“…those of every school of thought who hate tyranny and despise injustice, who despise the very thought of a life below the human level for any of the children of men, who would make the world a better place for the last and the lowest and the least, as well as a world which gives ample opportunity to those of the highest gifts–those can make common cause in no end of battles which man fights for his manhood in this difficult world. It is a gracious thing that so many men live lives which are better than their theories, and have logic for action which is much more dependable than the logic of their thought.”
Lynn Harold Hough, The Christian Criticism of Life, Abingdon-Cokesbury Press, New York – Nashville, 1941, pgs. 181-182
Stopping by the Smithsonian website this morning, to read about this year’s Katmai National Park Fat Bear Week vote, which evidently was somewhat controversial due to last minute voting, I read this:
Though Holly initially appeared to be the winner, the park reported that she received a high number of suspicious votes late in the voting period, per NPR’s Bill Chappell. “While not unheard of, it is very uncommon for a bear to come back late in the day like that,” Explore.org’s Candice Rush tells NPR.
To prevent future voter fraud, the online system now has a Captcha test, per NPR. Ultimately, the park threw out several thousand fraudulent ballots and announced that 747 beat Holly in the semi-final by over 7,000 votes, clearing the way for the bear’s legitimate victory and title of 2022’s champion. (bold by ed.)
Funny how a flurry of late votes in election are suspicious when voting for a fat brown bear, and not in an election for president of the United States. Maybe the True the Vote organization can learn something from those counting the votes for Fat Brown Bear week.
I’m not opposed to paying good money for a well made shoe or boot. For instance, in dress shoes I’ve always bought Johnston & Murphy, and still have 3 pair that I’ve had for almost 40 years, having been resoled or factory recondition once or twice. I also own an pair of Wolverine 1000 Mile boots, and it’s a fine boot, which I’ve had since Wolverine brought them back to the market, which was 10 years or so ago. Another great boot I wear is the Redwing 8-inch Soft Toe boot, which for comfort I think is outstanding, not to mention durability. All of those previously mentioned shoes and boots will set you back a minimum of $200 bucks and up to $400 bucks.
I mention those shoes and boots because I was just made aware of a handsewn boot company by the name of White’s Boots, after a good friend dropped a YouTube video in my inbox discussing White’s Boots, where I learn that you’ll not throw a pair of these on your feet unless you’re willing to part with, at a minimum, $630 bucks. I don’t think I’ll tell my Lovely Melis how much they cost until I save up the pennies required to buy a pair. Here’s a link to a YouTube video on White’s Boots (video runs just over 18 minutes) discussing how they are made, including actually cutting one in half, their comfort, etc. They take a bit longer to break in than other boots, apparently, but they look as if they will wear like iron, except comfortably. I want a pair.
Colonoscopies have been all the medical rage for a number of years, now. Marketed as the be all and end all to colon cancer, colonoscopies have been pushed relentlessly. I’m 62 and have never succumbed to the hype, though my doctor has never quit attempting to get me to submit to have my anal cavity probed.
The main reason I’ve never submitted to this colon probing goes back to 1976 when my father was deathly ill with peritonitis. While in ICU, the head gastroenterologist asked my dad how often he had a bowel movement. My dad’s response was two to three times per day. The gastroenterologist said this to my dad in response, “Well, you’ll never get colon cancer then.” I tell my doctor this anecdote every time he pushes me to get a colonoscopy, and that I follow my dad’s example in bowel movement times per day. Now I’ll hand him this information, too:
If you have any interest in firewood, this book has the information, from the best time to fell trees, to chain saws, axes, wood stoves, how to stack, the best trees to use, to when the split and dried wood is ready to be put into the woodshed, and more. Though the book did not include the down-home wisdom which is the title to this post, which was relayed to me by the Baptist preacher/sawmill owner/fresh egg seller from whom I occasionally purchase what is referred to as “store bought” wood in Norway.
One interesting fact, amongst many, within Norwegian Wood is the weight of dried firewood, as the Norwegians study the use of firewood rather intensely. On average, a cord of dried firewood weighs 1 ton, which explains why my lower back has been rather tender since I was in the Keweenaw. My friend and I put up four cords in total, including one whose moisture content was in the 25 percent range, so I figured we each lifted about 5 tons of firewood in total, because each stick was handled on more than one occasion during the cutting, splitting and stacking process.
Here’s a few photos of the firewood we put up. I recommend the book highly.
Two cords stacked on the porch ready for the wood stove.
One cord stacked needing a bit more drying time before being ready for the wood stove.
Auxiliary cord, just in case the winter is particularly fierce.
“As a bloviating senator of nearly half a century, Biden is thoroughly accustomed to never being held responsible for a single thing he says. He’s dined out on the death of his wife and daughter in a car accident for 50 years, blithely accusing the other driver of being drunk, which he wasn’t, among the many, many other malicious lies he’s told. He casually slandered good men like Robert Bork and Clarence Thomas and never lost a moment of sleep over his scurrilous remarks. Biden is emblematic of our parlous politics, the worm in the rotten apple who has finally made his journey from the calyx to the pedicel and emerged into the sunlight, a doddering old fool, vacant-eyed (except when animated by hatred), slack-jawed, wandering aimlessly in search of another hand to shake or another pocket to pick, which as a lifelong politician is all he knows how to do.”
Bear in mind, that most, if not all, politicians are cut from the same cloth.
“Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar. Let me pry loose old walls. Let me lift and loosen old foundations.”
“Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike. Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together. Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders. Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars”