Arrivals and Departures

I'm always delighted by small children and infants, though I am often annoyed at parents who don't keep better control of them in social environments. I was shopping yesterday, and hadn't realized it was 'bring your mewling child to the store with you' day because I was up to my butt in very unhappy, very young people.

When that happens, I go with the flow and get cranky myself. Don't get me wrong-I'm not angry with the children. A newborn didn't decide to get in the car and drive to the store. Mommy did. Or maybe daddy, but based on what I saw yesterday, more than likely not, though mommy probably wishes she knew where daddy was.

I don't know when we became a country of the very young and the very old, but having been the former and now being the latter, let me tell you that all the other age groups, and food groups for that matter, had best start pulling their own weight.

We spend way too much money on diapers and Depends in these parts. We built this nation for our children-that's the deal every generation worked with the one that followed, except now we sold our children and their children out for offshore bank accounts and left them with no skills, no jobs, and no hope.

We're so busy blaming the New World Order and the changing times that we have no time to look in the mirror and look at ourselves. When Gandhi talked about being the change you want to see in the world, he wasn't talking about the change under the couch cushions in the living room. He was talking about all of us to each of us, for everyone.

If being polite means being less than honest, maybe we should ask one another if that's too high a price to pay for comity. We owe each other the unvarnished truth to build the world we all want to live in. Hurt feelings are a luxury we most certainly can afford if they get us to where we need to be.
-bill kenny   

No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

We are a nation (and culture) addicted to fossil fuels. I suppose we had to be addicted to something, and it had to be cheap and it had to be abundant. We became so addicted to it, and shared that addiction around the world so that now everyone has the habit and fossil fuels are no longer the former nor the latter, and yet still addictive.

It wasn't until the seventies when the Arab nations exporting oil realized our dependence was so great we might succumb to the temptation to whore out our own mothers for a tankful of the good stuff for the Winnebago. 

I learned to drive when high test gasoline was less than forty cents a gasoline and the right to always buy it for that price was, we assumed, somewhere in the Constitution. Half a century later, welcome to five bucks plus a pop, and the search for the guilty goes on.

You'd think if we're spending more now on imported oil than we were at the height of the Arab Oil Embargo, that we'd be looking to alternatives to the high costs and dicey supply availabilities we are facing and will face every day of the future as a nation. You might even be tempted to believe the people we elect to represent us in our nation's capital might have more than a passing interest in our future since they share it. But you would be wrong.

First and foremost, they're interested in their own futures, and as we all know, the next election is (always) just around the corner. And when you're running for office, you're only statesmanlike between fundraising dinners on the way to the next baby-kissing contest and county fair. After a while, the audience knows the candidate's stump speech as well, if not better, than s/he knows it themselves. And believes even less of it than they do.

And it must be politics that would have one of the two major parties (the more stupid of the two, in my opinion, and, yes, name-calling never settles anything but I like the feeling), determined to turn the clock back no matter what the rest of the world is up to. 

Meanwhile, the wizards of Washington, so quick to search for the guilty everywhere but in their own mirrors, remain ever vigilant in their dedication to their definition of 'the American Way,' even if neither they nor we have any idea what the hell they are talking about. Just "Drill, Baby, Drill." (and let me know how that works out)

And don't worry about what it all means, because it adds up to nothing written in sand and blown by the wind. We've always been at war with (insert name of your least favorite nation here), and we have the history books to prove it.

If you remember it differently, you remember it wrong, and you've picked the wrong country at a dangerous time to start remembering things wrong. These are times when politicians, finding themselves with cannibals among their constituents, promise them all missionaries for dinner. That way, there's no worry about who would say grace.  
-bill kenny

Two Hooves or Two Wheels?

We've all seen the stickers. I think at one time I may have had one on my bumper, some variant of 'Share the Road with Motorcycles.' I do what I can, when I can.

Driving the other day on Route 12 in Scenic Preston (Preston Chamber of Commerce: that'll be five bucks, please; cash money only and that's per mention so come across quick or the party's over before it starts), I'm heading towards the Pequot Bridge keeping up with the flow of traffic as the intersection widens to three lanes at the light and two of the lanes make a left to go over the bridge towards the back entrance to the Mohegan Sun or to access 395 North or South.

I hear him before I see him so I call him Doug(ie) Doppler (and yeah I know it's bassackwards, but so is bassackwards), a motorcyclist with NO helmet, no leathers, just wraparound shades (the rain finally stops in Southeastern Connecticut and we go all stupid) in the right-hand lane.

I'm on the left because that's where I need to be when I clear the casino ramp) and the guy weaves around to pass on his right the truck in front of him, cuts behind the car in front of the truck so he can ride between that guy and my car, accelerating as he comes alongside, and then darts quickly to his left as his rear tire is parallel to my right front.

He's not in front of me long as he speeds up and slides (don't know what other word to use) between the car in front of me and a bus.

In a flash, he's gone, and I hope he's safe wherever he's going. Meanwhile, I'm alone in my prison on the road, trying to sort out why worrying about motorcycles doesn't seem to be the front lobe priority for those who ride them as they'd like the rest to have. And yeah, I mentioned all the protective clothing, none of which this guy had (or was required to), because Connecticut is a Ride Free State thanks to "Pappy."

I'm hoping all the folks who ride are exercising their freedom of choice and have chosen to sign organ donor cards attached to their operators' licenses. I mean if we're gonna do some outing with motorcycles and watching, I say let's make it interesting and figure out a better and safer way to share the road, since a lot of folks in the motorized boxes don't have to be nice, as we all know, because they've got lots of protection even if they're not paying attention.

I don't ride a motorcycle, but I think my car driver's rule works as well for two wheels as it does for my four. It's NOT my skill or ability on the road that I worry about; it's the other guys', even when it's the other girls,' and as nice as the bikes may be, none of them are a match one-to-one with even a beater. And what's the point of saving fifteen seconds of travel time if you risk being dead forever?

-bill kenny

Nearly Unremarked Upon

Some calendars are always at war with themselves. We had it happen this past weekend with Memorial Day here in the USA and the Feast of Pentecost this past Sunday. I wrote this a very long time ago and think it's survived rather nicely (though how would I know, right?).

Not Just This Wheel's on Fire

As a grade school child, this past Sunday was one of the most difficult days we had all year as Roman Catholics. As a loyal son of Holy Mother Church, I struggled to wrap my head around The Holy Trinity and God as the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost (later changed to Spirit, which I always thought was a great marketing idea, as all I ever thought of was Casper, and I'm pretty sure that wasn't supposed to be the point).

Just as I was getting comfortable with the contradiction of three persons in one Godhead, along comes Pentecost Sunday, and when you're a kid, because you don't know the words 'disquieting' or 'surreal,' you say 'weird' (a lot).

 

Now, as a somewhat world-weary adult, I look at the Gospel of John, usually used as part of the Mass, and envy that school kid with his unthinking faith and belief.

John, say the Scripture scholars, was (at best) reconstructing what might have been said at Christ's last Supper, but because of when those same scholars think the Gospel was written, it's very possible that John, himself, heard none of the words spoken he quotes. 

Ironically, and coming full circle, John himself becomes the proof of his own theory that belief in the divinity of Jesus Christ, taken on faith alone, by those who did not witness his miracles, is at least as powerful as belief by those who were present.

The tongues of fire, we were taught in catechism (when I was in public school and attended religious instruction in the church basement once a week) and later, when at St Peter's in religion class, were to cleanse our hearts and minds of doubts and questions. over seven decades into this journey, I guess they needed to be lot hotter because the former remain and the latter abound.

But, honoring the notion of symmetry and hoping the truth in the lesson is so simple and obvious, even I can grasp it, I cling to the example of John and his testimony of faith and belief in that which he had not seen. No man alive will come to you with another tale to tell. And you know that we shall meet again, if your memory serves you well.

-bill kenny

The Gunner Sleeps Tonight

This isn't anything you've not read before at this time or in this space. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, I sometimes wonder what repetition causes? Still working on an answer.  

This is a rather difficult time to be an American, I think. Lots of us like to wrap ourselves in the flag, and this is an almost ideal opportunity to do that. Today is Memorial Day, another holiday we've moved to a Monday so we can have a three-day weekend with plenty of time for a barbecue, a run to the beach, and some laps at the Brickyard. 

If we work it right, we don't ever or even have to think of those with whom we grew up and with whom we went to school but who never, themselves, grew old, or whose parents and grandparents, having survived the Depression battled fascism to its knees in a worldwide war and their children and their children who have been engaged in a dozen "smallish" wars for the last half a century that all seem to cost lives.

Every town across the country has observances, as do we here in Norwich, Connecticut. The first, as is tradition, is at Taftville's Memorial Park, starting at 10, this year honoring Herman A. Duhaime, who was listed as Missing In Action on December 2, 1950, during the Korean War, and declared deceased in 1954.
And though I'm not a resident of Taftville, I'm always welcomed as you will be.

 

Later in the day, assuming the weather cooperates, there is a parade organized by the City of Norwich and the Norwich Area Veterans Council that will conclude with speeches and moments of silence at half-past two in a memorial ceremony at Chelsea Parade.

On a day usually filled with backyard barbecues and family softball games, the remembrances help us realize war is not an abstract geopolitical game played out on a grand stage by dominant personalities-it is very local, extremely personal, and heartbreakingly private. Those of our neighbors who choose military service have as many reasons for so doing as there are those who so serve. 

And while today we should mark the ultimate sacrifice of those who have served, we can also spare a thought or prayer for those who have survived as well. They bear scars, often invisible and painful, of their struggles that take a lifetime to heal.

We must never lose sight of all of those whose service makes us who we are and to whom we owe a debt more than we can ever repay. They are a call to arms for each of us to be better than we are for ourselves, our children, and our nation.
-bill kenny

Kyrie Eleison

Memorial Day.

Rex tremendae majestatis. Requiem aeternam, Requiem aeternam.
-bill kenny

Repeat as Needed

I offered this last year as the Memorial Day weekend began and people wished one another 'a happy weekend,' ignoring the solemnity of the occasion. Yeah, I can be a horse's behind on things like this.

Maybe just me, but I think sometimes on Memorial Day weekend, we get a little lost with the mattress sales and such. This is from quite  a few years ago and was called:

 

Only the Dead Have Seen the End of War

I couldn't find a picture of a barbecue grill with a rack of ribs and some burgers, so this will have to do, I guess.

Memorial Day 2026.

-bill kenny