Macaroo
- Name: Mac
- Gender: Female
- Location: WA US
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| 22460 | 07/04/09 19:14:03 | 07/04/09 19:14:03 | 02/19/01 |
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I'm a 61-year-old atheist living in Washington State. I've been married for 41 consecutive years to the same man...also an atheist... which is somewhat
of a marvel these days. We have one daughter, two granddaughters and two great granddaughters. It kind of cheats the Other Half out of the familial male
bonding rituals, but he loves us all dearly and is philosophical about the lack of testosterone in the mix.
Besides my family, I love music, books, food, movies, my garden and my boards. I hate housework, turnips and right-wing whack jobs; not necessarily in that order.
Everything else is subject to change without notice.
THEY first charged me with disorderly conduct,
There being no statute on blasphemy.
Later they locked me up as insane
Where I was beaten to death by a Catholic guard.
My offense was this:
I said God lied to Adam, and destined him
To lead the life of a fool,
Ignorant that there is evil in the world as well as good.
And when Adam outwitted God by eating the apple
And saw through the lie,
God drove him out of Eden to keep him from taking
The fruit of immortal life.
For Christ's sake, you sensible people,
Here's what God Himself says about it in the book of Genesis:
"And the Lord God said, behold the man
Is become as one of us" (a little envy, you see),
"To know good and evil" (The all-is-good lie exposed):
"And now lest he put forth his hand and take
Also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever:
Therefore the Lord God sent Him forth from the garden of Eden."
(The reason I believe God crucified His Own Son
To get out of the wretched tangle is, because it sounds just like Him.)
Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.
May Morning
I lie stretched out upon the window-seat
And doze, and read a page or two, and doze,
And feel the air like water on me close,
Great waves of sunny air that lip and beat
With a small noise, monotonous and sweet,
Against the window -- and the scent of cool,
Frail flowers by some brown and dew-drenched pool
Possesses me from drowsy head to feet.
This is the time of all-sufficing laughter
At idiotic things some one has done,
And there is neither past nor vague hereafter.
And all your body stretches in the sun
And drinks the light in like a liquid thing;
Filled with the divine languor of late spring.
Stephen Vincent Benet
The Summer I Was Sixteen
The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.
Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,
danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled
cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,
mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world.
Geraldine Connolly
Afternoon on a Hill
I WILL be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)
Conrad Siever
NOT in that wasted garden
Where bodies are drawn into grass
That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens
That bear no fruit-
There where along the shaded walks
Vain sighs are heard,
And vainer dreams are dreamed
Of close communion with departed souls-
But here under the apple tree
I loved and watched and pruned
With gnarled hands
In the long, long years;
Here under the roots of this northern-spy
To move in the chemic change and circle of life,
Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree,
And into the living epitaphs
Of redder apples!
Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.
Besides my family, I love music, books, food, movies, my garden and my boards. I hate housework, turnips and right-wing whack jobs; not necessarily in that order.
Everything else is subject to change without notice.
Wendell P. Bloyd
THEY first charged me with disorderly conduct,
There being no statute on blasphemy.
Later they locked me up as insane
Where I was beaten to death by a Catholic guard.
My offense was this:
I said God lied to Adam, and destined him
To lead the life of a fool,
Ignorant that there is evil in the world as well as good.
And when Adam outwitted God by eating the apple
And saw through the lie,
God drove him out of Eden to keep him from taking
The fruit of immortal life.
For Christ's sake, you sensible people,
Here's what God Himself says about it in the book of Genesis:
"And the Lord God said, behold the man
Is become as one of us" (a little envy, you see),
"To know good and evil" (The all-is-good lie exposed):
"And now lest he put forth his hand and take
Also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever:
Therefore the Lord God sent Him forth from the garden of Eden."
(The reason I believe God crucified His Own Son
To get out of the wretched tangle is, because it sounds just like Him.)
Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.
May Morning
I lie stretched out upon the window-seat
And doze, and read a page or two, and doze,
And feel the air like water on me close,
Great waves of sunny air that lip and beat
With a small noise, monotonous and sweet,
Against the window -- and the scent of cool,
Frail flowers by some brown and dew-drenched pool
Possesses me from drowsy head to feet.
This is the time of all-sufficing laughter
At idiotic things some one has done,
And there is neither past nor vague hereafter.
And all your body stretches in the sun
And drinks the light in like a liquid thing;
Filled with the divine languor of late spring.
Stephen Vincent Benet
The Summer I Was Sixteen
The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.
Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,
danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled
cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,
mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world.
Geraldine Connolly
Afternoon on a Hill
I WILL be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)
Conrad Siever
NOT in that wasted garden
Where bodies are drawn into grass
That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens
That bear no fruit-
There where along the shaded walks
Vain sighs are heard,
And vainer dreams are dreamed
Of close communion with departed souls-
But here under the apple tree
I loved and watched and pruned
With gnarled hands
In the long, long years;
Here under the roots of this northern-spy
To move in the chemic change and circle of life,
Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree,
And into the living epitaphs
Of redder apples!
Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.
Seattle Time
Weather
Freethinkers Pub
Come to the Pub.
Anything from light conversation to sometimes heated debate. All beliefs are welcome, but be prepared to discuss them intelligently.
Boomer Bay
Join us at the Bay
If you were born between 1942 and 1964 and you're tired of sharing space with emo drama, adolescent angst, garish anime images, leetspeak and whatever passes for music these days, this is the place for you. Intelligent adult conversation at the beach house. Bring swimming suits and brains.
Treebeard in Seattle
Words and Music
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We Do Love The Bad Boys.
05/29/09 05:32:56 | 0 Comments
�
PBS American Experience: Jesse James
The story of Jesse James remains one of America's most cherished myths... and one of its most wrong-headed. Jesse James, so the legend goes, was a Western outlaw, though, in fact, he never went west; America's own Robin Hood, though he robbed from the poor as well as the rich, and kept it all for himself; and a gunfighter whose victims, in reality, were almost always unarmed.
PBS American Experience: Public Enemy #1, John Dillinger
Narrator: On October 23, 1933, four men walked into the Central National Bank in Greencastle, Indiana and walked out with $75,000.
Precisely planned, meticulously executed, it was the work of a master at his craft, John Dillinger.
Tom Smusyn, Dillinger researcher: In all his bank robberies, almost everyone said he was the coolest guy they ever saw.
They called him "Jack Rabbit" because some of those cages were 6-7 feet high, and he just would vault over them.
Claire Potter, historian: He was handsome, really funny. He would tip his hat at people. He would joke with them, was a very social, very charming guy.
Narrator: Working in the midst of the great depression, when debt and foreclosures were a fact of life, Dillinger exploited the public's resentment toward banks. ...
History Buff: The Story of Bonnie and Clyde
You've read the story of Jesse James,
of how he lived and died.
If you're still in the need
of something to read,
here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde. ...
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Cosmos
10/30/08 08:39:26 | 0 Comments
�
"For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring. "
Carl Sagan
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Fiddler Jones
04/22/08 19:02:50 | 1 Comments
THE EARTH keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to "Toor-a-Loor."
How could I till my forty acres
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill-only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle-
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.
Edgar Lee Masters; Spoon River Anthology -
Wolf Dance
10/03/07 06:41:44 | 0 Comments
This isn't Disneyland!
"They circled around us, and doggone if they didn't cut us off. There was a dark one right in the trail about 40 feet in front of us," Habel said. "John could have had a spine shot but decided not to take it because of the bear. I couldn't shoot because John was in front of me and my barrel was too close. I couldn't jeopardize the boy. Then things happened fast."
"I could hear others, and then we heard this sound; they were sniffing us out, straining their lungs. It's a crazy sound. And then that sound rippled up the hill. Then they started barking and all hell broke loose and they charged us..."
