The Normalization Of Deviance

When the space shuttle Challenger blew up in January of 1986, it was found that NASA had become acceptant of bad situations, specifically erosion of the o-rings that joined sections of the solid rocket boosters. Erosion was exacerbated by cold, since the o-rings were rubber, but NASA figured that some excursions to the edge of danger were acceptable against The Big Picture, keeping the flight schedule. It was called The Normalization Of Deviance.

They were proven wrong, and the bitter joke became 'NASA means Need Another Seven Astronauts'.

Now we as a country are there. How on earth did we let this happen?

 We're in mortal danger,

this nation once so great.

We're tolerant of anger,

and normalized the hate

of anyone who's different,

the Muslim and the Jew,

the Catholic and Protestant,

and we hate me and you,

for in our blind acceptance 

of what should be called sin,

we pay the devil deference

and bowing, let him in

to a place whose lease we can't afford

that should be a dwelling for the Lord.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PERSEVERE.

The world will push you to the brink

with click-bait redolent of hate

until within your heart you think

that it's really far too late

to bring back basic decency,

a world in which the social frame

honours all with right to be free,

and dignity's more than a game.

You cannot push your leaders toward

a better thought, nor academic halls,

but you can lay bright virtue's sword

against the rabble at the walls

to cut the heathen ranks right through

and bleeding, come to what is True.

The Beatles would say that all you need is love, but Sylvia would maintain that all you need is vanilla ice cream. I'm with her on this.

Judge Not (Tell His Story)

 When you think to judge another person,

do not always trust your gut

lest your 'feeling' be their cursing 

whilst your head was firmly up your butt.

Be wary of the things you say

and the postures that you take,

for at the ending of the day

the decision just ain't yours to make,

and others may use what you've spoken 

and blindly act accordingly,

and something good may well be broken,

and you'll have responsibility

when before God's throne you kneel

as He stomps your ego with His heel.

Sylvia says that in the presence of ice cream, all is forgiven.

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Talked To God. He Answered.

 I talk to God most every day,

and I do know He's there

by the blunt and pithy way

He hears my not-a-prayer,

'cause God and me, we just talk

like homies, man-to-man,

and sometimes He likes to shock

when I don't understand 

why it has to hurt so much

when He can do some healing

with a casual simple touch,

but His answer is revealing:

"If I give you this victory,

you're gonna lose your ministry."

Don't want that, and He knows it.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is EXTRA.

Extra work and extra duties

to support my darling wife

are part of manifold beauties 

that describe my married life,

and have from that bright wedding day

that God set to inspire

in quite a mischievous way

when the bouquet caught fire

and the champagne had gone bad

(just how, I've no idea),

but on our wedding night we had

a case of diarrhea,

but through it love and laughter came

as the **** went down the drain.

What, TMI?

Syl says that at least there's ice cream. I've developed a liking for Great Value crispy ice cream bars from Walmart.

And speaking of food, drop in at Pam and Tony's place for a behind-the-scenes look at the food truck life, and a killer queso recipe.

You can also find them on Facebook.

Chiaroscuro (Tell His Story)

 So why on earth do we write,

what do we need to say?

Do we let our dreams take flight,

or do we find a way 

to hold for others open doors

through which we have gone,

that we may share the reservoirs 

of faith that we depended on

to see bright blessings in the places

that are darkened with our pain,

and in them see the offered graces

like rainbows past the rain,

and find in the mixed light and shadow 

our life in Christ, chiaroscuro.

Sylvia doesn't know what that last word is, but if it's an ice cream flavour, she's game.

If you want some really good recipes, please drop by and visit my friends Pam and Tony, at the Som-Tin-Ta Eat food truck blog.

You can also find them on Facebook.

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God's Drunken Sailor

The whole cancer thing has gotten so hard now that I just want to have some fun.

The drunken sailor comes to church 

with beery fumes and cheery smile.

Sit back, my friends, and watch him lurch 

right down the communion aisle.

In Catholic places he'd get wine,

not a lot, enough to love,

and that would leave him feeling fine,

praising the priest and God above,

but elsewhere grape juice is the thing

(did not Jesus, though, make wine from water?),

and digging deep he's gotta bring 

the thinking that he maybe oughter

respect the ones who teetotal;

what they don't drink makes his mug full.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is INVEST.

Everything is going south,

and I've long been on the run,

but I ain't gonna shut my mouth,

and singing, will invest in fun.

Not because elsewise I'd weep,

there are no tears here of a clown.

No, my joy is mine to keep,

and dying doesn't get me down

because the days are fully blessed 

if I have the wit to see,

and seeing is to pass the test

and go to where I'd rather be,

in a place of joyous dance

which is survival's bestest chance.

If you want some really good recipes, please drop by and visit my friends Pam and Tony, at the Som-Tin-Ta Eat food truck blog.

You can also find them on Facebook.

Sylvia has stolen a full beer can or three. Ice cream is better. Sometimes.

A Punderful Post (Tell His Story)

 My body says I'm past my prime;

I tell myself it doesn't matter 

that I've run me out of time

and dreams now fall away and shatter.

There's not enough of blood to flow,

much is lost in wasted care,

but truly I  don't want to go

to what fell fate is waiting there,

and so I push in mindless glee

to make the best of what I've got,

pretend I still have energy

and prove that I really am not

wearing that Cleopatra smile,

yes, that's her, Queen of de Nile.

Sylvia, don't roll your eyes like that. They'll get stuck.

If you want some really good recipes, please drop by and visit my friends Pam and Tony, at the Som-Tin-Ta Eat food truck blog.

You can also find them on Facebook.

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Kung Fool

Tashka' likes to hang out under the deck on the south side of the house. It's a good place to watch traffic and passing cows.

Unfortunately, the south deck is where I used to empty water from the clothes washer (it's an apartment-sized unit, and hooking the outlet to the drain isn practical for a number of reasons).

The buckets I pitched were never close to Tashka', but he was offended nonetheless, as you can see from his expression, having taken refuge by a large dog house.

I'm not in the mood to write about coping with cancer today. I'd rather have fun.

Yes, I am a Chinaman,

and Asians are cool.

When things in life don't follow plan,

I go all Kung Fool,

head-high kicking 'round about,

chopping each direction,

and then I give a mighty shout

with Mandarin inflection.

The canines all look quite perplexed,

and Barb just rolls each eye,

wondering what I will do next,

and asking God on high

just why did He play the trick

of sending her this lunatic.

And, of course, there's music to be had.

If you want some really good recipes, please drop by and visit my friends Pam and Tony, at the Som-Tin-Ta Eat food truck blog.

You can also find them on Facebook.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PROVE.

A Chinaman has naught to prove

in the fractured warring west,

and I don't care if you approve 

or not, for I have passed the test 

of seeing people of faith passing 

me along the road of life,

and I can now refrain from classing

them, to set in plan a strife.

No, I will just let them live

and travel onward with my prayers.

Each of us has much to give

to a world so full of cares

that even whose beliefs seem odd

may nonetheless be serving God.

Sylvia says that if I pour Kung Pao sauce over her ice cream, I'm in real trouble.