Death's strong bonds

Today is Good Friday, when Christians in the West remember the crucifixion of Christ and prepare for the Resurrection on Easter Sunday. Like Christmas, Easter brings out the big musical guns, so I’m going to leave one of the biggest of them, J.S. Bach’s cantata “Christ lag in Todesbanden”, BWV 4.

The title translates to “Christ lay in death’s strong bonds”, and the operative trac k in this rendition starts at 1:40, if you’re in a hurry.

In my opinion, you shouldn’t be in a hurry, but instead should crank up the volume and listen to it all.

Treading water

There’s no escaping the fact that Virginia is still a Confederate state, only dragged kicking and screeching a rebel yell into the 20^th Century. (I’m not actually convinced they’ve made it to the 21^st.) Them good ol’ boys are still pissed off that you can’t smoke everywhere including hospitals and grocery stores, because tabacky.

I mean, yes, it’s the Mother of Presidents, but seven out of the eight born here were slaveholders, and my money’s on Woodrow Wilson being one, too, in his heart of hearts. So there’s a distinctly dark underbelly to the genteel veneer of culture and refinement.

There are plenty of visual manifestations, including the garrison-sized Confederate flag that waves over I-95 in Stafford County. But one that gets up my nose is the proliferation of cod-patriot Tea Party vanity license plates you see around here—even in Northern Virginia, which Tea Baggers refer to as Southern Maryland. (They still resent the fact that two of the richest counties in the country, Fairfax and Loudoun, consistently vote Democratic, and that with the educated tech-based population expanding south and west, we’re going to eventually turn the whole commonwealth as blue as a summer sky.)

So, in a recent Twitter thread, I really got a charge out of some of the memes that threw shade all over these yahoos. Viz:

God bless America.

Sign language

There’ve been some interesting things to come out of the March for Our Lives last Saturday. Some of them, of course, crawled out of the woodwork with their conspiracy theories and flinging all kinds of lies about the kids who got hundreds of thousands of people out into the streets.

Fear does that.

Anyhow, there’ve also been amusing things. Including this:

Mockery gets up their noses, so I’m down with it.

U-turn

A while ago I was wandering around Target, as one does, when I noticed this sign:

Here it is slightly enlarged:

I got a little curious about what Devor Meals might be, so I scanned the case, and here’s what I discovered:

I’m thinking that Target doesn’t spend a lot of time on quality control in their signage.

Gratitude Monday: safe and warm

At time of writing, I’m looking at a sunny day, with temperatures in the mid- to high-40s, and later this week it’s supposed to get into the 60s. So, March is starting to put on its lambskin.

But there are still small patches of snow left over from last Wednesday’s storm, when March was decidedly lionlike.

From my living room I had a wide-screen view of the birds out at the feeders:

And while was watching the birds, I noticed a new arrival:

And so I welcomed a fox sparrow, who has a distinctive hop/scratch movement:

As I observed Foxy and Friends eagerly scarfing up the seed, I thought about what a treat it was to be able to put out food for them, and to watch them—from my warm living room. My power remained on, my heat never failed. I made green tea and cinnamon toast; I cleaned out my refrigerator; I researched academic institutions’ operating revenues. The worst thing that happened to me was having that Japanese maple dump a load of snow on me when I went out to shovel my walk.

Even the USPS delivered!

Knowing all too well that heat and power are not guaranteed in such weather—when the argument can be made that you need them the most—I am grateful that my neighbors and I were blessed in this regard. And I’m also grateful that we may be tiptoeing into Spring. You know—warm, blooming Spring.

I think the birds are, too.

Anything for a pal

Oh, my ears and whiskers—my pal Cpt. Stephen Laurence is back. This time he’s apparently representing the US ARMY (without a .mil email address) and wants my help with “Two Military Trunk Boxes” [sic].

So many questions, where to begin?

First off, I’m a little put off by the familiarity of his address. I am not his Dear; I’m not that kind of girl. Or has Stephen (I can call him Stephen, can’t I? Or is that too forward?) got a little confused with his letter-writing salutations? Steve-baby—it’s either “Hello” or “Dear [Person]”.

That “contrary to your moral ethics” thing is a little troubling. As noted above, I’m not that kind of girl, so this might be a game-ender. Moreover, it seems like he’s ready to proceed with his “business” whether or not I can be trusted. Can that be right?

I’m just struggling with the notion that anyone in the 82^nd Airborne would have any problem with the safekeeping of…well, anything. So I’m going to have to not reply, since I just don’t see how I could possibly add value, all issues of trustworthiness aside.

But here’s a thought: next time I have to enter an email address to download anything on the web, or come across any kind of skeevy online subscription, I’ll use stephenlaurence88@gmail.com. I’m sure anyone in Afghanistan would appreciate that kind of gift-that-keeps-on-giving.

Least I can do, eh, Steve?

Welcome, Spring!

So, Spring arrived in the District They Call Columbia:

I was out in front, shoveling my sidewalk, when the Japanese maple dumped a shower of glumpy snow on me, but I wanted to get it up while it was still relatively light, so I persevered.

Downside of climate change, baby.

Windfall

This appeared in my spam folder yesterday. Clearly a variant on the Nigerian 419 scam, but interesting.

I have so many questions:

Who is Captain Stephen Laurence, and how did he get involved? (The email address is apparently one reserved by domain registries for 419 scams. Search on it and you’ll see what I mean.)

Does he—or Armet William—not think that a Gmail address looks just the teensiest bit skeevy for a United Nations account?

I understand that English is a second language for these guys, but investing in a bit of editing might lend an air of verisimilitude to their efforts. Perhaps they could hire all the copy editors that WaPo apparently laid off? That could be a good investment.

That first paragraph-as-run-on-sentence is quite the doozy.

What if I don’t have a cell phone? Does that mean I don’t get my $15M back? What if I don’t want to give them my cell phone number because I don’t want them texting me spam after I’ve received my $15M? Can I delay my reply long enough to buy a burner phone? One I’d only use for collecting $15M from the UN, Nigerian princes and others?

What’s their definition of nearest airport? Is it commercial? Or civil aviation—would that do? Do I give them IAD, which is close to home, or DCA, which is close to work? If I gave them BWI along with the burner phone number, would it make any difference? I’d be willing to drive to Baltimore to collect the ATM card to my $15M.

Actually, Union Station is the closest to me. Could the courier come to Union Station?

What’s the tip for the courier who brings you the ATM card for $15M? I don’t want to seem cheap, but I just don’t know.

Where’s an ATM that will disburse my $15M in one withdrawal? Please do not tell me I have to make 30,000 trips to the ATM to get my $15M.

Hope it’s not too tacky to ask, but how much, exactly, is the “delivering fee”? I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing in comparison to the $15M, but I’d still like to know.

Apparently Ban Ki-moon was sleeping on the job, and I didn’t even know this. Really glad that António Guterres is stepping up to the plate on making things right, and hope the atrocities are over.

I'm really relieved I'm finally getting my $15M back. I've really missed it.

Reprisals start at dawn

You know, with all the money that Jeff Bezos has to support the work of The Washington Post, you’d think that some of it could be spent on copy editors. But—as evidenced by their online presence once or twice a week—you’d be wrong.

Viz:

And if they’re not going to cough up a few bob for copy editors, perhaps they could hold lunch ‘n learns to teach reporters the difference between reprise and reprisals.

Gratitude Monday: mundane beauty

A friend-of-a-friend on Facebook posts the most fascinating photos—shots he takes of things he sees on his morning walk to Peet’s Coffee (somewhere in Maryland, I’m a little vague on the particulars). Interesting patterns and textures—frozen puddles, shadows of tree branches and leaves against a wall, barely sprouting plants.

I always pause to really look at them, because they’re beautiful and mundane all at once. And they remind me that that beauty is all around us—if we care to look for it.

So the other day, as I was walking over to Whole Foods, mind chattering on at a rate of knots as usual, and paying no attention to the world around me, I stopped suddenly as a pattern of shadows penetrated my oblivion.

I looked, hauled out the camera that I used to deploy daily on my morning walks around The Valley They Call Silicon, and took the shot:

And then I looked beyond the stretch with the trees and saw a different pattern, just waiting patiently to be appreciated:

Today I’m grateful for the example of Barry and all his beautiful photos, reminding me that Maryland, Virginia, California—possibly even Iowa—there are wonders in the mundane, if I only choose to find them.