daily post

Foaming At the Mouth

I’ve always been quite a fool for a hot cup of coffee.  Not counting Sanka and Starbuck’s, I’ll drink any other kind.

 

Most days since I’ve been in Long Beach, I can be counted on to go once a day to the Coffee Nut Cafe’ on Park Avenue, to get a cup of coffee. Occasionally I go to Gentle Brew, also on Park Avenue, but since the former is closer, I much more often go there.

 

Lately I restrict my purchases to the less expensive~it’s only two dollars a cup~plain flavored coffee. Whenever I go to Gentle Brew, though, I cheat and get a latte’ or something equivalently intense. I used, until recently, to get the fancy drinks on a regular basis at the Coffee Nut Cafe’ too.

 

For me a large part of the enjoyment of drinks like latte’ is the froth at the top. Maybe I’m a  smidge or two on the eccentric side, but I’ve always quite enjoyed the foam at the top of soda, beer, coffee, and all sorts of other drinks. I’ve so often noticed that most people appear even to recoil in horror from even the risk of touching those bubbles at the top of a drink.

 

When I was in the Knights of Columbus’ Council 794, in Lindenhurst, I occasionally took a turn as a bartender, mostly on Friday nights.  I used always to get into trouble for putting too much of a head on people’s beers. Alas, in my case, it was inevitably because of incompetence but I still can’t understand why that’s always struck people as such a very bad thing somehow.  Am I the only one who gets a kick out of froth?

 

For today’s daily post the one~word prompt is Froth 

 

Naikanlens

Help From Heaven 

 

Feel Purple

 

Pensitivity

 

 

 

 

 

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Ah, yes! I remember it well!

I’ve always had a phenomenally good memory, but only in a qualified sense.

Does anyone remember Marilu Henner, who, long ago, played Elaine Nardo, the art gallery employee on “Taxi”? She is purported to have a perfect autobiographical memory.

I appear to come quite close.  Oddly, although I’m always forgetting where I most recently put my eyeglasses, keys, wristwatch, etc. , I seem to have quite an amazing memory to remember verbatim conversations, and all manner of arcane trivia, from decades in the past.

People are always passing comments about how exasperating it is that I can’t quite seem to remember to do the important chores, to run necessary errands, or otherwise to keep a promise, but I can always remember the times, in the tenth grade, when my theology teacher at St. John the Baptist Diocesan High School in West Islip told us that he’d never liked boiled hot dogs, and that his brother had a major foot problem.                                                                                                                          I haven’t lived in Jackson Heights, Queens, since September 11, 1971, five days before my twelfth birthday.  My parents and I, during the first years of the twenty first century, went back to St. Gabriel’s, our old parish in East Elmhurst, for a couple of reunions.  I attended grammar school there.  Sister Catherine, of the Sisters of Charity, was on the faculty when I was there. At one of the reunions, I re introduced myself and explained to her that I thought I could remember that she was once named Sister Lawrence. She reacted with a stunned facial expression and  replied: “Not since 1966!”                                                                                                                                  Of course, I could come up with quite a large number of other similar incidents. I quite often enjoy shocking old friends, teachers, and classmates with these trips down memory lane. It would be nice, however, if I could as easily summon up the equivalent ability to remember  to buy things I’ve run out of, to take out the garbage, and to meet whichever deadlines may arise in the here and now.

Mnemonic

Calling all Dingbats, Meatheads, and Little Girls

Noise has always been the veritable bane of my existence. Ever since my very early childhood I’ve always had quite a love/hate relationship with sound in general. Everyone most certainly knows about my intense interest in music, especially the Beatles, as well as 1960’s music of all kinds.                                                                                                                                There’s also quite a dark side to sound, however.  Noise, and excessive volume, get me plum crazy. It’s an especially nasty problem when I’m subjected to  high~pitched, shrill sounds.                                                                                                              Libraries and churches, in my younger days, were havens of peace and quiet. Back then most people were significantly concerned about being ladies and gentlemen, and, as a general rule, could be counted on to respect the obligation to remain as silent as possible in these environments.                                                 

That era, however, is long gone. Now, since the advent of cell phones (I’ve always quite bitterly resented the telephone but that can be fodder for another day) there are all sorts of  creeps who feel free to talk on their phones even in these once forbidden places. A couple of times, a few years ago, I went to Lincoln Center in Manhattan. There was a rule against telephones on the premises and people seemed quite willing to honor it. Do people have to be charged practically forty dollars for admission to someplace before accepting the obligation to respect others?                                                                                                            To my chagrin, I shall always have to deal with my aversion to noise. It would most certainly be quite nice, however, if at least I could count on the assumption that all the defiantly narcissistic cacophony may someday dwindle down a little bit.                                                                                         I hereby request that we all stifle it as much as possible.

 

 

carmelite feasts

I’ve been a lay Carmelite ever since October 2001. The Order is quite ancient and has its origins well before the eleventh century, traditionally hearkening back to before the Birth of Christ.

The Order, since the days of Sts. John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila in Counter-Reformation Spain, has been divided into two main branches, the Discalced, and the Calced (or Ancient Observance).  Although they have much in common, each branch has its own separate customs, rules, and traditions. Each month of the liturgical year has at least one Carmelite feast day.

July is quite an important month for Carmel since it’s the month during which we honor both St. Elijah, the Prophet and our Father, on the twentieth; and the Virgin Mary.  Mary gets two days.  The first is the Solemnity of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel on the sixteenth. Her other feast day is the Mother of Divine Grace, on the twenty third. It’s on the nineteenth in Europe.  Sts. Joachim and Anne, parents of the Virgin Mary, are also honored on July 26 as the protectors of the Order.

Carmelite Feast Days

Feast

Feast ~Christmas

Feast

Feast

Midnight In the Pantry

undeniable and inexplicable order

Today is the ninety ninth anniversary of the birth of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, thirty fifth President of the United States.  His younger brother and attorney general, Robert Francis Kennedy, was fatally shot on June 5, 1968.  J.F.K. was assassinated on November 22, 1963, two days after R.F.K.’s thirty eighth birthday.  

Over the past very many years I have always noticed that death has no respect for special occasions.  People often die on, or close, to times like Christmas, Easter, and other milestones.  My mother died exactly a week after my fifty fourth birthday. neral was on my father’s eightieth birthday.

So many things are like that. Between William Henry Harrison in 1840 and John F. Kennedy in 1963, each president elected at a twenty year interval died, either naturally or by assassination, while an incumbent.  This has been attributed to the curse of Tippecanoe, dating back to Harrison’s  questionable tactics in the Treaty of Fort Wayne with the Indians.

Another example of inexplicable coincidences can be found in the 1917 Our Lady of Fatima apparitions and events that are relevant to them. In 1517 the world was afflicted with the Protestant Revolution,  the first of many evil milestones. In 1689 Luis XIV refused Jesus’ request to consecrate France to the Sacred Heart.  During 1717 the Masons were founded. 1789  was the beginning of the French Revolution.  The Russian Revolution occurred in 1917, and the Berlin Wall came down in 1989. There are so many other supposedly coincidental dates that are crucial to the circumstances surrounding Fatima. I’ve only skimmed the surface.  These, and many other dates and milestones, fit a most undeniable pattern that cannot possibly be overlooked.

This kind of order, visible only in retrospect, has to be reckoned with. I have no idea of exactly what’s going on but it has always made me so insatiably curious.

daily post~:orderly

no order..haiku

a place for everything

orderly

ladies, form an orderly queue

orderly

weekend at bernie’s, hillary’s, the donald’s

The big election will be here in only another eight months. Politics is pretty much the most divisive force known to mankind, precisely because it’s all about power.  I’m as conservative as anyone can begin to imagine. I’m constantly surrounded, in person and online, by people who are equally liberal.  This kind of division always makes for excessively hard feelings. People are constantly leaving my Facebook friend list. I don’t bother to pay much attention to my Twitter account but I should assume it’s also why people stop following me there. Proponents of  homosexuality and abortion are entirely irrational and power crazy. They will stop at absolutely nothing whatsoever in their determination to promote their ugly agenda.  I always  try to avoid arguing in person. If anyone wants to find out my points of view, he can always read them online.

daily post

divide

a happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers

a home divided

divided

march 2 2016 daily prompt

leap at your own risk

I’ve never been a fan of change, especially significant change. The first time I moved from one address to another~of the moves I can remember~was around my twelfth birthday, when we moved from Jackson Heights to Lindenhurst.  That drove me nuts.  It was an unavoidably necessary leap but I still plum stunk at it. I always tell people that that was the incident which forever left me wary of change.  I can handle incremental change, the kind that happens in small degrees.  That kind of change happens incessantly anyway. Any change, however, that can be referred to as a leap, gets me crazy.  Ever since my earliest  days I’ve always been so pathetically physically clumsy, weak and uncoordinated. I was the kind of kid whom no one else ever wanted on his team, in gym class or otherwise.  Physical leaps are yet another kind I tend to shun.  While I can understand that leaping into things can often be unavoidably necessary, I don’t leap well. I should rather saunter as much as possible.

like a boss

a leap altar and more

daily post

daily paws

leap~daily prompt

peeps for leap

all we need is just a little patience

There are different waiting periods for different circumstances. Some things take only minutes and some can even be expected to take decades. Each individual should find out what the average time is for the specific goal he’s after and take it from there. Of course often someone may be expected to be kept waiting for an inordinate length of time. Under those circumstances it pays to be at least a bit pushy.  I most certainly don’t ever intend to wait for an hour on a phone while some nasty customer service characters subject me to annoying music while they feel free to twiddle their thumbs. Still, one must accept what one must accept. Unfortunately I’ve always been quite impatient and that never works out to anyone’s advantage.  The only answer to the question about how long someone should wait for something is, as long as it takes.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/waiting-room/

http://abozdar.wordpress.com/2014/11/16/driven/

http://livingonchi.wordpress.com/2014/11/16/511/

http://inkhammer.wordpress.com/2014/11/16/waiting-room/

http://gordonflanders.wordpress.com/2014/11/16/things-come-to-those-who-wait-and-those-who-dont/

http://lemonlimefollies.com/2014/11/16/gone-forgotten/

uncle, cousin, ice cream

It was a crisp bright Saturday morning one long ago Fourth of July weekend quite a few years ago. I was visiting Uncle Frankie in West Wyoming. As he occasionally does, he was telling me quite a lot of long stories about life before World War II. From out of nowhere, the phone rang. It was my cousin Vinnie, in Hilldale. He explained that he desperately wanted me to take him to Jitty Joe’s, in Moosic, for ice cream. Everyone knows theirs is the best. Since I really wanted to get the ice cream I was getting so overwhelmingly frustrated at Uncle Frankie’s story telling. Conveniently he only lives around two and a half miles away from Hilldale so it would only take me a few minutes to get there to pick up Vinnie. Moosic is about twenty five minutes from there though, and we desperately needed ice cream so once we started to go, we’d really had to fly like crazy. It’s always been quite an addiction for us. Eventually my raconteur uncle ran out of anecdotes about all our long-deceased, and mostly long-forgotten kin. I took advantage of his having run out of steam, and reminded him that Vinnie and I desperately needed ice cream so he let me go. With absolutely no remaining time whatsoever to lose, I ran out his front door, down to my car, and drove as fast as possible to Hilldale to pick up Vinnie. From there, we drove at about eighty miles per hour, on River Road and Route 81, until we finally arrived at our destination. It was worth it.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/trio-4/

http://dragoneystory.wordpress.com/2014/11/12/a-dream/

http://amaviedecoeurentier.wordpress.com/2014/11/12/a-crisp-morning-in-st-malo/

http://jojogjoy.wordpress.com/2014/11/07/i-got-me-a-new-fresh-rythm-for-my-soul/

http://mymoleskinemarginnotes.wordpress.com/2014/11/12/its-that-morning-that-one/

http://normashilpi.wordpress.com/2014/11/12/it-was-my-boss/

wanderlust

Light out Wanderlust. Head us out to sea.   My brother in law Steve and cousin Mark own a yacht together. Ever since around my twelfth birthday I’ve always lived within walking distance to a significant body of water. Except for my seven and a half years in northeastern Pennsylvania, where I lived down the street from the Susquehanna River, I’ve always lived by salt water canals and a  bay that leads to the Atlantic Ocean.  Although I don’t ordinarily spend a lot of time specifically on boats or at the beach, or in immediate proximity to any of the water, it’s always been quite interesting and enjoyable for me.  Because of my always having been a bookworm I can see lots of significant symbolism in water.   From Noah’s Ark to “Moby Dick” mankind has always been inextricably linked to this extremely important reality of life, and has always referred to it significantly in story telling.   From the point of view of wanderlust its appeal can easily be found in the significance of what lies out there beyond all that man’s eye can see. A horizon can be both frustrating and intimidating.  Many things in life can be elusive and deceptive. Once someone reaches what is currently his horizon, it’s not there anymore.  It’s all relative to his current circumstances.  That’s why wanderlust can  be a frustrating problem, never to be satisfied.  

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/opening-lines/

http://lindaswritingblog.wordpress.com/2014/08/23/storm-clouds/

http://mostlytruestoriesofkrenaep.com/2014/08/23/songcovers/

http://flippyzipflop.wordpress.com/2014/08/23/um-cant-i-go-back-a-little-further/