjCZD5jZjQSuN9C/s1600/Night_Operations.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1289" data-original-width="897" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsbMKO7EebpoFEj3xKNQgqkkXSPSzgojtydGR2Oqkk5mGpbW_9o4IH3zgd9hKgPd1OPtYLOjmKR8SzlSKolIIPQOrnY4SF-z5IYDiIcd3lHSosGxkCEiSyjkJxIbYRjjCZD5jZjQSuN9C/s400/Night_Operations.png" width="277" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-89191136525408344232018-12-09T04:25:00.002-08:002018-12-09T04:25:44.023-08:00A Prayer (Poem?) of Thanksgiving<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, I give thanks for the circular (trigonometric) functions, for rising and falling, advancing and receding, cresting and troughing, swelling and shrinking, for every wave, for all things periodic, for the seasons, for weal and woe, for the song of the cicada, for rising up and for lying down, for eccentric and concentric contractions, for spinning cranks and reciprocating pistons, for sine, cosine, and tangent, and for all the variegated vibrations of this life. Amen.</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-15257907348909196042018-08-01T10:32:00.000-07:002018-08-01T10:39:06.412-07:00A New Poem - Gifts for the Pawn Shop Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTEUkKMPOsNmD8Y47Jyi9Cn-7XGjVhA97nLzNXHQeUx6vH3pbgRU4CExzGD0hny9qk0XuG9dTJWaLGGIzJ4cd2YYlv3niroJAe8hVkoCHvmIS7kKApZWy_-xMS9adbOznfDjYxLfNj_lw/s1600/Gifts_for_the_Pawn_Shop_Man2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="482" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTEUkKMPOsNmD8Y47Jyi9Cn-7XGjVhA97nLzNXHQeUx6vH3pbgRU4CExzGD0hny9qk0XuG9dTJWaLGGIzJ4cd2YYlv3niroJAe8hVkoCHvmIS7kKApZWy_-xMS9adbOznfDjYxLfNj_lw/s640/Gifts_for_the_Pawn_Shop_Man2.png" width="376" /></a></div>
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<br />Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-45594949259125802252018-05-14T07:26:00.002-07:002018-05-14T07:26:53.690-07:00Another Old Poem - "Mansmith"<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This poem is from 2005.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Mansmith</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Inventor of Inventors,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Father of parents,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Judge of judges,<br />Almighty God, I honour Thee.<br /><br />Teacher of teachers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">High priest of priests,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Servant of servants,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Son of God, I adore Thee.<br /><br />Architect of architects,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Healer of physicians,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lover of lovers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Holy Ghost, I embrace Thee.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Author of authors,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cultivator of gardeners,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sculptor of sculptors,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thou great Mansmith, I worship thee.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2005, Paul W. Erlandson</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-81199363869278621112018-05-14T07:08:00.000-07:002018-05-14T07:08:09.342-07:00Old Poem - "Pwned"<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is a poem I wrote back in 2007. See <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pwn">this link</a> for background on the word "pwned."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Pwned</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By my love, my heart is pwned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">On love's whetstone it is hwned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And her body, taut and twned</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Makes me tremble, as if stwned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oft in loneliness I grwned,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Till she emailed me, or phwned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Then to her my poor heart mwned;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">"Thou art on my heart enthrwned!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">© 2007, Paul W. Erlandson</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-50366973758620316652018-05-08T11:59:00.002-07:002018-05-08T11:59:15.622-07:00(New Poem) -- Internal Combustion – Vision for a New Dark Age<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Internal Combustion – Vision for a New Dark Age</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Come with me, child, past all this camouflage.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Is there a secret garden there, Grandpa?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Not quite. It’s just a small, padlocked garage,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To keep out the enforcers of the law.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I keyed the lock, and lifted up the door</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For just the time it took us to walk in.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bulb inside was 60 Watts, not more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I closed the door, and she began to grin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What’s that, Grandpa? It’s like Ezekiel’s wheels!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or like some dragon, full of majesty!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“That, my girl, is called an automobile,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The way that God intended it to be.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“In old times, men were brave and women fierce.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We steered our own machines, commanded flame</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With pulsing, violent roar I know would pierce</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The souls of timid moderns, grown too tame.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“’Autonomous’, back then, pertained to men</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And women, whom these brute machines obeyed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But now, we’ve yielded all control to them,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To these completely soulless cars we’ve made.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“May I please touch it Gramps?” she asked me, keen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh, I insist!” I said. “Learn every curve.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She moved with reverence to the machine,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And measured it with heart and hand and verve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Imagine now the thundering exhaust,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And rubber smoke from crisply chirping tires.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Imagine mankind not enslaved to Cost,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But free to race, the way the heart desires.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“These were not fashioned by some gamer geek,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But crafted out of elbow grease and passion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Their power would make faint the modern meek,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And cause their sissy faces to turn ashen.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“These fire-belching dragons we adored</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Commanded our respect but not our fear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, here’s to Harley Earl and Henry Ford,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And everyone to ever grind a gear.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Their spirit, child, I see it in your eyes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or else I’d not have brought you here to see</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What others of your age would just despise.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But you will keep this car alive for me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Alive for some bright day when, once again, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The riotous act of driving is reclaimed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then, you will start this hot rod, and weak men</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shall gaze upon its glory and be shamed.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">© 2018, Paul W. Erlandson</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-43748060249081657042018-04-24T08:21:00.000-07:002018-04-24T08:21:59.665-07:00A new poem - "The New Christian"<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The New Christian</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Make way, make way, I now believe the truth!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m here to show you all a better way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pay no heed to my ignorance or youth,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But let my zeal and earnestness hold sway!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve got a few choice verses memorized,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To cause all unbelievers to convert.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My former friends will all be quite surprised,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To see me as a Gospel extrovert.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The hour is near when Christ returns to reign,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So time is short, and humor is a waste,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And making future plans is all in vain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In these Last Days, the watchword must be “haste!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I must prepare my soul for His return;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll make sure it’s all sparkly and clean.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll get so holy, people’s eyes will burn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like Moses, I will need to wear a screen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I’ll not only sanctify <i>my</i> soul –</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll earnestly convict all those around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Extinguishing their sins shall be my goal,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Each one in Piety’s chill waters drowned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, no, my friends, no time to share your feast,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No time to plow or sow, no time to marry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But maybe just a brief head nod, at least,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If for one moment more the Lord should tarry.</span><br />
<br />
© 2018, Paul W. ErlandsonAnglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-16601199756563755782018-02-02T06:51:00.000-08:002018-02-02T06:51:08.098-08:00Incident at CVS (in which it is discovered that, yes, perhaps I am a Racist after all) ...<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
This happened yesterday at the CVS at Newburgh & 5 Mile. I went there to get some zinc lozenges to ward off the cough from the guy at work who refuses to stay home even though he is hacking up pieces of his broken lung (so to speak).
In the back, near the cold remedies, I saw a young black mom with her 3 or 4 year old son. The kid was all bundled up against the Winter chill, like Ralphie in Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story." The woman was slim, and wore stylish plum trousers and Spanish-heeled ankle boots. The boy was asking for a toy, and though I couldn't hear her reply, it sounded as if she was going to refuse him. And that's when I had a thought I later regretted: I thought, if she can't afford to buy the kid a toy, maybe I'll offer to get it for him.
But then my mind became engaged in finding the right kind of CVS generic ZiCam knock-off, which can be tricky. By the time I found the right stuff, the mom and son had walked off to the checkout. But, as fate would have it, I walked up to the checkout line right behind them. The kid was clutching a toy, so Mom had indeed agreed to buy him what he wanted. But now, he was holding a small bag of chocolate candy in his other (left) hand. And that's when I began to see what a great mother this woman was. The boy held up the candy and looked at his mother beseechingly.
"What about this?" he asked, with his sad brown puppy dog eyes.
"What about it?" asked the mom.
The kid seemed stymied. Surely his mom must know what he meant. He wanted the candy in addition to the toy. Finally, he managed to softly say something to her, indicating that he would like the candy as well as the toy.
"Maybe next time we come to CVS," Mom answered.
"OK," the boy said, and put the candy back on the hanger he'd taken it from. His face was angelic. Compliant. He clearly adored and respected his mother. And then, it hit me about how evil my thought was of intruding on this amazing lady's mothering. She CLEARLY had everything well in hand. But even if she had not, my idea would have been a usurpation of her parental office of the rankest variety. In fact, it represented a treacherous attempt to sabotage the good work she had already done in raising her son.
But not only that. Would I have had the same thought if this had been a young white mother? Possibly not. And then it hit me: The Bigotry of Low Expectations! How many times had I complained about Leftists when they exhibited this pernicious trait? A lot. And now I had been guilty of it.
By now, the mom and son were gone, and I was paying for my items. But I caught up to them again in the parking lot. Their vehicle was parked next to my salt-white, once-orange Fiesta. I had caught them because it had taken Mom a while to fasten Junior into his car seat.
I gave a smile and a grimace at the same time, as she zoomed off in her nice, clean, late-model Mercedes.</span></span>
Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-77198283575523280282017-12-14T07:51:00.000-08:002017-12-14T07:51:57.201-08:00Poem for Our 32nd Anniversary<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: .5in;">
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Power of Two</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">(for Cindy on our 2<sup>5</sup>
Wedding Anniversary)<span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Two-to-the-fifth years of both
weal and woe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">All of those wedding guests,
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thirty-two years ago: ring,
kiss, and vow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Where is the face of that
company now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Two for a honeymoon, four till
we moved;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Eight for adoption to double
our love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sixteen for schooling the
children God gave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thirty-two closer to rest in
the grave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Doubling and doubling again
down the years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Two, four, eight, sixteen,
each new power premiers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Doublings of joy, love, and
high adoration;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Growing by binary
multiplication.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thus do our marital blessings
accrue,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Exponents, both, for the power
of two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">--Paul Erlandson, 2017</span></span></div>
Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-40324583391312481572017-12-06T11:26:00.000-08:002017-12-06T11:26:19.049-08:002nd Annual Shinoda (Slot Car) Reunion!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's almost time for the 2nd Annual "Shinoda Reunion", to be held at Downriver Speedway in Lincoln Park, Michigan. Saturday, December 16. Doors open and Noon. Racing begins at 5pm.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEX_GIJpoIfBirHyBbOxEro6NOLjiwu59lmMkbJzVE9hHNVeaekYVtz_PuyTRl0Qo1_bLHj77iYuzfeyGbCxGcOwiBei26RbJoygeRFK_7xc885W4oNpQzqT2O3-7UIKkAx_Ecn-wTalB/s1600/Shinoda_Reunion_Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="1200" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEX_GIJpoIfBirHyBbOxEro6NOLjiwu59lmMkbJzVE9hHNVeaekYVtz_PuyTRl0Qo1_bLHj77iYuzfeyGbCxGcOwiBei26RbJoygeRFK_7xc885W4oNpQzqT2O3-7UIKkAx_Ecn-wTalB/s320/Shinoda_Reunion_Poster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is one of the entries that has been sent in to be raced by proxy. This is a scratch-built, period-correct "Detroit Slider" style Thingie slot car. The body is a Shinoda "Bullet" created by Gene Adams. I've seen this in person, and it is exquisite! It belongs in an art museum.</span></div>
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Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-5813697625461474912017-12-06T07:00:00.002-08:002017-12-06T07:00:26.160-08:00Lindsay Shepherd - Canadian University Goons Deny Her Free Speech<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is long, but SUPER important!</span><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" nbsp="" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vpFUvfAvKs4"></iframe>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-72610387311869258722017-12-01T11:17:00.000-08:002017-12-01T11:17:11.849-08:00Poem - Beatrice Does My Laundry<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More than other men, grief-torn or merry,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That history has thought worthy of note,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I honor and adore great Alighieri,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And not alone for all the poems he wrote,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But for his tears of ecstasy and grief,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which Dante wept and distilled into verse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of sufferers-from-love he was the chief,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His depth of feeling both blessing and curse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to call on Dante, in the past,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For intercession in some special case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For years, he made no answer, but at last<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He spoke as clear as one speaks face to face:<br />
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“Look here, my son, what does this madness mean,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That you, the rich, play supplicant to me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To watch my love, I had to find a ‘screen’,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But you can watch your love completely free!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For you have wife and muse in self-same soul,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And every poem you write her, you can sign.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your love can both fulfil the Beatrice role,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And kiss you as the clock is striking nine.”<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took his sense, and troubled him no more:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wealthy must not beg alms of the poor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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© 2017, Paul Erlandson<br />
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Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-23976123620331943852017-11-30T09:33:00.000-08:002017-11-30T09:33:44.724-08:00Eliot Erlandson Interviewed about Thingies and the 2017 Shinoda Reunion!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My son Eliot is becoming a big wig in the sub-sub-subculture of vintage Thingie slot car racing! Check out this interview with him:</span><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" nbsp="" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Yq2hJ32hsdw?rel=0"></iframe>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-82875782536650424522017-11-01T07:01:00.001-07:002017-11-01T07:01:08.330-07:00Top 10 Ways My Parents Gave Us the Best Childhood EVER<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was thinking this morning what a great childhood I had. It made me want to capture some of the things that my parents did well in raising us four kids. So, here are my Top 10 Reasons my parents gave us the greatest childhood.<br /><br />1. Raising us in Champaign, Illinois. Okay, this one may have been partially just luck. But I have to say that Champaign was the optimum place to raise kids, because of the diversity of experience it provided. Just across Duncan Rd to our West was a vast cornfield. It's still there, in fact. A few miles to the East was the University of Illinois with all of its rich cultural opportunities.<br /><br />2. Books! Our parents had books all over the house. It was like living in a library. I could just wander along a bookshelf until some title captured my imagination, take down the book, and begin reading. This was how I came to read <i>The Autobiography of Malcolm X</i> at age 9.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Exposure to Dad's work colleagues. My dad had some interesting, brilliant, and quirky friends at work. Often they would come and visit our house. Sometimes, we would visit their homes. I never felt as if my parents were chasing us away when they had adult company. We got to be there, and had equal access to these fascinating people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Music. Mom and Dad had a pretty decent sized record collection. It had a fairly wide range, so that we were exposed to multiple styles: classical, jazz, pop, folk, and country. They also paid for me and my sister to take piano lessons. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. Hosting missionaries in our home. Several times, Christian missionaries (mostly ones supported by the local church we attended) were guests in our homes. This gave us a look at the larger world, and an inside view of the work of Christian missionaries.<br /><br />6. Hard work, competition, and capitalism. My dad was an officer in the USMC, so he had very stringent standards about shining shoes and boots. He set up a competition between us kids. Every week, one of us shined his left work shoe, and the other one shined the right shoe. We got paid 10 cents for this. But it was also a contest. After we were done, he judged who had done the better job. That kid got to shine one of the shoes the next week (and thus, keep earning dimes). The one who didn't win had to step down and make room for another challenger the following week. This one simple exercise taught us so many life lessons.<br /><br />7. The Gospel. Before all else, our parents were Evangelical Christians. So they were careful to explain the Gospel to us in ways we could understand. Their care and concern for our salvation was continuous and obvious.<br /><br />8. Anti-Racism. Our parents had friends of other races. They were welcome in our home, and we in theirs. For a while, we drove the kids from a black family across town to Sunday School and Church with us. I had no idea that this kind of thing was rare in 1967 or 1968. Once, after dropping this family off at home after church, I made what can be considered a racist remark. I was about ten years old. The gravity and almost violence of my father's response against this (as well as his detailed explanation of why I was wrong to say what I did) shaped the entire rest of my life.<br /><br />9. Poetry. For a Marine Corps officer, my dad sure had a lot of poetry memorized. He understood it, too. But most of all, he made us know that poetry was not some unmanly pursuit.<br /><br />10. They stayed married. Of course, they had their difficult moment, like any married couple. But they got through them and stayed together. They're still together.</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-70412390804504592352017-10-29T03:58:00.000-07:002017-10-29T03:58:22.631-07:00Jagged and Smooth<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the closest account I am able to give of a very complex dream from which I have just awaken. I know that many details are wrong, but I hope to catch the essence of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as I was "in" the dream this morning, I realized that it was a repetition or continuation of the same dream I had had once before. I don't know how we know that in our dreams, but I knew it. The rules of the thing were at once familiar to me.<br /><br />I am sad that I cannot remember the exact two words or phrases used in the dream, so "Jagged" and "Smooth" are only approximate substitutes. The dream revolved around an anonymous fiction-writing site. The site was a collection of stories, each published under a pseudonym, and each purporting to illustrate either the principle of Jaggedness or the principle of Smoothness. I was one of the authors. I believe that I had authored about three stories (say, Jagged 13, Jagged 37, and Smooth 40).<br /><br />To try to get your story added to the <i>Jagged and Smooth</i> website, you had to electronically submit your manuscript (from 400 to 10,000 words) and the webmaster decided whether you made the cut or not. The stories were posted chronologically from oldest to newest.<br /><br />I couldn't be sure, but I think that at the end of some period of years, there was supposed to be some kind of party at which all the authors could meet each other. But one of the author's works were so compelling to me that I wanted to meet him without having to wait that long. It was some of the most amazing writing I had ever seen.<br /><br />I don't know how I found the author, who turned out to be a woman in her late twenties. I met her out at her farm in the country, and we spoke outside. She had a few small creatures (like large insects, but I don't think they were insects) that I had never seen before. She seemed a little distressed to be talking to me before the date on which the authors were supposed to be revealed. But she also seemed flattered by the things I said about her writing, and she somewhat excitedly answered my questions about her stories.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, now I wonder: Could or should such a site be created? It wouldn't have to be Jagged/Smooth. It could be Bitter/Sweet or something similar. I think the problem would be getting good authors to contribute to it. And then, even if good authors were to find the site, they'd have to be willing to work on the writing with no immediate accolades.</span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618000693321801605.post-50991382552798996052017-10-17T12:18:00.002-07:002017-10-17T12:18:32.823-07:00Electronic Screens, Adventure, and the Cultivation of Intuition<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is all the rage these days to cast aspersions on the ubiquitous electronic screens that seem to rule our lives now. Often, we write them down and then post them via those same devices, that others may partake of our rants. But, contrarian that I am, I would like to say some things in defense of the screens.<br /><br />When I was seeking my Texas Teacher Certification back around 1984, I took a class in Math Methods from the department head of the School of Mathematics at Texas A&M. It turned out to be one of the most revolutionary courses I ever took, not only for my teaching career, but for life in general. The professor spoke convincingly about the efficacy of <b>guessing</b> in Mathematics (though he recommended we use the word <i>conjecture</i> in place of <i>guess</i>, for pragmatic reasons). Often, the best and fastest way to solve a problem is to adventurously step out into the void with a guess, a first approximation of the answer. How that approximation stacks up against the constraints of the problem (e.g., governing equations) very often leads to a way to achieve a much better second guess, if not an exact solution.<br /><br />Later, in my automotive engineering career, it occurred to me that (though powerful computers now did most of the "thinking" for me) nearly 100% of the problems I solved at work were solved through making an initial guess, and then making successively better approximations to the solution. The world is a complicated place. Engineering school (even at the graduate level) can give you a false impression of this, because an inordinate amount of time is often spent on one or two of the very few problems which have derive-able, closed-form solutions. In truth, it is a statistically insignificant number (i.e., basically 0%) of the world's problems for which a closed-form solution may be found. Almost always, engineering problems are solved by some method of iterative guessing (I mean, <i>conjecture</i>), such as Newton's Method.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In that Math Methods class, our professor emphasized the importance of developing mathematical <b>intuition</b>. This cuts against the grain of the old, now largely defunct "just show me the exact steps to solve this kind of problem" approach, and you can see this in the obscene anger expressed against (so-called) Common Core math methods on the internet, from people who are apparently too timid to guess, or whose Math teachers a few decades ago told them never to do so. But intuition is extremely powerful. It can be developed. But you have to be brave, to get out of your comfort zone to do so. You have to have the temerity to experiment, to guess. You have to risk being "wrong."<br /><br />If you are old, as I am, did you ever stop to wonder why four-year-olds seem quicker to pick up new technology and more agile at operating electronic devices than we oldsters? It is often chalked up to the idea that young people have more nimble minds, and I won't try to dispute that. But I think there is a greater reason: kids are not afraid to guess. They are not afraid to push the wrong button and see what happens. And what happens, eventually, is that they develop very good intuitions about how the electronic world operates.<br /><br />Or, if you will, consider the opposite end of the spectrum. Have you ever had occasion to help an elderly relative adapt to a newly-acquired electronic device? I have a friend whose parents didn't understand where to type an internet address into their internet browser. Instead, they made Google their home page, and then typed the web address into the Google search field. It worked often enough that they could usually find what they were looking for. But any four-year-old could have shown them a better way. It is even worse if you need to teach a complex, multi-step task, such as:<br /><br />1. Go to a certain website. Fill out the fields there.<br />2. Use a button on the website to export your answer to a PDF file on your computer.<br />3. Find the PDF file in your Downloads directory (wherever that is!) and move it to another directory. CTRL-C and CTRL-V may help here.<br />4. Rename the file. Click the current name until the entire name is highlighted and then type in the new name. Hit "RETURN."<br />5. Open Outlook and send the renamed PDF file to two different addresses in your Outlook address book. (Oh, but you'll have to know how to navigate to the folder where the PDF file now resides.)<br /><br />Depending on the task at hand, there can be dozens or even hundreds of steps. If one does not develop an intuition about these things, complex tasks can be very daunting indeed. And that's for identical, repetitive tasks. When faced with a brand new task, and without calling someone else in to help, you have nothing but intuition upon which to rely. Your screen is filled with a few hundred tiny icons, perhaps, some of which may not be visible at first. Where to begin? You just have to make a guess. You have to adventurously click on something, do some poking around, and see what you can find.<br /><br />I submit to you that all of these electronic screens have done a fabulous job of developing our intuition. They have made our minds more nimble, more resilient. They have required us to be better problem-solvers, braver souls, better at guessing. This leads us to be better thinkers in the final analysis. It can help us to find a globally optimum solution rather than being satisfied with a locally optimum one. In some of the Math and Physics classes I taught, I used an exercise that works to do this same thing. There was a problem. Say, estimate the height of a tower. The students were required to come up with the craziest, zaniest ways to do this. There is the obvious Trigonometric method. There are Physics-based solutions (e.g., drop a ball from the top of the tower, and time how long it takes to hit the ground). Maybe you chop down the tower and stack pennies from one the base of the tower to the tip. Then, you multiply the number of pennies by the diameter of a penny. There are so, so many ways. And humanity is greatly enriched by cultivating the kind of imagination that does not stop at the first method found.<br /><br />So, I submit to you that all of these electric "screens" everyone is so distressed about are actually making us better thinkers, and giving us more agile minds. It is something to be thankful for.<br /></span>Anglican Beach Partyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04775953413487218314noreply@blogger.com0