The Advent of Advent

Today is the last day of November, but also the First Sunday of Advent. ‘Advent is a Christian season of preparation and anticipation that begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas and ends on Christmas Eve. The word "advent" comes from the Latin for "coming" or "arrival" and refers to the celebration of Jesus's birth and the anticipation of his second coming.’ There are traditionally four candles (three purple, one roseate – pink, that is) that are lit in church, one candle more each week; today was purple (in this case symbolizing hope), and the liturgical color was used on banners, wreaths, and vestments. We also had a very popular hymn for the season, O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Its tune was appropriated to many responses where it is not ordinarily used. I like it, but it’s a little hard for someone as musically illiterate as I am to follow.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7xtpJ4Q_Q-4&list=RD7xtpJ4Q_Q-4&start_radio=1

Boo-Freaking-Hoo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8_a6Y6-Rfw

Yesterday should have been a pretty good day; instead it turned into one of the most emotionally trying days I've had all year. Besides a pile-up of generally depressing events over the past week, Norton Security and my bank overdraft charges conspired to deliver an unexpected one-two punch to my jangled nerves and break the dam of my already overstrained reserves. Without even a leftover turkey-and-stuffing sandwich to help tide me over. After a restless night, I decided that today I would buckle down with thankfulness and duty, and lo! I have been delivered out of some of the worst vallies of my shadow. It reminded me a bit of this song I heard lately.

Friday Fiction: Slavery's Ghost (Part Six; Concluded)

The next morning when we awoke, I was silent. While Frobisher chattered on about the comforts of the great house and wondered how long we would enjoy them, I got dressed, mulling over my task at hand. At the breakfast table I was courteous but curt, and Jefferson, who had arrived a little late, seemed content to let the old lawyer compliment him on his furnishings and design with little comment. When at last there was nothing else to do, the lanky grey man turned to me.

          "Well? What shall you do today, Mr. Jandt?"

          "Nothing," I said. I put my napkin down. "There is nothing more to do. I have seen the Slave's Ghost, and I know why he has been walking."

          "What!" Frobisher banged his hands to the table. For the first time in Jefferson's presence, he showed his own authority. "When? Where?" he said sharply.

          "Last night, at the bedside," I said calmly. "He was as close to you as I am now."

          "Why didn't you tell me this morning?"

          "There seemed little point. It spoke to me. It gave me a message for you, Mr. President. It will not come again."

          Jefferson looked around. For the first time I became aware of the half-dozen servants all about us.

          "I think we should retire to the library once more. That is, after all, where your investigation began."

          Mr. Jefferson rose and led the way. Some steps behind him Frobisher grabbed my arm and began berating me in a low voice.

          "What do you mean by this, Jandt? Why didn't you let me review the findings first? Because I warn you, if he doesn't like what he hears --" his voice went lower, his voice hoarser -- "and he can be one of the most tetchy of men on earth-- I will not have to suffer the unpleasantness of firing you, because the Bureau will be sunk!"

          I pulled my arm away.

          "It would have made no difference, Ballantine. I have been charged with a message, and if I do not deliver it, that thing will haunt me, perhaps till my death. And the President deserves the truth."

          We caught up with Jefferson as he reached the doors and opened them. He went and sat at his desk, and I stood before it. I felt as if I were standing before a judge. Frobisher stood to one side, arms crossed, looking uncommonly like a prosecuting attorney.

          The President pulled out a sheet of paper, dipped a pen, and started writing.

          "Report," he said.

          "This creature appeared to me, looking exactly as described. I charged it to speak, and it spoke. It told me that what I had guessed was true, and that I must tell you. It said it would return no more, when you had been warned."

          Jefferson continued writing and did not look up.

          "And? What had you guessed, Mr. Jandt?"

          "It is somewhat hard to explain clearly. Have your religious studies ever touched on the far east, on India or the Hindoo religion?"

          "Yes, but in no great detail."

          "There is a belief there, that if one concentrates enough on an idea, it begins to gain substance. Think of it this way. Before there was the United States, you and men like you had the idea for it. By belief it came into being. And now it has a kind of momentum, a life of its own. I understand there is even a figure now, like England's John Bull, called Brother Jonathon. People speak as if he were real."

          Jefferson looked up at me.

          "You don't mean to tell me that this ghost is like a newspaper cartoon come to life?"

          "No, no." I rubbed my eyes. "How to explain? There is a dark part of the mind, that no-one wants to look at. Hatred, anger, fear, guilt; they all roil there. When we look away from them, deny them, they grow strong. The country -- yes! Our country -- is like one mind, and there is a dark spot festering away in it. And it is causing this nightmare. But it is a nightmare that wants to wake up."

          "I see." Jefferson bent down and continued writing. "And why does it appear here at Monticello?"

          "I believe it is because of the law of correspondences. You draw it here, like a lightning rod, and something in your brain makes it welcome. You built Monticello. In many ways, you built the country. And -- I beg your pardon, sir, -- you have allowed slavery to continue in both."

          "And what should I do at this point? I am not in the center of power anymore. What can I do against half a country?"

          "There must be some hope. You can speak out against it, muster your old eloquence, free your own slaves as an example. I sincerely hope something can be done, otherwise I foresee harsh consequences for all. Shall I diagnose your case, Mr. President?"

          "Please do."

          "Your father, as you told me, wanted you to be one way, but you wanted to be something else. This made you feel angry and guilty, and when he died, there was no way to salve this guilt. You tried to remove it, not by conforming to his wishes, but by trying to remove the possibility of a judge who might condemn you. Hence you developed your Enlightenment principles, with a distant god and no final judgement. But even under Natural Law, there are elements of your behavior that are condemned, thus leaving you with an irreducible element of guilt."

          "Interesting theory."

          "I believe you founded the Bureau as something of a last-ditch effort to explain the ‘mysteries of life’ by finding that they are either frauds or have a natural cause; you take comfort in the frauds, but over the years you have been quietly plagued by the cases we find true."

          "I think perhaps you have strayed from the subject."

          "Slavery is such a monstrous wrong, there can be no secular forgiveness. You might free their descendants, you might give recompense to people who have been slaves, you might apologize again and again, but nothing material can wash that dark blot away. There is no way, within history, to redeem it, for those that suffered it. I think you realize this; perhaps that's why you haven't freed your slaves. Because even that is not adequate. There can be no forgiveness without redemption, and the system of government you have set up, the empty heaven you have erected over it, has no provision for that. No simply material cork is big enough to plug the hole.

          "And this legacy of your compromise with the dirty devices of this world, along with your genius, must be passed along to the Republic, in an almost voodoo exchange. The ghost was not a real slave that died, it is the Ghost of Slavery itself that lives, which unless you help to lay it, now, is destined to haunt these United States down the ages. There must be a change of heart and satisfaction made. You must get a new soul and give it to your country."

          Jefferson looked at me. His eyes gleamed under craggy brows. He turned to Frobisher.

          "Your best man, eh?"

          I drew myself up.

          "I aspire to be better than the best man, sir. I aspire to be a good man."

          "Hm." He shook his head and looked down at the paper under his hand. He wrote a few more words, sanded it, and handed it to Frobisher.

          "Thank you. That will be all, Mr. Jandt."

          Frobisher accepted the document with a trembling hand. He glanced down at it glumly, and his eyes widened. He held it up and read it through quickly, and he brightened.

          "Thank you, Mr. President! Thank you! I will get this to Mr. Monroe as soon as possible. Look, Jandt! Our endorsement! Come, pack your bags and we'll be on our way. We are most pleased to have done anything that could help you!"

          He pulled me to the door, but I stopped and turned back.

          "Have I helped you, Mr. Jefferson?"

          "You've delivered your message, Belteshazzar. What else can you do?" He smiled bleakly.

          "You have mentioned your study of the New Testament. Are you as familiar with the Old?"

          "A grab-bag of violence and fables. Not worth my time."

          "Then let me quote you a little. It comes to me that it may be applicable. 'Because, even because they have seduced my people, saying, Peace; and there was no peace; and one built up a wall, and, lo, others daubed it with untempered mortar: Say unto them which daub it with untempered mortar, that it shall fall: there shall be an overflowing shower; and ye, O great hailstones, shall fall; and a stormy wind shall rend it. Lo, when the wall is fallen, shall it not be said unto you, Where is the daubing wherewith ye have daubed it?

          'Therefore thus saith the Lord God; I will even rend it with a stormy wind in my fury; and there shall be an overflowing shower in mine anger, and great hailstones in my fury to consume it. So will I break down the wall that ye have daubed with untempered mortar, and bring it down to the ground, so that the foundation thereof shall be discovered, and it shall fall, and ye shall be consumed in the midst thereof: and ye shall know that I am the Lord.

          'Thus will I accomplish my wrath upon the wall, and upon them that have daubed it with untempered mortar, and will say unto you, The wall is no more, neither they that daubed it.'"

          I bowed my head.

          "He that hath ears, let him hear."

          As Frobisher and I went down the dim hallway to pack, he chuckled and patted me on the back.

          "Jandt, you are my best man, if a little ... visionary, let's say."

          When we had returned to the Bureau at last, I sat down to write up my report. Frobisher came over, took my notebook, and tossed it in the fire.

          "This one shall be off the books, I think. It is too personal, and too outré, in my judgement. And it does not reflect well on a certain friend in high places."

          I agreed at the time but have since wondered if I had a greater duty. Now I have written it all up again, to get it clear in my head. Perhaps I will destroy it once more, or someone shall find it when I am gone, and the story passed on. Only time will tell, I suppose, if I was a prophet or a fool.

 

          Bob shut the file and looked once more at the cover. Burn This. So Jandt must have come to some final decision at last. Or had he? After all, here was the tale. He looked at his watcher. It had stopped spinning and was inert once more.

          He walked over to the little stove and opened the pipe. Curiosity had been satisfied. Now, decency or duty? He looked at the folder and its urgent red letters. He opened the stove door. Yes. If the Bureau needed this, it was in his head now. He pulled out his matches.

          When he left the room with the bundles of books and papers, a little pile of ashes steamed a bit in the grate, joining its acrid smell to the gunpowder tang of the July air.   

 

What I've 'Bin' Up To (Yuk-Yuk!)

 

Since Christmas is coming on (today is 11/24/25) and I’ll have to sling around the bins looking for Christmas stuff, and since the old Bin List is out of date because of shuffling, I thought I’d make an updated guide. Doing a bit at a time, I’ll start with those at the head of the bed. Counting down from the top of the stacks. Finished on 11/27/25.

 

Head of the Bed, Next to the Shelf:

Small Blue Bin: DVDs

Transparent Bin: Horses and Beasts

Grey Bin: Magazines, Comics

Blue Bin: Extra LOTR Action Figures

 

Head of the Bed, Next to the Bridge:

Dark Green Bin: Movie and TV Action Figures, Fancy

Dark Green Bin: Aliens & Predators Action Figures

Dark Green Bin: Disney Action Figures

Dark Green Bin: Macfarlane (inc. Spawn) Action Figures

Dark Green Bin: Family Photos

 

Under the AC, Next to the Bed:

Grey Bin: Family Memorabilia, Photos

Grey Bin: Library Cullings

Grey Bin: Clothes

Dark Green Bin: Harry Potter, Narnia Action Figures

Dark Green Bin: Action Figures, Various

Dark Green Bin: Star Trek (and others) Action Figures

Dark Green Bin: Blocks, Scenery, Toy Swords

 

Foot of the Bed, Next to the TV:

Blue Bin: Christmas Action Figures, Stockings

Blue Bin: Dragons

Dark Blue Bin: Harry Potter Action Figures, etc.

Light Blue Bin: Grooblies, Figural Bases

 

Foot of the Bed, Next to the Bridge:

Blue Bin: Christmas Stuff, Wreaths

Blue Bin: Calendars, Boxed Toys

Blue Bin: Peanuts Action Figures

Flat Lid Bin: Christmas Stuff, Tree Skirt

 

So that makes 24 bins out in the house, with who knows how many more in the ‘attic.’ Three or four in the closets. I’ve removed my Christmas decorations from the bin but will wait until at least past noon to set them up. At my advanced age I’ve pared it down to basics, but I will always at least put up the stockings and the Noel banner. Sometimes my descriptions are a little cryptic, but they make sense to me.

"I'll Mace You Good!": Another Incorrect Use of the Term

Yesterday I failed to make a certain note. This was about the Lord of the Nazgul’s weapon, a mace. Many people will think of the overblown thing from the Jackson film, a prop that Jackson admittedly made bigger and bigger for cinematic effect. It was invented for the films. Technically it is not a mace, but a weird chimera of a weapon that I have seen dubbed a mace flail. In most illustrations made before the movies, it is depicted in a more traditional manner. As I noted in my other blog, many years ago:

“The mace was a club-like weapon popular through many centuries and in many countries. Shapes, sizes, and patterns varied a great deal, but mostly had a long handle with a flanged, knobbed, or spiked head. They were popular with churchmen or clerics of military bent, because they were crushing or bruising weapons, and thus circumvented the scriptural ban on the shedding of blood by the sword.

“The flail, as a weapon, was based on the agricultural instrument for threshing corn, and thus favored by lower orders. This devastating weapon, consisting at its simplest as a weighted end suspended from a handle by a chain or leather strip, besides landing painful blows, could strike around shields or entangle the enemy's weapon. Sometimes called, in grim humor, a 'holy water sprinkler.' It could have several heads which made it more deadly but harder to handle.

“The morningstar (or 'morgenstern') was a spiked ball that could be used as the end of a mace or as the weight on the end of a flail. So-called because of its resemblance to a star.”

--Power of Babel, Jan.1, 2013

 

Just Grand-Uncle Rambling Again

Tomorrow (the 27^th) will be the 48^th anniversary of the premiere of the Rankin/Bass version of The Hobbit. “When the world was young, and death was but a dream.” Gawd. I was 15 at the time, a sophomore in 10^th Grade. Though I had seen a play version of The Hobbit in 1971 -72, I had only read the book when I was 11 in middle school (1973-74) and started my true engagement with Middle-earth. Although it seemed like forever, I had a very short wait for a visual adaptation compared to some who had been waiting for decades. Just like my wait for The Silmarillion in 1977. A span of just 6 or 7 years, but it seemed like an eternity at the time. Everything that came afterwards seems like mere embellishment. Looking back, somehow just a snip in time. Anyway, I thought I’d talk about it today as tomorrow will be a busy holiday and I might not have the time. Not so busy for me, as I have no cooking to do this year. So I thought I’d wander on (again) about my Tolkien obsession, and maybe take tomorrow off.

The Lord of the Rings: The Battle of the Pelennor Fields (Part 2)

‘But lo! Suddenly in the midst of the glory of the king his golden shield was dimmed. The new morning was blotted from the sky. Dark fell about him. Horses reared and screamed. Men cast from the saddle lay grovelling on the ground.’

Theoden tries to rally his men, telling them to fear no darkness, but his horse Snowmane rears up high fighting the air, then falls screaming, an arrow in his side. Theoden falls beneath him.

The dark shadow descends. It is a winged creature, bigger than any bird, with naked skin and webbed wings. ‘A creature of an older world maybe it was’, that Sauron took, feeding it with ‘fell meats’ and giving it to his servant to ride. It lands and fastens on Snowmane with its claws.

The Lord of the Nazgul rides upon it, clothed in black with a crown of steel, with nothing between but a ‘deadly gleam of eyes.’ He wields a great black mace. He has returned to the air and come before the darkness can fail, ‘turning hope to despair, and victory to death.’

Theoden’s knights are either slain or their horses, mad with fear, have taken them away. But Dernhelm and Merry are still there by the King; their horse Windfola had thrown them in his terror over the Nazgul descending upon them. But Dernhelm stands, ‘faithful beyond fear,’ and will not be driven away. But the knight weeps, having loved Theoden like a father. Merry crawls along like a dazed beast, blind and sick with horror. He cannot even open his eyes, though his heart reminds him that he, too, swore that Theoden would be like a father to him.

Out of the darkness Merry hears Dernhelm speaking, in a strangely changed voice.

‘Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!’

‘A cold voice answered: ‘Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.’

Dernhelm is not intimidated; the ringing of a sword as the weapon is drawn, and the warrior declares ‘I will hinder [you], if I may.’ The Nazgul calls him a fool: ‘No living man may hinder me!’

Dernhelm laughs, and with a clear voice proclaims, ‘But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Eowyn am I, Eomund’s daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.’

The fell beast screams and the Nazgul pauses as if in doubt, and Merry opens his eyes in astonishment. A few paces before him is the winged beast with the Lord of the Nazgul looming like a shadow above it. Eowyn stands revealed standing in defiance a little to his left, her helm off and her hair flowing like pale gold. Merry’s mind flashes on the look on ‘Derhelm’s’ face as they rode from Dunharrow: the face of one with no hope, seeking death. ‘The slow-kindled courage of his race awoke.’ He is gripped with the determination she shall not die alone. He must try to help her. He tries to slowly crawl towards the Witch-King, hoping the wraith will not turn his deadly gaze upon him. But the wraith is intent on Eowyn and heeds the hobbit ‘no more than a worm in the mud.’

The fell beast screams and beats its wings, stirring up a foul air. It leaps toward Eowyn, striking with beak and claw. Eowyn does not blench. With one swift stroke she cuts off the thing’s head and it falls with beating wings into a wreck. With its collapse the darkness passes and the light of the sunrise shines about Eowyn.  

But the Black Rider rises up from the ruin of his steed, and towers threatening over the maiden. With a venomous cry of hatred he brings his mace down and shatters Eowyn’s shield. The shield falls in pieces, and she falls to her knees, her arm broken. The wraith’s eyes glitter and he raises his mace for another stroke.

But suddenly he stumbles forward with a cry of bitter pain. His mace misses Eowyn, burying itself into the ground. Merry’s crawling has finally brought him up to the Black Captain and he’s stabbed him from behind, ‘piercing the sinew behind his mighty knee.’ Merry cries out Eowyn’s name, and she rallies, with her last strength driving her sword between the wraith’s crown and his shoulders.

‘The sword broke into many glittering shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Eowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe. But lo! The mantle and hauberk were empty. Shapeless they lay now on the ground, torn and tumbled; and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that died, and was swallowed up, and was never heard again in that age of the world.’

Bits and Bobs

There has been much speculation about the ‘Fell Beast’ the Nazgul rides. It being called ‘a creature of an older world’ and its featherless webbed wings has put many readers in mind of a pterodactyl or pteranodon. In the Jackson movies it is rather dragonish, and I’ve heard many commentators refer to it and its brothers as ‘dragons’, which in the world of Middle-earth are totally different critters. In fact, it’s not even sure that the other Nazgul rode the same kind of creature that’s described here; it’s spoken of as a ‘last untimely brood’ that Sauron had fed and given to his servant (note the singular) as his steed. I know that in at least the rough drafts the wraiths steeds are sometimes called ‘black vultures,’ I suppose in contrast to the Great Eagles.

The fact that the gleam of the Lord’s eyes can be seen points, I think, to one of the properties of invisibility in Tolkien’s works. Things can be invisible, like the Nazgul’s ‘unseen sinews,’ but not the light that they put forth. This is a shown, if I remember rightly, when Elendil has to draw on his hood to dowse the light of the Elendilmir when he’s escaping wearing the Ring.

“Dernhelm,’ of course, means ‘helm of secrecy,’ and with her helmet off Eowyn is finally revealed. In the Jackson movies Merry twigs to her identity right away, but we can assume here that the hobbit, not expecting such a stratagem and being distracted with worry over the ride and coming battle, was thinking of other things. Her bravery is indeed great, being inspired by love for her uncle and the desire to do great deeds, but her recklessness is also being driven by her rejection by Aragorn: she is ‘seeking death.’ She mocks the Nazgul with the Rohirric term, ‘dwimmerlaik’ (work of sorcery). A sham, a cheat, no longer a man, a phantom, an empty thing.

The prophecy that the Witch-king cannot be killed by any living man was made by Glorfindel way back in the Second Age during the war with Angmar. Of course it echoes the prophecy in Macbeth, that he cannot be killed by any man of woman born, that is fulfilled when Macduff reveals he was ‘untimely ripped from his mother’s womb.’ The Lord of the Nazgul has been riding along on the assurance of this prophecy (he must have heard it somewhere, and puts credence in it), not considering the possible ambiguities in the statement. As it is, a woman and a hobbit together encompass his downfall.

And note that his threat to Eowyn is not that he will kill her, but will bear her away to ‘the houses of lamentation’, her flesh devoured and her mind left writhing under the gaze of Sauron. Compare Gorbag’s saying ‘[The Nazgul] will peel the body off of you as soon as look at you, and leave you all cold in the dark on the other side.’

·       Some have speculated that the Witch-King’s voice being ‘never heard in that age of the world again’ might imply that he could be back in another age. But it seems more to be a literary way of saying ‘never, ever again.’ The ring of the Nazgul that extended his life to an unnatural length, whether on his finger (and thus possibly left among his remains) or held by Sauron, would be destroyed when the One Ring is unmade. The Rankin/Bass The Return of the King, among its many other travesties, has the Lord of the Nazgul collapsing with the sound of a deflating balloon.

 

2020 Diary: The Last of November

11/24/2020: Up about 7:30, dressed, prayers and Bible, ate the last elderly banana and took my medicine. Caught up diary. The morning is cool and a little damp with a spit of rain laying on the land. This continued, on and off, through the morning, but by the afternoon was mainly scattered clouds and fair sun.

In at 9 AM for the usual ramen-and-eggs. Played DQ8 throughout the day, eventually beating Little Rhapthorne at about 2:30 PM and calling it a day. At lunch (12:30 PM, to go back a bit) had 2 turkey sandwiches and broccoli salad. At 3:30 PM started potatoes-carrots-onion-cabbage-mushrooms and sausages and finished at 5 PM. Talked to Kam and listened to Christmas channel while I cooked. Went in and washed at 8 PM. Susan told me all still seemed on schedule over at Babeloth. Watched Green Acres. Read The Confidence Man. Started rosary about 9 PM, but drifted off after the 3^rd decade, finishing it off during the periods I woke up through the night, the last one being at 3 AM.

 

11/25/2020: Awoke at 3 AM and couldn’t get back to sleep. So washed a couple of dishes, said prayers, read Bible, caught up diary, and now mean to shower and perhaps read more TCM, making a drive to finish it and maybe helping me get to sleep.

So, I prayed a rosary, finished The Confidence Man and slept a bit more. Up at 7 AM and got dressed and left at 7:40 AM. Got to DG precisely at 8 AM, just as they opened. Got a ton of junk on my card and was home at 8:40 AM. Watched the end of Perry Mason, ate an apple pie, and gave an expired one to the Rotts and Jade. Went in at 9 AM and got ramen-and-eggs. Caught up Diary.

So, played DQ8. Went in at lunch and had the leftover cabbage-etc.  A little after 2 PM Yen called and we had a nice talk, I telling him about Lady Willow and The Elderly Princess, which I sent to him after we hung up.

In at 4 PM and fed animals, swept porch, and made sloppy joe mix. Now await S&A arrival to eat.

It was about 7 PM when we did eat. In the meantime, I had started the pea salad. Finished making that at about 8 PM, washed up, came out, watched Green Acres, then hit the hay.

 

11/26/2020: Up at 7 AM, prayers, Bible, and rosary. About 8:30 AM Andy came out and asked me to make bacon, eggs, and pancakes, which I did, and we had a good meal. Almost immediately after that (it took over an hour to cook and consume) I started boiling eggs, then made the deviled eggs. When I finished that, I made the mashed potatoes. Also made cheese spread for their trip tomorrow. After that I came in and played DQ8 for a while, showered, dressed, then more DQ8. By 2:30 PM I had beaten Rhapthorne and was at the closing credits when Andy called me, and off to Babeloth we went. Started eating a little after 3 PM, and a fine meal it was with smoked turkey, green bean casserole, gravy, rolls, orange fluff, dressing, soda, sweet potatoes, and for dessert, pecan pies. We yakked and visited and then started playing Catch Phrase, with Kam and Joey taking places on the girl team, as Morgandy didn’t want to play. Kameron did really great! Then Fred called (I think about 7 PM) and Andy had to leave, then Joe came out and played and he did good too, for the first time around. Then he had to go to bed. We moved inside and talked and had a bit of seconds, discussing among other things business and futures. Andy finally got back about 9 PM, and we headed home (John had had to go to bed at 8 PM), stopping to get gas for tomorrow. Home about 9:30 PM, where I finished my DQ8 game and caught up the diary. It’s now 10:10 PM, and I should try to settle down for the night, but can I? I drank a fair amount of Big Red Zero today.

 

11/27/2020: After a restless night, I was up about 6:30 AM. Prayers. Kind of puttered around until the Shanafelts left for the park (a 90-mile drive) where they are going with Amy and the kids. Had a mashed potato sandwich and a turkey sandwich for breakfast, and a few deviled eggs. Kept checking the porch all day because Susan is expecting her Strawberry Shortcake dollhouse, but it didn’t come today. Got the mail at about 11 AM. At lunch had ramen-and-eggs. Did a load of wash. Grassed Ginger. Fed the pets at 4 PM. Played a little DQ8, watched some YT shows on the recent episodes of Duck Tales, and then set the lights at 5 PM. The weather has been mostly cloudy with some spotty precipitation never rousing up to actual rain, hovering at about 60 degrees all day. Don’t have to cook this evening and don’t know when they’ll be back.

So, they got home a little after 6 PM, and Andy brought me a chopped BBQ burger. The evening rolled along (it was weird because the day felt like a Saturday while being a Friday) with Green Acres, a rosary, and defeating the Lord of the Dragovians. Had a hard time going to sleep, getting up and laying down again all night.

 

11/28/2020: Up about 7:30 AM, from a dream of Star Wars characters playing a sacred game of tennis on a planet of reptilian people they were trying to woo into the alliance, when suddenly the Empire swoops in. Sheesh. Did get to see a reptilian funeral, though. Prayers, Bible, getting ready to go to town, if need be, and trying to distract my stupid mind. Rainy drippy (not showering) and so predicted for all day. Had a ramen for breakfast. Watched YT stuff on the old Duck Tales, my latest catch-up obsession. Andy called about 10 AM, and we went first to the bank and cashed my check with some deposit ($4500 back – it’s the most money I’ve ever seen in me life!) then went to HEB pharmacy for my medicine. Now it’s 11 AM, and on we go.

Sent John a collection of about 2 dozen quotes at noon. About 1:30 PM Andy came in and collected $60 because earlier I had suggested I pay for Chicken Express for lunch. Started watching the old cartoon series “Around the World in 80 Days” (there is now the complete series on YT). The Shanafelts finished their business and were home at 3:40 PM and we ate. I unfortunately broke a coaster as we were cleaning up.

Started reading Chesterton’s “Robert Browning”, took a little nap, then read some more. Been raining all day (good, we needed some). It’s now 9 PM.

At 9:30 PM said rosary, then spent an hour or so looking for a statue of the Virgin Mary on E-bay. Found a good one. Now back to GKC until I get sleepy again.

 

11/29/2020: Up about 6 AM. Prayers, Bible, and rosary. Then church on YT. First week of Advent. (I had only tried to reserve a confession spot on Wednesday about 1 PM, and the office was already closed for the holidays.) Father Stan was wearing a vestment that said “Jezu Ufam Tobei” which is Polish for “Jesus, I Trust in You”.

Afterward I posted on NOT and POB, had a shower, got dressed, and took my medicine. It’s now 8:07 AM. I am determined that tomorrow I will get my Social Security and bank business straightened out.

I finished “Robert Browning” and started “Lord Kitchener” (more a pamphlet than a book). About 10:15 AM Andy came out with the weekly leftovers (I ate the boiled eggs and the last of the oatmeal cookies). I took the bowls in and got the leftover turkey and mashed potatoes. As I returned, I heard what sounded like “Morning Has Broken” on the bagpipes being played in the neighborhood. I mean I know the tune, but not exactly sure if it was someone playing the bagpipes. Made a turkey, mash potato, and ramen bowl.

I had just laid down for a nap when Andy arrived with the pumpkin pie and the rest of the tea from yesterday at about 12:10 PM. Had a slice and watched some YT, now ready to get back to sleep … or try to.

So about 5:30 PM I go in to nab more leftovers (mashed potatoes, deviled eggs, Chicken Express stuff) and Andy returns with a burger and fries for me from Whataburger as well. I try watching the Sunday animation block, and it’s oh so dreary. Read Typee, then bed.

 

11/30/2020: Woke up about 5:30 AM with determination about straightening out SocSec today. Prayers, Bible. Arranged my papers, saw there was naught to do until 9 AM, watched Perry Mason and fretted, gathering garbage, etc. Boiled eggs and made egg salad. A little after 10 AM made my call and waited almost AN HOUR, and then when I was talking to a lady and making some progress we were disconnected! Called back and waited another 40 MINUTES until I got another agent (he seemed somewhat duller than the bright lady I had before) and then I was only able to get ONE of the check accounts settled. He suggested I get with RBFCU to settle the other one. >Sigh< But, PROGRESS, of a sort. If I had only been more proactive before and less anxious and depressed, I maybe could have settled the whole thing.

So, got Kameron most of the Chicken Express for lunch, had cheese spread sandwiches, then made cucumber salad. Such a bright, clear, cool day! I was on the manic part of my manic-depressive cycle. Read lots of “Typee”. At 4 PM went in and fed pets, made fish patties and couscous, then out again. Watched the new Duck Tales Christmas episode at 6 PM, which wasn’t as good as I’d hoped, but alright.

Went in and washed up at 8 PM. Watched Green Acres. Prayed rosary. Washed up here. It’s 9:20 PM and a clear cold moon-bright night. Getting ready to read a bit, then hit the hay.

 

NOTES

 Well, I was certainly watching a lot of Green Acres. It had just started playing on MeTV and so was at the same time novelty and nostalgia; it recalled a time when I was a kid. I don’t retain many memories of all the Herman Melville or Chesterton reading I did then, just vague impressions. I only learned afterwards that I shouldn’t have fed any ‘human food’ to the Tovars’ dogs. Thanksgiving that year was over at John and Amy’s; I didn’t have to cook the complete meal, just our contributions, of which pea salad and deviled eggs were our traditional offering. Never did get that statue of the Virgin Mary; ironically, I had a good one from Paper Bear, years before I became Catholic, that had been broken and thrown away. We don’t play many family games anymore; perhaps having the young’uns when we do gather makes it a little more complicated. Lady Willow and the notes for The Elderly Princess are published elsewhere on this blog. A little fuzzy about whether Scattergories is the right name of that game we played, or just the thing I mistakenly called it all the time. [Update: it was really Catch Phrase, which I've updated in the body of the entry.]

Sounds Like It

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/ksSw3yR6Qi4

"Fake" Animal Sounds

A Strangely Momentous Day

November 22, 1963 was the day John F, Kennedy, C. S. Lewis, and Aldous Huxley all died. The significance of Kennedy's passing (assassination) was pretty much known to all; only many years later did the death of C. S. Lewis became important to me. Aldous Huxley -- who knows? Maybe later. The date became even more significant to me years later when Pop passed away on the anniversary, only two days after his last birthday. Pop was actually in Dallas the day Kennedy was shot. We always used to joke around, asking him what he was up to that day. I was only about 5 months old at the time. So I have my alibi.

 

Friday Fiction: Slavery's Ghost (Part Five)

"What are your own religious convictions?"

          He wagged his finger at me.

          "Now, I told you, no state secrets. If I had broadcast my opinions during the elections, I doubt I could have been President, and even now I do have political friends. I'd not have them tarred with my own skeptical brush."

          "You are a skeptic, then? After all the reports of strange things from the Bureau?"

          "I do not doubt that there are many strange, unexplained phenomena on this earth, Mr. Jandt. I do not see any reason to posit an unprovable world beyond or behind it."

          "You do not believe in God?"

          He shrugged.

          "I am a deist. It seems to be a philosophical necessity for there to be a First Cause to begin the universe. But for there to be a personal power, that cares what mankind does or furnishes an ultimate fate? I see no indication of such a being."

          "And Christ?"

          "A very good man, who had some legends grow up about him. I have done work on a version of the New Testament, in fact, purging it of some obvious fairy tales that have become attached to the Great Teacher. I certainly do not think he was the Son of God. It would be akin to saying he was the nephew of the Law of Gravity. The morality of the Natural Law is sufficient for any good man."

          "Mm-hm," I said, making my notes. "Now about your slaves ..."

          "I inherited most of them from my father, and others belong to my wife. I cannot simply cut them loose, unprepared. They are a responsibility."

          "Worth quite a lot of money too. They labor in your farm and factories."

          "I intend to set them free upon my death..."

          "When you are beyond any earthly need of them. But your father. May I ask, did he or any other members of your family mistreat them in any way?"

          He drew back. The distance was in his eyes again.

          "That depends on your definition of mistreatment, I suppose. Nothing mortal, no. If anything, I would say loving, as far as it goes."

          "I believe I understand you. Do you feel guilt about this?"

          "I do not believe in inherited guilt. I may well have brothers and cousins among my people: it is another reason I care for them but cannot acknowledge them. It has even been used as a stick by my political opponents to beat me. I say nothing, to either affirm or deny. But if I did pleasure myself among them, my wife not objecting and the girl willing, why shouldn't I?"

          "A woman who cannot say no, as a slave to a master, cannot really say yes, though, can she?" I shook my head. "No matter, sir. When did your father die?"

          "I was fourteen."

          "What kind of man was he?"

          "What can I say? He was the master, the king of his castle, absolute on his ground. Distant. Unapproachable. Demanding."

          "How did you feel when he died?"

          "To be honest? Liberated. I was already growing in my studies. Music. History. Mathematics. He couldn't understand what I wanted to do. I could follow my own way. But not all at once.

          "For a while I was under the thumb of an executor, and in the hands of James Maury, an educated man, but very pious. I learned much literature from him, but his Anglican religiosity put a bit of a brake on my notions. By the age of twenty-one I was free."

          "Your trail of liberation seems quite progressive. From your father, from church, and finally from King George. Tell me, do you think there is any authority to which you are beholden?"

          A wintery smile.

          "Perhaps only to the judgement of history. And by the time it comes, shall I care?" He reached over and pulled the bell. "Come, I think it is time to dine."

We had a very pleasant meal, but Jefferson ate very little and Frobisher even less. He had whiled away the day growing dyspeptic with worry in the library and burning a hole in his stomach at afternoon coffee. By the time we retired to a bedroom on the east side of the second floor my old friend was worn to rags with the questions he had longed to ask but was too polite to bring up at the dinner table.

          "Well? Is there any progress?" he asked, pulling off his boots.

          "Oh, most certainly. This is no fraud. He is surrounded by loyal people, who I do not think would ever let harm come to him and seem to have little reason to wish it." I laid my suit out over a chair.

          "Any theories about what it is then? A ghost? A sending? A walker?"

          "I have the beginning of a thought. I have one more person to question, and I don't think I will be long in meeting him."

          Frobisher slumped.

          "You mean the thing itself." He rubbed his forehead. "You know this sort of being is notorious for not showing up when expected."

          "I know." By now I was down to my nightshirt and looked like something of a ghost myself. "But this spirit ... I don't think it can help but appear."

          I sighed and got between the sheets.

          "The problem, I believe, will be to get it to go away."

 

          Frobisher finished undressing, doused the lamp, and got into bed. It had been a long day, and soon we were fast asleep.

          I awoke with an urgent need for the chamber pot. I reached out for the side table, and my hand was staid by a body interposing between I and it.  My eyes flew open. There, in the moonlight, was the Slave's Ghost.

          I had heard descriptions of the thing all day, but to see it was another thing altogether. It was hunched, almost gnomish, but with powerful shoulders that trickled with blood, black and wet in the moonbeams. It was shackled at both wrists and ankles, and there was blood there too. The pitiable state of its body, combined with the power of violence that seemed to quiver throughout it, ready to leap forth and avenge, struck my soul. I stood dumb for a moment staring into its unblinking fiery eyes. Then my training came through.

          "If thou hast any sound," I began, throat dry, "Or use of voice, speak to me: If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease and grace to me, Speak to me."

Yes, it was Shakespeare. There is no magic in the words, except that they can be memorized and used when your brain is paralyzed. They ask the old, old questions.

           "If thou art privy to thy country's fate," I went on, "Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak! Or if..."

          "Tell him," it rasped. If a hole from a grave choked with weeds could speak, it might sound like that. "You have guessed. Tell him, not for death, but for my life. No more warning from me. Tell him."

          His eyes fixed on me; his form thinned until nothing was left but his stony gaze. Then that vanished, leaving only moonlight. I turned and looked at Frobisher, who snored under his nightcap. He had never even stirred.

(To Be Continued ...)