From Thought to Praise

I've said before that I have been very much affected by the book Death on a Friday Afternoon by Fr. Richard John Neuhaus. It fairly shattered all my previous thoughts about God, sacrifice, and mercy. I still find myself ruminating over Neuhaus' words, having read the book twice now and working on a third pass.

One concept he introduced to me, and I'm shocked I had never came across it before, is the idea that Theology becomes Doxology. In less academic terms, thinking honestly about God turns into praise of Him, His grace, and His glory. A doxology by the way is typically a short hymn of praise.

It works like that, you know. When you think about all God has done for you, when you consider 'All the works thy Hands have made', seen the stars, heard the rolling thunder, 'Thy power throughout the universe displayed' you cannot help but proclaim How Great Thou Art!

Theology becomes doxology. I think this is very true.

What Difference Does it Make?

There was once a plumber who came to our Shop who was a bit rough around the edges. I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Cloyce was a good guy and a good plumber just, as I said, rough around the edges. Gruff. He was also from England. Not that that matters, except to the story.

One day as he waited for me to put a new cord on his Electric Eel Model C (Electric Eel: for all your drain cleaning needs) I decided to engage him in conversation and to satisfy my curiosity about a question. "So where exactly in England are you from, Cloyce?" I asked.

He asked in return, "Do you know England very well?"

"No, not really," I replied honestly.

"Then what the (insert common expletive here) difference does it make?"

I was initially surprised, then I laughed out loud. It was vintage Cloyce.

He was from Norwich, just so you know. Although I don't know what the (insert common expletive here) difference it makes.

Reviewing Reviewers

I spent most of this morning reading reviews of my own books. It's a valuable way to measure how good or bad they may be. Of course, I like my writing. But my opinion of me is quite skewed.

The extremes you can toss off without much thought. There's the occasional one which gushes as though I've written the Great American Novel. I haven't. My books are decent enough but won't be mentioned in literature courses two hundred years from now. Then there's reviews which rip a book to shreds. I pass over those equally. I think I can honestly say nothing of mine is shallow or amateurish. Yet for whatever reason the reader was horribly offended. Oh well.

It's the ones which are constructive, or at least are obviously trying to be, which are the most useful even where I disagree. I've been told I use too many adverbs. I'm not sure that I do, but the issue comes up enough that I need to consider it. Similarly, a book is occasionally dinged as in need of a professional edit. That might be useful, I admit. Yet those things cost (one to two thousand dollars is not unusual), and I'm not sure there's a real return on investment there, at least at this stage of my literary career. As I'm doing this writing thing mostly on a hope and a prayer, I'm set to do what promotion I can on the cheap and see how it all plays out.

On the whole, things look good. Each book (five are currently available) ranks between 4.3 and 4.7 on Amazon's five star scale, and the general interest readers appear to like them. And that's my intended audience. Not grammar geeks, though grammar is far more important than we think, but folks who just like to read. Enough so to give even my scribbles a chance.

By the way, my books are available online. It's true! Just click any of the following: David Gideon A Subtle Armageddon Michael's Story The Interim Generation and Family Lore

Rudolph's New Year

We're in that special time of year where there are specials. Many, many specials. Most of them are Christmas shows, repeated in many cases for eons. Some of them probably should never again see the light of day. But the television schedule must be filled, so the good is repeated with the bad.

Rankin-Bass (purveyors of many holiday programs, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer likely the most well known and loved) in an obvious attempt to take advantage of sentimentality, in 1975 created a New Year's special featuring our nasally powerful friend.

It isn't good. I caught it on last night (New Year's Eve) and could have spent my time better. But one thing about it left me laughing. It was surely unintentionally funny, and maybe only my warped mind thinks so. 

To cut to the chase, when a new year rings in 'old' year retires to an individually chosen island where it stays his year forever. The island of 1889, for example, stays locked in 1889 for all times. It serves the plot, I suppose. You don't want to kill off a character, in this case an old man who represents the passing year, in a kid's show.

My question is this. If each island stays a given year, does that mean that the island of 1352 repeats the Black Plague forever? In 1883, must Krakatoa constantly erupt? Does 1943 live the Battle of Stalingrad over and over again? How about Rome getting sacked day in and day out by barbarians on island 476? Must Bill Buckner constantly have that ground ball hop through his legs from the 1986 World Series for all times, for crying out loud? None of that sounds like retirement. It sounds like Hell.

I'm just asking.

I Am What I Am

Years ago I fixed a drain snake while a customer waited because he was stuck. "You're my hero!" he said as he paid for the job.

"I'm no hero, I'm just a guy who fixes drain snakes," I modestly replied.

Yesterday a guy came into the old barn desperate for eight cables and a particular drain cleaning tool. I had it all. "Man, you are amazing!" I was told.

'Nah, I'm not amazing. I'm only a guy who sells drain snakes." 

It is nice to be complimented, to be well thought about. But humility is a good thing too.

Besides, what I am is magnificent. Get your adjectives right.

The Power of Charlie Brown

Everyone loves Charlie Brown, the central character of the Peanuts world. Well, perhaps after Snoopy. 

There have been many Peanuts TV specials, in the area of 50 if memory serves. The best loved one is surely A Charlie Brown Christmas. I get chills at both Linus retelling the Nativity story, and especially when the gang leaps into Hark the Herald Angels Sing at the end. The show is rightly viewed (heh, heh, I just had to get the pun in) as a classic.

Did you know it single handedly destroyed the aluminum Christmas tree industry? Those of us old enough to remember recall the metal Christmas trees of the 1960s. 

As Linus and Charlie Brown are walking through a Christmas tree stand (right before discovering the sad little real tree) they lamented all the artificial trees available. One of them, I think it was Charlie but no matter, tapped an obvious metal one. It sounded like an empty oil drum. And on that scene alone, people virtually quit buying aluminum trees. 

Charlie Brown. He has the power of life and death over entire businesses.

Grandma's kitschy tree

Of all the family Christmas trees I remember I think I remember me Grandma Cosgriffs as the most interesting. She didn't seem, if my memory serves me much (quiet Ron) to have this particular one for very long. It makes an appearance in the Charlie Brown Christmas special though, in the tree lot where he gets what turned out to be the beautiful little real tree.

Be that as it may, I think we've all seen ones like me Grandma's. It was silver (or maybe white; Ron may be right to chide me about my memory) and sitting in front facing it was a slow turning, fan like thing. But it had a flat, circular pan rather than blades on it. The pan had three colors, red, blue, and green I believe, with a light behind them. As the pan spun, it lit the tree the different colors, and even mixings of the colors, as it turned.

These days we might, might, call it kitschy. The odd tree was a source of bemusement for me. It never seemed like Christmas. And even then, it struck me as unlike me Grandma to care for anything so, well, so modern. It felt really out of place in her living room.

As I say, I don't think she had it for very long, perhaps a couple or three years. And I suppose, seeing it impressed me enough that I remember it somehow,  even vaguely fondly, it qualifies as a good Christmas memory. Gotta admit, I am smiling over it right now.