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  • My mom died of cancer many years ago. She was only 55 and a saint.
    a voice crying in the wilderness :chrysost:

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    • Originally posted by chrysostom View Post
      My mom died of cancer many years ago. She was only 55 and a saint.
      55 is so young. I'm sorry you lost her so soon.

      Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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      • Originally posted by annabenedetti View Post
        55 is so young. I'm sorry you lost her so soon.
        Only the good die young
        The rest of us need more time to be purified
        a voice crying in the wilderness :chrysost:

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        • Originally posted by chrysostom View Post
          Only the good die young
          The rest of us need more time to be purified
          Then I should make it to 90, at least.

          Reminds me of my favorite Flannery O'Connor quote:

          She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick.

          I've had a book of her letters for years, found it by chance in a library book sale. I think I've read almost everything she's written.

          Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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          • Originally posted by annabenedetti View Post

            Reminds me of my favorite Flannery O'Connor quote:

            She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick.
            John Paul the Great wanted to find a married couple to canonize. He was told that would be easy. Anyone married to a saint must be a martyr.
            a voice crying in the wilderness :chrysost:

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            • Originally posted by chrysostom View Post
              John Paul the Great wanted to find a married couple to canonize. He was told that would be easy. Anyone married to a saint must be a martyr.
              I don't know how he meant that, if he was serious or joking, but it depends on what kind of martyr you're talking about. I remember a cartoon where the woman tells the man something to the effect of 'stop martyring while I'm martyring' and it was funny because martyring in relationships - as a trait - can be a benignly human shortcoming (what the cartoon was illustrating), but as a pathology it would be something much darker.

              Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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              • Originally posted by annabenedetti View Post
                I don't know how he meant that, if he was serious or joking, but it depends on what kind of martyr you're talking about. I remember a cartoon where the woman tells the man something to the effect of 'stop martyring while I'm martyring' and it was funny because martyring in relationships - as a trait - can be a benignly human shortcoming (what the cartoon was illustrating), but as a pathology it would be something much darker.
                It was a joke
                Trust me
                Don't look past the joke
                Don't be a martyr
                unless it is really possible
                a voice crying in the wilderness :chrysost:

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                • Originally posted by chrysostom View Post
                  It was a joke
                  Trust me
                  Don't look past the joke
                  Don't be a martyr
                  unless it is really possible
                  Last time we talked about trust, it didn't go so well... but sure, I can trust that it was a joke.

                  Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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                  • I hope the journals get published or exhibited. What a treasure, and what a gift.

                    Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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                    • Last year, in the same month he turned 50, Jeff Tweedy lost his father to lung cancer.

                      Loss has a way of shifting one’s mind to the past. The Wilco frontman was already buried in reminiscence. He was in the middle of writing a memoir, recounting his life story: his punk awakening in a depressed Illinois town known as the Stove Capital of the World, his formative years slumming it in the influential alt-country group Uncle Tupelo, his struggles with anxiety and drug addiction, and, of course, his war stories as the leader of Wilco, the Chicago band that has come to be uniquely beloved by fans of raggedy, progressive-minded indie-rock.

                      And then his father, a railroad employee of nearly five decades, died, with son and daughter and grandchildren singing “I Shall Be Released” by his bedside. When Tweedy recalls that day, his voice grows faint. “My dad’s girlfriend, Melba, was holding his hand and telling him to go ahead because Jo Ann—that’s my mom—is waiting for him. I don’t believe in that. But I’m sitting there, holding his hand. It’s hard not to be impressed by the poignancy of that deep wish.”
                      . . . .
                      Warm
                      might seem like a puzzling title for a solo record. But it would be a mistake to place it in the what-a-lazy-title category. It originates with the album’s most affecting song, “Warm (When the Sun Has Died),” which centers around Tweedy’s reflections on the afterlife. “Oh, I don’t believe in heaven / I keep some heat inside,” Tweedy sings over a mournful pedal steel refrain. “Like a red brick in the summer / Warm when the sun has died.”

                      That warmth is a mysterious, benevolent thing. Not religion, exactly, says Tweedy, because he’s not religious. (His wife is Jewish, and the book mentions a conversion ceremony—involving, yes, a circumcision—around the time of his younger son’s bar mitzvah.) But he does find a sense of belief difficult to shake. Like that hopeful vision of his late father, reuniting with his mom. “As much as I don’t believe in God, I don’t believe in atheists either,” says Tweedy. “I know that inside, the part of me I can’t be dishonest about, is the side that would like very much to believe in something.” For it not to exist, “I would have to actively try to kill that childlike side of myself.

                      “I might sound cool and tough if I told you I just don’t believe in God—you die and, whatever, it’s done,” he adds. “Probably true. But that doesn’t stop me from having that thing. Whatever that thing is.”





                      Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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                      • In the early hours this morning, I dreamed about a woman I loved as my own mother, and whose death four years ago came as a great blow. In the dream I was listening to her talking to me on the phone, and even though the line was staticky I could hear her voice in the middle of a cheery conversation and I didn't want her to stop talking, I just wanted to listen to her forever, but then her voice faded and it was gone, and my dream ended with me doubled up on the floor crying, grieving her all over again.

                        And I wonder again whether all religion is a human construct to reassure us life doesn't end after we die because if death really was the final end, so much would seem so pointless.

                        Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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                        • Originally posted by annabenedetti View Post
                          And I wonder again whether all religion is a human construct to reassure us life doesn't end after we die because if death really was the final end, so much would seem so pointless.
                          I suspect that it's a bit like a variation on the old story. We each live with two dogs inside us. The first is hope and the other despair. If we feed the first he'll guard us and all we love. If we feed the latter he'll gnaw on our bones while we're breathing.

                          Setting aside experience and the belief that followed it, I'd like to think that I'd have chosen to feed the first dog anyway, but I'm not sure if it's true. I suspect we're as much one as the other and it really does come down to the choice we make. The former me would probably say my rationalism was corrupted by hope. The newer me will never stop laughing at that.

                          Many happier returns of the day, friend-o-mine.
                          You aren't what you eat, but you're always what you swallow.

                          Pro-Life






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                          • Originally posted by Town Heretic View Post
                            I suspect that it's a bit like a variation on the old story. We each live with two dogs inside us. The first is hope and the other despair. If we feed the first he'll guard us and all we love. If we feed the latter he'll gnaw on our bones while we're breathing.

                            Setting aside experience and the belief that followed it, I'd like to think that I'd have chosen to feed the first dog anyway, but I'm not sure if it's true. I suspect we're as much one as the other and it really does come down to the choice we make. The former me would probably say my rationalism was corrupted by hope. The newer me will never stop laughing at that.

                            Many happier returns of the day, friend-o-mine.
                            Thanks, TH.

                            We're as much environment as genetics but it's not like a 50-50 hard split, the two are so intertwined and symbiotic that you can't break the whole into two equal parts. I was more hopeful once, more trusting, but the experiences of recent years have shaped me into something different. My gestalt was shattered and couldn't be fixed, I was left to forge a new one that cannot be the same. I have a freedom now to question all the old paradigms, the stories I was told and that I believed. Religiously. Politically. Culturally. Morally.
                            Last edited by annabenedetti; July 2nd, 2019, 03:49 PM.

                            Tried and waited then got tired, that's about it

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                            • Originally posted by fzappa13 View Post
                              I always had this idea that you should combine rest homes with day care. I mean, ideally there would be neither but, reality is there are both and I think part of what has gone lacking as of late in our culture is the interaction between grandparents and grandchildren.
                              It is true that children and the very old are often treated the same way by younger adults, who often trivialize what they say and do. I find my granddaughter to be great company, even if she doesn't know everything.
                              This message is hidden because ...

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                              • Originally posted by annabenedetti View Post
                                ... I was more hopeful once, more trusting, but the experiences of recent years have shaped me into something different. My gestalt was shattered and couldn't be fixed, I was left to forge a new one that cannot be the same....




                                Originally posted by annabenedetti View Post

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