When NPR reported Notre Dame was on fire, unreality descended. I wouldn’t have been more shocked had they said the Statue of Liberty, Mount Rushmore, and the Golden Gate bridge all simultaneously crumbled to ruin. I felt like one of those people in the French crowds, gazing at the blaze in disbelief and mourning. But why? I’ve never been to France and have no connection with the country. I’ve never viewed the Cathedral of Notre Dame except in pictures (and movies and songs and literature). In fact, when we studied medieval cathedrals in Art History class, I concluded they were…
15 CommentsLiving Freedom Posts
The other day The Wandering Monk commented that even though he’s performed some of the biggest changes as Ye Olde Wreck transformed to Mo Saorise Hermitage, the house now seems “natural” to him. As if it’s the way it was meant to be. It’s true it’s getting harder to remember the utter horrorshow it was — the odor, the rot, the caved-in roof, the spiders and dead mice, the infamous not-a-garage, the corner of the bedroom that made us both back off from our labors with the simultaneous realization that the structure could fall on us. It’s now looking more…
15 CommentsThe Wandering Monk completed his part of current projects early this afternoon, leaving a houseful of dust, construction rubble, and scattered tools. Also leaving me (happily) with lots more work to do. I’m looking forward to doing having done all that lovely finishing. I’m sore and beat now and still have had no time for Deep Reflections (though the Monk and I did have fun demolishing AOC and the latest authoritarian fantasy from her ally Beto O’Rourke). So for now, I leave you with other people’s thoughts, some of them more worthwhile than mine might be at the moment. —–…
4 CommentsI feel as if I haven’t been holding up my end of the blogitude. After last Friday’s small (but challenging, don’t you think?) freedom question, I meant to post meatier content within a day or two. But the spring construction bug bit me. I’ve been even farther offline than usual the last five days, taping, mudding, and painting. Then The Wandering Monk became unexpectedly available for indoor projects (thank you rain, rain, rain). And we’ve been working on this: Those French doors (bought on some great sale, of course; never do it any other way) have been leaning against my…
7 CommentsThe question for today: You’re writing your autobiography. What’s the opening line or lines? Whether this is strictly a “freedom question” or not depends entirely on you. What sums you up? What introduces you to people who may have no idea who or what you are? Where and how are you rooted? What’s the biggest grabber of your life? (Or something like that.) The writer William Alexander Percy’s autobiography opens, “My country is the Mississippi Delta, the river country.” Given that Percy was the scion of the family that developed and for decades ruled the delta, and that his status…
24 CommentsOver the weekend, I had a dream about George Potter. For you who don’t know (and that includes most of the world), George Potter was the most sublime writer the modern freedomista world ever produced. Then, damn him, he up and dropped dead five years ago at the tragically young age of 41. Fortunately, Bill St Clair archived most of George’s available writings for posterity. You can also find his works at The Mental Militia Forums, the place where most of us first encountered him, back when TMM forums were still The Claire Files Forums. George was my brother from…
8 Comments“The world lives by phrases,” said Herbert Hoover. He spoke in the era when men like Edward Bernays, advertising mogul J. Walter Thompson, and government propaganda czar George Creel were making manipulation of the public mind “scientific.” Not to mention all pervasive. Slogans and other simple phrases were handy for taking over people’s brains. One hundred years on, and with Twitter as our bible, we may be the most phrase-driven people ever. But no doubt the pithy quote, ringing slogan, or pseudo-wise saying has always driven humans — and often driven them to heaven knows what. “Hierosolyma est perdita” (“Jerusalem…
16 CommentsCouple of weeks ago a friend backed into my car. She and I both lucked out. Once the black marks, surface scrapes, and dirt were cleaned off, we each had a nearly identical dent about four inches across, but both in tricky spots. She has a handy husband to fix hers. She offered to pay for fixing mine, but I told her it was too small a thing to bother her with. I got a suction-cup puller, which didn’t work (see “tricky spot” above). So I turned to the Great Source of All Wisdom and Distractions to get other ideas.…
5 CommentsAnother bout of thinking aloud … —– Yesterday I had to be “not me” for a while. It left an uncomfortable, ICK, feeling. Nothing dramatic. I had to socialize with a small group of people I barely know or don’t know at all, and I felt compelled to turn on my handy-dandy “not me” persona. This isn’t a deception. It’s just some aspect of me, comprising maybe 5 percent of my personality, that must jump to the forefront in social situations. Friendly and full of both attentiveness and stories, maybe a little eccentric though not crossing any lines, alert and…
19 CommentsSunday. March 17. Seventy-two degrees. Barely a breath of wind. Not a single cloud. And Furrydoc and I walked barefoot on that warm, pristine sand with the dogs. We didn’t write that message in the first photo, but we sure shared the exuberance that inspired somebody to do it. Beaches in this part of the world are commonly socked in or howling with wind (or both) at any time of year. A day like this would be a rare treat, even in July or August. In March? It’s a miracle! My favorite moment was rounding a curve in the cliffs…
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