My Art & Stuff
To Skin A Skunk
There is more than one way to skin a skunk. First, it seems to be easiest if one can convince the skunk this is something he wants to participate in willingly.
Way Back When, my folks were poor, and they gardened, hunted, fished and "worked out" in order to make a living. During the Depression the family was not hard hit, since poverty was a way of life. Still, some income was needed, and Cash was earned by "working for the man."
My grandfather used to tell some stories of those days. Fishing with a 'trot line.' Hunting with an ancient rifle. "Gleaning" the fields late in the fall when the harvest was done.
He told one story of working on a large farm during harvest, where the crew was sent into the field at daylight after a breakfast of cornmeal mush and watermelon. For lunch they were served watermelon. When they came in from the field at sundown, they were offered watermelon before the meal was ready. When he refused the melon, the man fired him.
What my grandfather knew was, giving the laborers melon to eat was "holding back their wages." It was defrauding them.
Just like there is more than one way to skin a skunk, there is more than one way to steal.
Just like there is more than one way to skin a skunk, there is more than one way to deceive the gullible. It does seem to be easiest when the gullible participate willingly.
But, no matter how it is done; a little 'red herring' here, a little shift of focus there, a little ridicule, maybe the distortion of a word or two; in the end sophistry is deception, and a lie is just another way to skin a skunk.
Christians should know this, or they will end up eating melon instead of meat.
Top
RUSTY NAIL SOUP
I received a solicitation in the mail from a group which (due to past experience) I do not approve. But the appeal reminded me of my childhood.
I can remember some of the war years, from maybe 1943 or 44. Somewhat vague, of course, that early. I remember my parents used paper tokens to buy meat, gas and oil. Other things I remember: tires were expensive, and had to have 'tubes,' and anti-freeze was unavailable. I remember my father hoarding tokens so we could go on a trip in the winter of 44-45.
About the time the war ended, we kids kids ran loose. We came and went pretty much as we pleased, careful to be home for meals, of course. A giant candy bar was a nickel, small drinks and a ride on the bus were all 5 cents. Of course, nickels were rare. For only two nickels one could spend a Saturday afternoon in a theater watching cartoons.
Between 45 and the 50's I do not remember any crime or violence against a child, the first being mid 50's, but that's another story.
There were many men who seemed to be on the way somewhere, looking for a job, perhaps, or just looking for somewhere to be. These men rode the rails or walked the roads looking for a ride, an odd job or a handout. We kids often met them because we liked to run the rails, it was a great shortcut from where we were to where we thought we wanted to go, kind of like those men.
One day another kid and I met a man next to the railway, in a diverting canal--another favorite shortcut. This man had set up three stones, on which he placed a coffee can (which had seen better days) containing water. We asked what he was doing and he said, "making rusty nail soup."
I'm sure our eyes blinked, and surely we looked confused, because he asked, "Would you like to see how its done?"
Sure enough, he dropped a small rusty nail into the can of heating water. Then he took out a pocket knife, and cut up a few vegies and dropped them in too. I don't remember, now, what he added to that can of rusty nail soup. What I remember is that I recognized those vegies as something he had rescued from the garbage.
I have no idea, now, what we talked about, but we stayed until the soup was done. He asked, then, if we'd like to have some. We took that as out cue to leave.
I cannot tell you how many lessons I have derived, over these years, from this man and his can of 'rusty nail soup.'
Wolf Warning! Bad Moon Rising!
This man may have been down, but he was not out. He may have been poor in a financial sense, but he was not poor of heart. In his situation many people may become angry, and take their anger out on someone who is helpless before them. This man, who carried his possessions on his back and gleaned his meals from the waste bins behind grocery stores, was rich enough that he could teach a child. This man, in his poverty, gave a child a treasure chest of wisdom.
I have carried this little treasure chest since, maybe the summer of 1946, and often pulled it from my memory and examined its contents. Today, I want to share with you this recipe for "rusty nail soup" in the hope you might find it of value, and, perhaps, pass it on.
Salt and various seasonings are optional, share.
The Nature of a Scorpion
A scorpion journeyed across the desert.
He came to a small, slow moving creek which he could not cross.
The scorpion walked up and down the creek through the heat of the day, and could find no way to cross.
Then, in the cool of the evening he heard a frog, which he soon found.
"Please Mr. Frog, give me a ride on your back across the creek."
"No, Mr. Scorpion, for you will sting me and I will die."
"Not so," replied the scorpion, "for if I sting you, and you die, how will I get across this creek. If I cannot cross this creek I will surely die."
So they debated the problem, and the frog chose to believe the scorpion.
"Very well," he said, "get on my back, and I'll take you across."
Little more than halfway across, the scorpion stung the frog!
"Why did you sting me? Now we will both die!"
"I had to sting you," the scorpion replied, "you see, it is my nature."
Those who hate Truth, hate those who Love Truth: it is their nature.
Planet 6
When we Calem came to the sixth planet (the others are even less hospitable) we were in desperate need of refuge, and resources. We needed, above all, a place of rest where we could repair and rebuild. Hoping for the best, we found 31 flavors of hell.
The egg shaped planet is locked in rotation around its primary, one side too hot for 'comfort' and the other too cold. It always points its small side to the Sun, with no day-night cycle, no seasons. And, not an inconsiderable inconvenience, the sun's light is the wrong color.
There is too little oxygen in the thin air to support life. The thin atmosphere is visible in this digitally enhanced photograph as a gray-white ring around the planet, and its turbulence causes the hot side to blur. It is also visible as a faint haze over the North Pole, center. The atmosphere is so thin the sky is forever black and stars always bright, except when looking toward the primary - which only a Necalem would do.
There are no mountains. On average there is little more than five hundred meters between highlands and valleys, not counting the rifts. The deeper rifts go to eight hundred meters, and, where in eternal shade, are filled with ices.
There are no liquids, water or otherwise. The scant water supply is hidden deep in the crevasses under layers of sand and ice. There are few metals: Iron is as rare as virginity; and other heavy metals, with the exception of nickel, are as rare as mercy. Minerals, with the exception of various salts, plenteous carbon, a little boron and less sulfur, are as rare as morals in war. There is ample sand hidden in the crevasses (nothing lays loose on the surface), and baked or freeze dried hard as cold revenge.
Still, and yet, by its mere existence the planet offered grudging mercy; where, when oxygen and power are exhausted, deep space surrenders none.
So we Calem put down our foot, and named our new home "Baskins."
Thunder
There are those who have lived their whole life in peace
Peace bought, paid for by their fathers blood
They have never heard a shot fired in anger, nor bullets sing like wasps
They have not held hand on a friend's chest as his glassy eyes darkened
Yes, there are those who have lived in peace, their whole life in peace
Not knowing the smell of powder, of blood, the odor of death
They live in peace unimpressed by its price
A price they never paid
These are those who revile freedom's price
Having never seen the sun rise one day
Not one day in bondage to anyone
There are those who speak of Truth
As somehow they have earned it
Or if Truth is somehow free as air
Knowing nothing of its price
There are those who never heard the Thunder
Thunder of approaching war, thunder of cavalry
Thunder of a million men marching to war
There are those who long for peace
Not knowing its price, they hope to buy it cheap
Their enemy knows the price of victory
Is not one's own blood, but the blood of those
Who long for peace with their enemy
Who hope to buy peace at any price
Any price but their own blood
Do you hear the sound of Thunder?
Would you think it other than approaching storm?
OH! Yes, approaching storm it surely is
The Storm of horsemen, storm of enemy loosed
The enemy loosed on those who thought peace was cheap!
Peace at any price! Well, not quite any price
Since you are not willing to shed your precious blood
Of Peace, you will have none but a shallow grave
Oh, Listen, Hark! I hear
A prophet singing "Peace, Peace"
Listen to that sweet refrain!
"Peace, Peace, Hear my song!"
"This peace is free, there is no price!"
Surrender is such a small thing
A very small price to pay
Do I hear Thunder?
No, that is not thunder
t'is the sound of Grumbling!
Those who shed their blood for your freedom
Those who shed their blood so you could know Truth
That you could live in the Glory! of Truth and Freedom
Mumbling, uncomfortable in their eternal rest
Their peaceful sleep disturbed because You sell Cheap!
What they bought with their life's blood
Do I hear Thunder?
Oh! Yes! I hear the thunder of those who rush
To collect your surrender!
Your children, and
Their children forever
Will know the peace of servitude
And for the inheritance
You have left to them
They will curse your name!
Do I hear thunder?
No Dear, t'is just a dream
Go back to sleep.
FRUIT OF THE JOURNEY
I've been down the road a long while
Lied to, shot at and run over
Lost in the woods in the dark of the night
I have seen the light
I've had people treat me like a dog
And dogs treat me like a king
All my life I've been so poor
Being rich is rubbing two coins together
All tales being told, I say
Knowing Truth beats self delusion
At any station on this journey
Happiness is the fruit of knowing ones self
Glenn McClary
This is a test of the redundant absurdity alarm: if you hear a ringing in your ears, or an echo, an echo, an echo; laughing aloud should bring instant relief. 
