Archive for April 2006

Learning Something New

I’m full of old sayings. My Dad loved them and I picked them up from him to the utter annoyance of my children. My co-worker the Scripty Goddess just asked me if the sun was over the yardarm and I had no idea what she was talking about.

Here it is verbatim from World Wide Words.

[Q] From Nora Kelly in Canada: “Do you know the meaning and origin of the phrase when the sun has crossed over the yardarm? I have heard it said when it’s lunch time and okay to have an alcoholic beverage.”

[A] That’s the usual meaning among landlubbers, though I’ve heard of some who tend to use it for the early evening, after-work period from about 5pm onwards. It turns up in various forms, of which the sun’s over the yardarm is probably the most common, but one also sees not till the sun’s over the yardarm as an injunction, or perhaps a warning.

The yardarms on a sailing ship are the horizontal timbers or spars mounted on the masts, from which the square sails are hung. (The word yard here is from an old Germanic word for a pointed stick, the source also of our unit of measurement.) At certain times of year it will seem from the deck that the sun has risen far enough up the sky that it is above the topmost yardarm. In summer in the north Atlantic, where the phrase seems to have originated, this would have been at about 11am. This was by custom and rule the time of the first rum issue of the day to officers and men (the officers had their tots neat, the men’s diluted). It seems that officers in sailing ships adopted a custom, even when on shore, of waiting until this time before taking their first alcoholic drink of the day.

Though the days of sail are far behind us, the expression has a surprisingly wide currency still, especially in North America. Despite its apparent antiquity, it wasn’t recorded in print until the end of the nineteenth century.

The Table and Maundy Thursday

There have been a few times in my life when I have had a vision that has touched me in such a deep and meaningful way that I can never forget it. Now before I go any further I want to clarify what I mean by vision. My visions have usually resolved out of a day dream as I ponder on a facet of God. I know this can sound a bit whacky but I believe we all do this to some extent. We listen or read something and then try to envision it. Perhaps trying to envision ourselves in it. I have, in my minds eye, seen both Heaven and Hell. Now if I were to describe verbatim what it was that I saw, neither of them truly reflect what the bible describes. What they described to me was the emotional quality of each, or at least as close as my limited understanding could comprehend. Both of these visions left me with the feeling that if this is what I could envision then the reality was far worse and far better than I could ever put into words or feelings. I know that I never want to feel the seperation from God that I felt when I envisioned Hell as equally as I desire the delerious feeling of being lost in the majestly of God when I envisioned Heaven.

This past Maundy Thursday as I listened to Pastor Carr talk about the last supper I couldn’t help but put myself into that upper room. Pastor Carr, painted a picture of Christ telling his best friends that one of them was going to betray him that very night. He asked if we couldn’t imagine the thoughts going through the disciples minds? Who is it? Are they sitting to my left or right? How well do I really know these men that one of them could betray the Teacher? Or, is it me? Am I the one that’s going to betray you? The pastor then pointed out that for us as repentant sinners we have to point to ourselves and admit that, “It is I Lord. I’m the one who has betrayed you.”

It was in this instence, knowing how right my pastor is, knowing that I have betrayed my Lord, over an over that I had a vision of myself seated in that upper room. The disciples weren’t there, but Jesus was reclined directly across the table from me. In between us was the dipping bowl and in my mind I heard, “It is one who dips bread into the bowl with me.” As I heard this in my mind I looked at my Savior who had a piece of bread in his hand and was reaching out to the bowl. I too had bread in my hand but was reluctant to join him, I didn’t want to be the one who dipped at the same time. Christ however, looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and with the subtlest gesture urged me to join him.

“Lord”, I thought to myself, “I know how often I have betrayed you. I’m not worthy to be here with you in this room, let alone seated at this table eating with you. Please, I can’t do this.”

Even as I silently pleaded with Him, He urged once more and like a veil being lifted from my eyes, I suddenly understood that this wasn’t a table of condemnation, but a table of fellowship. How often I come to His table not feeling worthy, how close I come to rejecting the fellowship that He offers.

Not OK

Content reposted in full from: http://docbrite.livejournal.com/372229.html

Not OK
Occasionally I’m asked by friends Not From Here, “New Orleans is better now, right? You had Mardi Gras!” or “Are you doing OK?” or some variation. Sometimes, particularly if they’re contemplating a visit, I even try to reassure them: it’s very possible to have a good, safe time here; the French Quarter is fine; lots of restaurants and bars are open. In truth, though, New Orleans and most of its inhabitants are very much Not OK. I present to you a baker’s dozen facts about life in the city seven months after the storm. Some are large, some small. I think many of them will surprise you.

1. Most of the city is still officially uninhabitable. We and most other current New Orleanians live in what is sometimes known as The Sliver By The River, a section between the Mississippi River and St. Charles Avenue that didn’t flood, as well as in the French Quarter and part of the Faubourg Marigny. In the “uninhabitable sections,” there are hundreds of people living clandestinely in their homes with no lights, power, or (in many cases) drinkable water. They cannot afford generators or the gasoline it takes to run them, or if they have generators, they can only run them for part of the day. They cook on camp stoves and light their homes with candles or oil lamps at night.

2. There is a minimal police presence, and most of it is concentrated in the Sliver. Homes in other parts of the city are still being looted, vandalized, and burned.

3. Many parts of the city have had no trash pickup — either FEMA or municipal — for weeks. Things improved for a while, but now there are nearly as many piles of debris and stinking garbage as there were right after the storm.

4. There are no street lights in many of the “uninhabited” sections, which makes for very dark nights for their residents.

5. Many of the stoplights, including some at large, busy intersections, still don’t work. They have become four-way stops (with small, hard-to-see stop signs propped up near the ground) and there are countless wrecks.

6. There is hardly any medical care in the city. As far as I know, only two hospitals and an emergency facility in the convention center are currently operating. Emergency room patients, even those having serious symptoms like chest pains, routinely wait eight hours or more to be seen by a doctor. We have, I believe, 600 hospital beds in a city whose population is approaching (and may have surpassed) 250,000.

7. Most grocery stores, many drugstores, and countless other important retail establishments are only open until 5, 6, or at best 8:00 PM because of the lack of staffing. This is only an inconvenience for me, but it’s crippling for people who work “normal” hours.

8. The city’s recycling program has been suspended indefinitely. We talk about restoring the wetlands that could buffer us from another storm surge, but every day we throw away tons of recyclables that will end up in the landfills that help poison our wetlands.

9. Cadaver dogs and youth volunteers gutting houses are still finding bodies in the Lower Ninth Ward. Of course these corpses are just skeletons by now — the other day they found a six-year-old girl with an older person, possibly a grandmother, located near her — and they may never be identified. The bodies are hidden under debris piles and collapsed houses. This is in the same section of town that some of the politicians are aching to bulldoze.

10. Thousands of people who lived in public housing were forcibly removed from their homes. It is now being suggested by much of the current power structure, including our very liberal Councilman at Large Oliver Thomas, that they not be allowed back into these homes unless they can prove they had jobs before the storm or are willing to sign up for job training. (Many of you may agree with this, and I did too, sort of, until I really thought about it. Hadn’t they already qualified for the housing? What about the ones who had jobs that don’t exist anymore? How can they find jobs in New Orleans if they don’t live here?)

11. There are still flooded, wrecked, and abandoned cars all over the streets, parked in the neutral grounds, and in many cases partly submerged in the canals out East. Now that it’s campaign time, Mayor Nagin is trying to come up with a solution for this, but he thinks maybe we should wait for FEMA to do it (!!!!!) and he claims the best removal offer he’s gotten so far was “written on the back of a napkin.”

12. Many of the FEMA trailers — you know, the ones costing taxpayers $70,000 each — have been delivered to homeless New Orleanians but cannot be lived in because the city doesn’t have enough people to come out and do electrical inspections, and the trailers need a separate hookup instead of being hooked into the house’s power supply, and a dozen other damn fool things. While these trailers sit empty, there is an easily constructed, far more attractive structure called a “Katrina cottage” that could easily be built all over south Louisiana. It costs about $25,000 less than the flimsy, uncomfortable trailers. FEMA refuses to use it because they’re not allowed to provide permanent housing.

13. A large percentage — I’ve heard figures ranging from 60 to 75% — of current New Orleanians are on some form of antidepressant or anti-anxiety drug. The lines at the pharmacy windows have become a running joke. When a visiting “expert” gave a Power Point presentation on post-traumatic stress disorder recently, the entire audience dissolved into hysterical laughter.