This is my second blog.

My first blog chronicled my experiences over three years caring for my dad as he lived through and finally died from Alzheimer's. That is the book that is for sale.

This second blog kind of chronicles of life, what it is like to start your life over in your late 50's. After caretaking, you are damaged, file bankruptcy, and the world doesn't care what you did. After 8 months of unemployment, you wake each day knowing the world doesn't want you. Finally you do find a job, 5 weeks before homelessness, but doing what you did 30 years ago and getting paid what you did 30 years ago. So this is starting over.

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

Sunday, February 15, 2015


Not really getting use to this Tuesday-Saturday thing.  At least I finally remembered to go to church tonight, that it was Sunday and not Saturday.  However, one thing I've noticed; it's really different grocery shopping on Sundays than on Saturdays.  The first week, I figured it was just because it was Superbowl Sunday or something but it's been like that every Sunday.

The people are rude, cut in front, literally knock into you with their carts, fly out of the aisles without looking.

Finally, today, I talked to one of the workers about it and she agreed Sunday afternoons or mornings were really different than Saturdays, so I'm not nuts.  I asked her why and she said when the church lets out down the street, they all come to the store.

That, pretty much explained it all.  The store is next to Timberline Church.  My long term imaginary and real living readers of my book might remember Timberline Church.  That is the church my dad and I attended, mostly because he could hear the sermons.  The one that probably has over 10k people attending services between Saturday nights, and three services on Sunday mornings.  The one where after over a year of attending, my dad had an upset during a service on a Saturday evening, a minister was sitting right in front of me, another with is wife behind me, and neither helped a bit while I got the wheelchair or walker, can't remember now, memories fade,  and got my dad up and out of the arena.  No call the next week asking how things are going.  Finally I called another pastor, who is there to work with the elderly, explained the situation to him, he said he would get back to me and, well, still waiting to hear back from him.

So they leave the arena, drive across the lots to the store, and after sitting thru a mini rock concert and hearing gospel stories about golf and motorcycles, come to the grocery store and shove their carts around and treat each other rudely.  Think I'll start waiting till Mondays to shop from now on.

But this brings me to the topic of church, why is it so damn boring?  I like the church I'm at, though by attendance you might not think so; the pastor gives good sermons, not a golf story to be found, though an occasional Bronco's reference.  And the music if from a Hymnal, good ol' tunes with a piano.  But it's predictable, sounds the same every week.  Stand up and sing a hymn, sit down and sing two more, then announcements, the collection while some kid plays a musical instrument, then an update on some missionary we are supporting, another standing hymn, then the sermon and some potluck food thing afterwards - well that's the evening service.  Morning service has a longer sermon and more announcements and singing.

It lacks, something.  Or maybe I lack something.  Probably both.  Tonight I was thinking of all the Christians in the middle east being wiped out the the satanic horde of muslims. Syria, Iraq, Egypt, Africa, and who knows where else.  Hebrews in Europe terrified now.  Jews are fleeing Paris, probably Germany now too if they were smart.  And we heard about the Pie Baking Contest after church.

I would love a church, with big stain glass windows, pews, and a cross.  Music like they have in churches in Britain with the choirs and a fire and brimstone sermon that would make Jonathon Edwards proud.

Been thinking and will soon write a blog kind of in response to the one Ann Barnhardt wrote recently about only Catholics going to heaven, how the Catholic church is the only real church.  Still researching things, history, etc.

Strange thing about the Eucharist, it all comes from John 6 versus starting at 53.  What bugs me is that the Catholic Church, over the centuries, have made allegory out of everything in the Bible, from Adam and Eve to Moses to David to Job to the prophets to Jesus and Revelation.  Even the parables Jesus gives which seem pretty damn obvious as to what the point is are not the obvious, but something else entirely - like the Good Samaritan where he is really Jesus and the Inn is the church or something like that, I was too busy laughing and thinking Freud was right about one thing, sometimes a banana is really just a banana.  Back to John 6:53.  If you read this section without reading the entire chapter, it sounds incredibly strange, Jesus telling people they have to eat his flesh and drink his blood.  But in the context of the whole conversation, there is a purpose to what Jesus said, it builds from people who were following and getting the cures and free meals and Jesus was tired of the people thinking this was all a free ride of some sort.  But the Catholics, and Orthodox Greeks for that matter, took THIS ONE SECTION LITERALLY.  Let's face it, Jesus, in the Last Supper, explained the whole thing fairly well, if He really meant us to literally feed on the flesh and blood, He would have skipped the whole bread wine thing and just stuck out his arms and said "okay, boys, feed" like some sort of quasi dracula figure.

Yet, my mind has not been made up on this issue for it bothers me that these two churches that can trace their beginnings back to the 1st century both follow this creed.  I know these two churches split at some point, not sure exactly when, but also not sure when the whole eucharist thing started; if I ever do find it was in the 1st century, I might be finding myself at the Greek church fairly quickly.

All this was going thru my head during the sermon, which was on John 6, but somewhat different than what I was thinking about.

Mostly, now, it bothers me that I cannot remember whether it was a wheel chair or walker.

Scratch the ice
Let the telephone ring
Sense of time is a powerful thing
And we love to laugh
Love to cry
Half alive
We love to
Go slow when we're dancing for rain
Dry skin flakes where there's ice in the vein
And we love to cry
Half alive

Is this the start of the breakdown?

Scratch the earth
Dig the burial ground
Sense of time would be easily found
Ten out of ten
For the ones who defend
Pretend too
Breakdown is a final demand
We stand firm with our head in our hands
As we love to to cry
Half alive

Is this the start of the breakdown?

Tears for Fears