I Remember Mama

Hello World,

Happy belated Mother's Day to all the Moms out there in our audience, as well as whatever mother figures that may be around us providing some much needed maternal guidance in our lives, and not to mention, making the world a better place. I hope whether you're a Mom, or have a Mom, or know a Mom, or just watch them on TV, that you had a holiday that was special and wonderful, and just brimming with treats for the matriarchs among us. Around here, the weather was nice enough, but brisk, and anyone taking their Mom out to the New Rochelle Post Office, for instance, would have had to hold onto her good and tight, or watch her being blown sideways all the way along North Avenue and into the bay. Of course, we're wise enough to know better, and wouldn't take that sort of risk with Mom, and luckily, she is the type of person who will just stay put and let the presents come to her, rather than chasing around after them. So she managed to stay out of danger on her special day, and I'm sure she was glad to see us, although it does seem that the appeal of her loved ones pales in comparison to a box of Mallomars, on a side-by-side basis. I console myself with the thought that she would probably like us just as much if we were covered in chocolate, but it's cold comfort.

That reminds me of the time last week that I was typing up a book report for what I refer to as "my book blog" (and please feel free to check it out at http://thebookreporter924.blogspot.com and see for yourself) and I inadvertently described one of the characters as "desplondent." The spell-checker didn't seem to think that was a word, but personally, I happen to love it. It sounds so utterly, exquisitely, explosively full of despair, like someone who is resplendently despondent, not just your average garden-variety despondency by any means. I defy the spell-checker to improve upon that, try as it might. And speaking of things that are resplendently despondent, many of us who had at one time bought hockey tickets through the New York Rangers web site, found a very touching video salute to the fans in our incoming email, just after the team had been eliminated from the playoffs. (Ottawa has been having better luck with the Sabres than we did, and I like to think it's because we softened Buffalo up for them, although that's small satisfaction now.) The fan tribute video was very well done, and positively reeked of genuine appreciation of the fan support for the team throughout the season and two rounds of the playoffs. Bill and I thought it was a very nice gesture on the part of the team ownership, but I have to say that it did make us feel more than a little desplondent. And don't forget, I just invented that word, so I ought to know.

Normally, this is the time that I would be telling everyone all the news and happenings at the 2007 Metro New York Synod Assembly, which is going on right this very minute, and practically right under our very noses, at St. Peter's Lutheran Church in scenic Huntington Station on Long Island. That is to say that I would be telling everyone what was going on there, except for the curious fact that I was summarily dis-invited to the Assembly by the powers-that-be at my church, and replaced by other people ostensibly more qualified to report on the activities. Well, I like that! (NOT!!!) Honestly, when I think back to the years that I toiled at these darned Assemblies far and wide, and under some of the most grueling conditions, when you couldn't get anyone else to go to one of them at gunpoint, and now all of a sudden, I get cut off without so much as a by-your-leave. I was the one freezing in the ballroom at the Rye Town Hilton. That was me choking down clammy box lunches in a tent the first time at St. Peters. It was yours truly being bored to tears at the Marriott in Melville, when 500 grouchy Lutherans spent an agonizing three hours arguing about prayer, of all things. And now after all that, I find myself cast off like an old shoe, unceremoniously tossed onto the trash heap of Assembly casualties over the years, my long years of yeoman service and heroic effort down the drain and long forgotten by a fickle public. Oh, the humanity! I don't mind saying that I am completely desplondent, and I hardly need to add, that I am unanimous in that.

Adding insult to injury, things had reached the point, as they often do, where I simply had to pay my bills or face the consequences. Of course, nobody wants to mail payments in for anything, now that stamps are so expensive, if that idea ever had any appeal, it's long since gone the way of the dinosaurs now, and I ought to know. On the other hand, you can't even drive there and drop off your payments in person, because the darned price of gas is just going through the roof, and shows no sign of slowing down. It had gotten to where even Luddites like me were saying to ourselves that we're going to have no other choice but to pay our bills online and lump it. Not so fast! I'm sure that you will all be relieved to find out, as I was, that in spite of my best efforts, the minions at Citibank were able to fend off all of my attempts to pay my credit card bill online, by successfully protecting my account from me, after a relationship with them that goes back to my high school days. So we can all rest assured that now the only people who will be able to easily gain access to my Citibank account are 13-year-old computer hackers and international terrorists, but not me, heaven forbid. Sometimes, the dinosaurs and I just have to wonder that this electronic commerce idea ever caught on, because so many companies, and not just Citibank believe me, seem to go out of their way to make it impossible for a normal person, much less a Luddite, to do any business with them. And here I'm thinking that they would want me to pay this bill (silly me!) and instead, they do everything they can to foil my plans. I'm at the point now where I figure if they want this money bad enough, they can come to me and get it. Let them pay the $3.35 a gallon to get here, or better yet, just send me a 13-year-old computer hacker to get me into my own account online. Call me crazy (don't you dare!) but it's no crazier than 41 cents for stamps, and it's a lot less crazy than gasoline, by far.

We get the following from Bill, and around here, we file this under the category of "Bonanna-Fanna-Fad-ulla" and that's no (crazy hand) jive:

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Then I went to Wikipedia to look something up and the following was a news item there. Can you imagine -- The Name Game happening in real life all these years later?!
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Afghan officials report the death of Mullah Dadullah, a Taliban military commander in southern Afghanistan killed in a battle with the coalition forces in Helmand.
Me Mi Mo Mullah!
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And once again, I don't see how the spell-checker can improve upon that, try as it might. In other news, some of us might be surprised to realize that Memorial Day is next weekend already, especially around here, where it's been about 40 degrees and pouring down rain for the last two days, thank you very much not. Mind you, this is just after earlier in the week on Tuesday, when it was over 80 degrees with about 90% humidity, and people were collapsing in sodden piles all over town. Tonight after dinner, Bill and I came back from shopping, and it was so cold and damp that our breath was making steam. I don't have to wonder who's the evil ogre behind all of this, and I don't mind saying that as soon as Citibank sends me that 13-year-old computer hacker, the first thing (well, the second thing) that I'm doing with him is sending him off to the Kremlin to take on that infernal weather machine, and believe me, they won't know what hit them. In fact, I would expect them to be desplondent.