Why Truth Beats Fiction

You can't make this stuff up:
According to the Associated Press, an Ohio man was arrested after he was alleged to have consumed fifteen beers, just prior to making too sharp a high speed turn on his motorized bar stool.

It seems to me, in one sense, that's the very stuff of what family legend is made. You can almost imagine the conversation at wedding receptions and birthday parties: "Yeah, that's my Uncle Zack; he got a DUI on his bar stool," followed by "that's him? I heard about this!"

Years ago some of my high school friends stole over the high wall of a monastery at midnight to harrass--I'm sorry to say--the monks. The story is so strange on a number of accounts, even though it's true. In the first place, who lives close to a monastery anymore? In the suburbs? In the 70s? The story goes that one of these teenage ruffians had to scamper up an olive tree and sit in it all night, because a big, barrel-chested Friar Tuck stormed out of the monastery and started pumpking rock salt out of a shotgun.

My wife has a colorful Greek uncle, who--as family lore has it--wandered between mildly pixilated and vaguely dangerous. He was given to making up words, and entire phrases, in a language no one else understood. ("Is that Greek?" strangers would ask, and the Greek relatives would respond, "no one knows what he's saying.") This side of the family was part of the Greek resistance to the Nazis during World War II and "Uncle George" was rumored to have left the love of his life in Greece when he came to America. From all accounts, he was crazy--in more or less an amusing way--until one day, in a fight with a deputy sheriff, he wound up locking the deputy in the trunk of his squad car. When he was arrested, he heard a familiar voice over the wall of the jail--and fell into a conversation with another relative who was arrested on an entirely different matter. Call it a family reunion, I guess.

How is it that events completely beyond the pale in the here and now somehow become gentle legends when considered in the abstract, at a distance? It's nearly suicidal to pursue a life of legend, and people who try to make a legend out of their antics usually wind up hospitalized, dead, or worse, but sometimes the Almighty allows an act born of passion, a sheer piece of momentary idiocy, to stand more or less unrequited by the physical and legal universe. Call it mercy, or comedy, I guess--the Divine sort.

At any rate, don't try any of this at home. No one will believe you.

All I need is loving you and ...

One of these days, I'm going to make a systematic study of what a singer means, when she turns to the band and says, "Key of G, fellas." (I mean I know a tad, but not as much as you could find out reading this article and pondering it for a few weeks.)

The kids are downright aching to play music these days, so I'm trying to figure out what a reasonable family ensemble objective might be with suitably 18th century flavor. I downloaded a new version of Cakewalk yesterday, tooled around with my new fife in the key of F, tried to accompany David Thomas on the guitar in the public house, asked Freeman a few questions about keyed instruments, waxed more confused, then went to playing with the innumerable MIDI settings on banks, patches, and the like, and finally got Cakewalk outputting acoustic grand piano sound on three tracks. I typed in the melody line for a fife tune that was played on the morning of April 19, 1775 at Lexington--the White Cockade. I wondered what harmony or counter melody might sound like in three parts. Here's my first try at three part something or other. (Turn up the speakers, but not too loud.)

Dunno what I did there--whether it's harmony, counter-melody, or just pure "dissonance." It sounds a little too "barber-shoppy" to me for the 18th century. There's a maddening phrase you see quite a bit when you read about 18th century folk music. It usually goes something like this: "crude scores were written on broadsides and in the journals of itinerant country musicians, but the ensemble was expected to come up with their own harmonies."

Now, I just need to see whether any "itinerant country musician" wrote a harmony somewhere, and if someone has been kind enough out there in internet land to sequence it for me--as an example. Then I have to figure out parts for piano, tin whistle (6 keys to choose from), fife (two keys to choose from so far), fiddle, and recorder, and...voice.

Fun, frustrating stuff..

Father Knows Best

I find movies like Liam Neeson's "Taken" better than Sunday School. Think about it; there's more truth bundled in this revenge drama than in most church teaching today: 1) there are evil disgusting people in the world, 2) when someone has the courage to put them down like the dogs they are, we should celebrate that strength 3) fathers have an instinct for the danger facing their children and that instinct should be honored, 4) teenage girls shouldn't be traveling in foreign capitals by themselves 5) when bureaucratic functionaries value their jobs over justice, they become part of the evil they claim to be fighting, and 6) Islam--with its "one morality for us, another for the Kuffars"-- doesn't exactly make for a happy sing-along at the U.N. peoples' choir.

People of faith hear the words of the Psalmist (58:10): "The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked," but there is a disconnect when it is played out either in reality, or in film. (I'm not sure if fellow theater goers appreciated my whispered cheer--'send the little jackal back to hell!') After all, it's probably a good thing that we have a sense of mercy, written on our hearts, or we would all be something like the savage Druids and Celts and Aztecs and Animists from which we descend. However, there is also a false mercy operating in our own generation that keeps Charlie Manson eating meals and reading fan mail in prison. Obviously, we need to be a nation of laws, not of men, but the sort of human vermin that kidnap travelers for sale into the harem-trade know that very proceduralism works in their favor. A public firing squad for the authors of these cartels--and they do exist--would be good for the soul of the nation, and for the safety of international travelers.

Granted, I don't quite buy Liam Neeson as an American. I think the story would have been equally effective if he had played an IRA partisan, retired from the troubles, and brought back into the fray by the theft of his daughter. I could also do without car chases, and, of course, the plot is full of the outright improbable, but in a generation given to mutant special powers, it's nice to see a morality play chronicled with more probable human weapons--knives, slamming doors, guns, hammers, and electrical voltage liberally applied.

Apparently, the film is making more money than the producers thought it would.

Is it any wonder?

Breakfast in the Colonies

I'm fast approaching, with any discipline today, a "10 Pound Loss" mark on Weight-Watchers. Actually, it's a little more complicated than that. I started an account with Weight-Watchers online about eighteen months ago, and lost ten pounds over about 12 weeks. The resulting increase in energy and the reduced blood pressure made me feel something like the Papa figure in The Incredibles and I entered a long Holiday eating binge that lasted from Thanksgiving of 2007 to about Labor Day of 2008. (The Holidays are always tough.) The shameful truth is that I charged right on past the original "panic weight," (the weight that made me say to myself 'you, Jim Riley, are a big fat DISGUSTING slob'), and proceeded to take on another ten pounds of ballast by way of celebrating my previous discipline. Well, my nephew, Quinn approached me one night at Sunday family dinner and said:

"Uh, Uncle Jim?"

"What is it, Quinn?"

"You need to get some exercise."

"Quinn," I said. "Thank you very much for that. I know you are mad at me for changing the channel, but there is a grain of truth in what you are saying to your dear old Uncle. Would you get me another one of those peanut butter cookies?"

What followed, over the next few months, was kind of a rolling ocean wave of up and down--peas and popcorn one week, triple lasagne and family sized jars of roasted almonds next week--followed by another period of steely resolve that now brings me back to the starting perch again--the platform, the weight base camp--where I can make the assault on that far away goal of my desired mass--which in truth is about 20 pounds more than the goggle-eyed, death-march dieticians would say is my ideal "healthy" weight. I am 6' 4" and by some weird calculus I'm supposed to be, like 190-200 pounds, but I would settle for five pounds less than my honeymoon, twenty-eight year old weight of 225 pounds. 'The Mighty 220' I call it.

The trouble is that we bake something like 150 apple pies a day, and we feature really good sausage and omelet breakfast platters, and it's not that you can't have that from time to time. You can. But taking just one or two sausages, for me, is something like giving yourself just a tiny little peak out the window at Yosemite, or allowing yourself five seconds of The High Kings' Parting Glass. If something is good, I mean you want to kind of indulge.

Those big one pound bricks of Trader Joe's Milk Chocolate. An entire box of Costco Croissants. A salty, buttery jar of Planter's Dry Roasted Peanuts.

Do I reach the Mighty 220 and then kind of pig-out for the Holidays, or can you make an indulgence out of discipline itself? Can moderation ever be as belly-rich as two plates of Penne Rustica at the Macaroni Grill? It must be part of our condition as humans.



Mother Eve would have something to say on the matter.

Fifes & Pianos & Music & Such...

Sometime last year, during one of our dinners, I sat down with a guest and asked him his profession. He was the conductor of an orchestra, and his wife was a composer. Now, keep in mind, I'm very proud of our musicians here, but it's always a little intimidating knowing that the audience might hold a Carnegie Hall or a Feature Film type out there.

Rod Stewart once claimed you only needed to know three chords to be a rock star and I think a lot of well-packaged pop music is 70% charisma, 28% technical assistance, and 2% musical training, but even with all of that, in the era of shrink-wrapped, downloadable, "slick" entertainment, most people don't trust themselves to even dabble in music. Truth be told, I get a little annoyed with people who don't even want to try singing. Freeman House, our fiddler, will tell you that Jim Riley shouldn't even try singing either, not because I have pitch issues, but because I make up my own version of the tune--which of course makes the whole ensemble thing sort of difficult.

We started paying for piano and fiddle lessons a few years ago and I was worried that the kids were looking upon the whole thing as a chore, but then for some reason everything popped and they all wanted to join the family band (which in this case is headed by the musical mama and papa--Freeman and Kathy). It's been a real joy to hear them working on tunes, checking out Irish flutes on the internet, and coveting baby Grands down at Oak Valley Piano. (One of the few places you can actually go and play a piano before buying it. Highly recommended.)

Moral of the story: play good music around the house, keep paying for the lessons, and then let them play something well enough, in front of the public, to get a little praise--and they will be hooked.

The other issue is that Americans should really begin taking more responsibility for their own music. They should start turning off the radio, the Pod, the CD-Player and start buying sheet music. We need to start singing our own songs again!

The Hard Loving, Hard Living Fellowship

After yesterday's post on branding criminals, I saw this video of a break-in "artist" caught on tape. Watch it to the end. I don't think you would have to brand this guy. He's self-branding. (He also seems to be very nearly indestructible.)

I also received a critique of my Bristol Palin lament the other day, and I was reminded that "only Jesus was without sin. Bristol Palin is not our role model; Jesus is our role model." I guess I find that sort of response a tad disorienting. It actually makes me a little dizzy. It would be something like finding out your house painter had completely paint-splattered your patio, your pool, your cactus garden, and your dog, but he isn't even trying to clean up. He is, in fact, pulling out of your driveway. He's saying, "see you tomorrow-maybe." When you ask him about the mess, he says, "heah. Only Jesus is perfect."

In another sense, it would be like hearing Jesus Himself tell the story of the Good Samaritan only to have someone in the crowd respond, "okay, okay, I get it, Lord. It's okay to ignore wounded people on the roadside because only you are perfect, right? The Samaritan was, like, doing the legalistic thing, trying to work his way to heaven, and.."

<<deep sigh>>

It all brings me back to the sort of faith community I would design if I were a playwright capable of speaking the "city on a hill" into existence. Here's my version of what a "real" Christian church would look like:

	The Perfect Church Community -- By Jim Riley
	1.	First of all: It probably wouldn't allow me as a member. If my Bristol critique made someone think I hold myself out as "not needing Jesus," then I should make it clear: I'm probably too selfish and impulsive to be a member of a community that really "took up its cross" daily. I say this to make clear what shouldn't need to be clarified: the speaker may sully the idea, but that doesn't make the idea any less important. Another way of putting it: just because we might not ever be Navy SEALs doesn't mean we don't need their services.
	2.	No wimps, no whiners: the guys who hung out with Christ were tough dudes--ready to lop off an ear at the sign of an insult. Yes, they were meek, but it was a meekness that came out of strength of spirit, not out of cowardice. Ideally, everyone in a real Christian church should know how to shoot; they should know how to put the hurt on wrong-doers, even if they know the value of restraint. Believe it or not, I once encountered two teenage Christian boys who swore they wouldn't even defend their own mother from a murderer. Lord save us from that sort of cowardice--and from the pastors who preach it. Christ turned the other cheek, but he also turned the tables--and braided the whip.
	3.	No False Holiness: Everyone in a real Christian church should be more or less who they are--not who they think they should be, unless that ideal really is scriptural. I've had it with people who pretend the joke isn't funny because it doesn't seem "grave enough" or "reverent." The same God who waxed sick of hungry complainers and threatened to give them meat until it came out their noses (Numbers 11), has a powerful sense of the comic. I don't trust anyone who doesn't have a sense of humor.
	4.	Be Political, Make it Relevant: John the Baptist got right in Herod's face. We should too. Paul makes it clear that any leader who isn't a terror unto evil and a rewarder of good, isn't really a leader by God's standards. Pastors who preach abject obedience to evil are evil, and any pastor who isn't political these days, really isn't a pastor. Shepherds feed the flock, but they fight off wolves too.
	5.	Have a Drink, Throw a Feast: You've heard me preach it before. The Wedding at Cana? The return of the Prodigal Son? Christians should have a good time. We have good news to celebrate. I'm not a very good dancer, but Christians should dance, play music, sing. King David made a few mistakes, but not while he was playing music. This is not, of course, an excuse for drunkenness or substance abuse; it is a recognition that Christ gave us wine to make our hearts glad. Don't make a gospel out of turning down His gift.
	6.	Live the real commandments--not the gospel hobbies: We should spend more time crucifying ourselves for dishonesty, murderous hatreds, covetousness, infidelity, casual sabbaths, dishonoring parents--and we should spend less time on rapture rumination, diet holiness, and weird fads like "Christian environmentalism." We should spend more time taking scripture to life and less time putting Christian labels on junior college curriculum.
	7.	Sex is not the enemy--infidelity is: Married Christian couples should have a Song of Solomon love life. They should get married young and have a lot of kids. Love is not a feeling that settles down on you. It's a decision. It is not "fate." It is "will." Christian "singles" and Christian "youth" culture--with serial dating, serial sensuality, and, at its very worst, serial abortion--is an abomination. Don't wait for your education to get married. Get married and educate each other. Don't spend your youth slumming through one heart-break after the next. Try to earn what a papa owns when his little boys run through the front door to give him a hug at night.
	8.	Covenant is Everything: Why are we tithing to these mega-church audio-visual ministries when we could be tithing to each other, in real Christian communities, that would be unafraid to speak the truth? When a church gets too large, it starts operating like a franchise, or a businesses, and the gospel suffers. Keep it small. Keep it covenantal. The burden of one should be the burden of all--and the rest of the world should learn from that relationship. We wouldn't have this monstrous, hideously inefficient welfare state if Christians really cared for each other.
	9.	Discipline the Remnant: the best and worst things about some "Christian Independents" is their very independence. Just because some of us pull ourselves out of the mainstream church, doesn't mean we've really replaced it until and unless we learn to submit to each other. I've seen a lot of the remnant claim, in effect, they are the "remnant of the remnant" because of their peculiarly keen collection of liturgical theories and domestic routines. It comes off as just plain nutty. Do not divide over non-essentials.
	10.	Be the best at what you do: John Winthrop effectively said this was his wish for the Bay Colony. "Let it be as in New England." Ideally, a community of believers should be so devoted to doing their work well that others say, "those guys are the best doctors, the best lawyers, the best film-makers, the best brick-layers you can find."

 

Okay, so who wants to join up? Show of hands?

The Swift Economy of Colonial Justice

Here are just a few incidents of crime and punishment as they were administered throughout the colonies in the years 1768 through 1770 and chronicled by the Portsmouth New Hampshire Gazette. Contrary to what you might assume, crime was not a major feature of colonial newspapers. In this era, correspondents were far more interested in political intrigue and the ideas surrounding the rights of free men. You have to really look, in other words, for a crime blotter, and when crime was reported, unlike today, it had a beginning, a middle, and an end. You read about the crime itself, the trial, and the punishment.

I would argue the speediness of this justice is good for the soul of any society. You aren't left, as a citizen, with the angst of hearing about the villainy of one barbarous act after the next, followed by years of procedural maneuvering and the prospect of a smug criminal laughing at the system after a few years of watching Jerry Springer in the can; you have the satisfaction of knowing that the enormity of the crime was met with the enormity of punishment. Attempted rapists were publicly shamed and whipped, burglars were branded with a "B" on the forehead, murderers were hanged, and even common criminals proposed their own punishment, administered by the victims, without the censure of the local magistrate.

Those of us outside today's criminal justice apparatus tend to see our own system as erring on the side of caution, mercy, and the rights of the accused, but the reality is much more cynical. What we call "criminal justice" today is primarily a jobs program. Every new rapist, every new burglar, every new murderer represents money to the system--new jobs for jailers, new jobs for prison builders, more billable hours for detectives, social workers, psychiatrists, more fund-raising letters for various silly sisters of mercy who put Berkeley post-grads to work, trying to make the world safe for arsonists and child-killers. Follow the money. What we are paying for today has nothing to do with either justice for the victim or mercy for the accused. It has everything to do with handing out more state pensions to people who have the gall to say they are "reforming" criminals. Our system, in the last analysis, at a time of budget constraint, certainly has no respect for the tax-payer.

Think of the sheer beauty and simplicity of burning a burglar with a brand-iron "B" on the forehead. This was done in public, before children, as an example of bad behavior. For the rest of his life, the burglar carried with him a very efficient background check and a collosal incentive to reform himself. Imagine the man who truly wanted to change, after a life of crime. He had to work harder to win his fellow citizens' trust, and in the faces of those who reacted to his branded flesh, he had a reminder--every day--to change his ways. If he did continue in a life of crime, the judge could see, immediately, without the benefit of a computerized rap-sheet, what sort of offender he had before him.

We have come very far, on many fronts, as a society, but we are fooling ourselves if we really think we have become more merciful, and more "progressive" in the arena of criminal justice.

To wit:

Boston, April 23, 1770 In the present Term of the..Court, one George White was convicted of Burglary, in breaking into the House of Mr. John Moffatt, and had the Benefit of the Clergy, being burnt in the Hand, he was also convicted of breaking into the Province House and stealing, for which he was sentenced to be branded in the Forehead with the Letter B and to pay Cost; he was also convicted upon other Indictments against him for stealing, on each of which he has been sentenced to be whipt 20 Stripes, to pay treble damages and Cost.

Portsmouth, August 11,(1769) Friday last came on at the Superior-Court then sitting, the Trial of one Arthur Meloy, of this Town, a Man near 60 Years old, for abusing and attempting a RAPE...last Wednesday being the Day appointed for him to make his public Appearance in this Character, at Eleven A.M. he was mounted on a Stage before the State-House, erected for the Purpose on which he was Pillory'd, and there remained one Hour, a Spectacle to a great Concourse of People, he was then taken down and conducted to the Whipping-Post, where after receiving 15 Lashes...

(Charleston, SC, May 1, 1769) On Wednesday Matthew Turner, late a Mariner on Board the Ship Bacchus of Liverpool, was arraigned...for the Murder of Wililam Harrop, late Master of the said Ship, ...On Friday the 28th after a long and full hearing, the Court unanimously found the said M. Turner Guilty, and sentenced him to be hanged....

New York, December 4, 1769: Last Tuesday one John Campbell, was indicted and convicted of Grand Larceney, and received sentence of death, and is ordered to be executed on Friday, the 22d inst. He is an old offender, and has been crop'd and branded in the Forehead; and said to have been whip'd in South-Carolina, Pennsylvania, and Boston.

HARTFORD, November 27, (1770) In the Evening preceeding the Thanksgiving, a strolling Vagabondly fellow in his way (as he pretended) to Boston, coming into a private House in the eastwardly Part of the Town, in the Habit and Character of a Beggar plausibly sought for Entertainment; calling himself a Native Subject of the King of Denmark, from whose Dominions about Ten years ago he came into this Country; since which among other misfortunes, he has that of losing all the Fingers on one Hand, and free use of those of the other by falling into the Fire in a convulsion-Fit. Being thus recommended to the Pity and Charity of the hospitable Family, commiserating his calamitous Circumstances they could do no other than receive him as their Guest. But as he preferr'd solitary Retirement to Company under a Pretence of not being troublesome to the Family, was introduced to a comfortable Fire in the Kitchen. But while the Family were busy in the other Room, confiding in the Simplicity and Honesty, as well as imbecility of their new guest, he, with several Articles of Value, was soon found to be missing; whereupon with all convenient Speed, the Thief was pursued, and overtaken at a Tavern about a Mile distant, where in merry Mood, he was offering his new Assortment upon Sail (sic) to the highest Bidder. This Merriment might have lasted longer, had it not been interrupted by the true Owner challenging his Property, who after some proper Diversion, bound the apprehended Criminal, for a more easy and convenient Escortment about seven Miles in a retrograde March to a civil Magistrate. But the reluctant Villain, choosing rather to make a present than a future Settlement, made the Proposal, to which, with the Advice of the Company, the indulgent Creditor consented; for the Receipt of which (Matters being thus amicably accomodated) he voluntarily stripping himself receive'd upon the Spot seven hearty Lashes, with a good sturdy Horse-Whip warmly apply'd, which he tamely submitted to and endured with all the Patience and fortitude which his own Circumstances and the Nature of the Thing would well admit of..

The Outlandish Expense of Justice

Here's a routine story, unfortunately, from the local news about a home invasion robbery that took place ten days ago in Yucaipa. The assailants barged through the homeowners' door, at gunpoint, and duct-taped their victims mouths and eyes. One of the victims was kicked and struck--as their home was being ransacked. After 30 minutes of hearing their belongings removed from their home, and perhaps not knowing whether they would be killed, the home-invaders made off with the victims' car.

Apparently, in this case, the car had a tracking device, and they were captured in a relatively short span of time, but the real injustice is about to begin. The court and jail system will begin to move on this, and they will receive a trial, or perhaps a plea-bargain, as, of course they should. Due process is critical in any nation of laws, but whether you believe in deterrence or not, the sort of human scum that are found guilty of this kind of cruelty are just too expensive to house--and too expensive to let free once the existing jail system has turned them into even more thorough-going monsters than they were before they entered it. The most merciful thing that can be done for criminals of this sort, and for society, is to execute them--publicly, or at the very least, whip them, set them in the pillory, brand them, and cut off their ears--all punishments that were not considered "cruel and unusual" by the very men who wrote the words "cruel and unusual" into our constitution.

Of course, those familiar with our present system will respond, "wait; a death penalty would take forever and be far more expensive than a plea bargain and a few years in prison," but that of course makes the assumption that we should honor our existing body of legal precedent. It assumes we have actually made progress in criminal justice over the last century. We haven't. Lawyers tend to create work for other lawyers, and in the modern era, they make work for prison wardens, correctional officers, social workers, private detectives, police departments, and nurses, doctors, and psychologists. There's a whole constituency getting paid very well to make sure final justice is never rendered. Moreover, the prison system we currently maintain for violent offenders is far more "cruel and unusual" than anything an 18th century mind could possibly have conceived. Can anyone really doubt that a firing squad would be infinitely more merciful to a convicted murderer than a lifetime in solitary confinement? Can anyone really argue that 39 lashes across the bare back and a "Thief" branded on the right hand wouldn't be infinitely more merciful than sending a young lad into a maximum security prison?

It might even do something the monstrously expensive system we now maintain can't do: reform him.

A Little Patrick Henry in the Evening

This year, we're starting in on our Saturday night public house program, featuring music, hearty food, 18th century sing-a-longs, and the oratory of Patrick Henry. One of the school tour dads, this week, after hearing my version of the son of thunder's speech, said, "we should do a documentary on this place. It's so close to the surface for you. You really live this conflict, as though the wound were still open."

I thought for a moment, and then I said: "I believe in the depravity of man; As they say about the holocaust, 'Never Forget.'"

I used the holocaust for a reason in my response because, the trend in human behavior is to make previous conflicts feel comic, improbable, forgotten--even if the scope of the evil is almost impossible to process in its enormity. That's why the pillaging Redcoats of yesteryear, who struck fear in the hearts of the colonists, have become today's red-woolen dandies. That's why Mel Brooks can get a laugh out of even "Spring Time For Hitler and Germany." As a defense mechanism, or perhaps because we are addicted to what Patrick Henry caled "that phantom of hope," we need to make the truly evil truly improbable. We can't stand the notion that we might have some complicity in it, or some call to oppose it. In another sense, it's why living history can sometimes appear neutral and bloodless--played out by academics and hobbyists who want to see so many different sides of an issue they can't ever settle on single truth of the matter. It was either right, or wrong, to tax the colonists without their consent. It was either right, or wrong, to march on their provincial arsenals and steal their ammunition from them. It was either right, or wrong, to shoot them dead for mustering on a village green.

If we settle on the truth, we have to do something about it, so the tendency is to pretend there is no question at all. It's easy to pretend there isn't a problem with encumbering our grandchildren right into economic long term slavery. It's easy to pretend we can kill off more than a million of our children in the womb every year without understanding that we are living in the middle of a holocaust. It's easy to pretend that our political parties really represent our ideals--when it is becoming more and more clear they are padding their pensions and paying off their donors. On a whole deafening roar of issues, it is easy to pretend there is really no question at all.

But as Patrick Henry said, "the question before the house is one of awful moment for this country."

Indeed.

Let us raise our glass to a man who didn't avoid the question.

Someone to Stand Up for the Bad Guys -- Is the Church Doing Anything, Anywhere?

A year or two ago, I did a promotional email for St. Patrick's here and I merely re-counted ancient Irish folklore--extolling Patrick's victory over the "cruel, pagan kings of Ireland." If you can believe it, a few Wiccan types wrote back, scolding me for offending their religious sensitivities. Yesterday, pitching An Evening With Patrick Henry, I chose a subject line I thought was reasonably dramatic, but true to the spirit of Patrick Henry's lament, ("...is life so dear..as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?.."). My subject line? "Kick Slavery in the Teeth." Well, someone wrote back last night, calling that extremely offensive. I ridicule Hugo Chavez, Kim Jong-Il and Saudi Royalty quite a bit, so I imagine, someday, I'll get a dismissive email from someone protective of dictator self-esteem.

Sheesh. There are some folks so afraid of evil--the very concept of evil--that the reminder itself bothers them. Wickedness, by this way of thinking, goes away if it is never discussed--despite all the historical evidence to the contrary. I think all parents, on one occasion or another, are guilty of taking this position. A bully causes a problem, but pop yells louder at the victim, for seeking justice, than he does at the source of the problem itself. There's yet another brand of evil-aversion typified by that old Marxist, Vanessa Redgrave, who bailed terrorists out of Guantanamo. It goes something like this: no one is perfect, so anyone who seeks justice, by restraining evil, is evil. These people generally lack any sense of degree. Joseph Stalin could kill fifty million Russians, but Joe McCarthy is somehow just as bad, or worse, for making a few false accusations. Vanessa Redgrave--dramatic uber-genius and political village idiot--sees Palestinian casualties as somehow balancing the moral scale against world wide Jihad and the holocaust. (Picture a psychopathic thug responding to a finger-scratch by burning his victim alive; Vanessa would see equivalency here--and maybe even buy the matches.)

Fortunately, this weird attachment to falsehood is rare, if sometimes a bit virulent. If it catches on, it will be difficult to find any measuring cup for evil. You can almost imagine kids running around with Marxist murderers on their t-shirts.

Wait...

Is the Church Really Doing Anything? Anywhere?

Don't get me wrong. I like Sarah Palin. She's not afraid to tote a gun, raise a family, gut a deer, haul in lobster traps, keep her husband happy. She's a babe. She's pro-life. She believes in drilling for oil and making fun of leftist freaks. She believes in a God who gets behind causes, and she obviously has church life. If you have time, you can see some of it here. It's old news, but it shows that Sarah wasn't just doing the politician-in-the-congregation thing, dropping by to pick up votes and checks. She basically states that she grew up in the church, got saved in the church, and saw the church as a force for community--in her community. She had been attending church long enough to watch the pastor grow older. It doesn't seem like a casual relationship, but then take a look at this. How does a family attend a church for so long and then produce a teenager who doesn't even seem to have a rudimentary knowledge of even the basics?

A close friend gave me some insight the other day, when we discussed legalism. Legalism is a favorite dodge of pastors and parents who don't really want to teach God's immutable moral law. But legalism has nothing to do with God's actual commandments and everything to do with mankind's religious inventions. Legalism is making all the men wear dark blue slacks and starched white shirts. Legalism is claiming real Christians are only "alive" if they listen to rock-n-roll praise music, or, conversely, if they only worship using 500 year old hymns. Legalism is claiming you can only be born again if you're pre-millenial, or post-millenial for that matter. Legalism is claiming not even Christ would have a glass of wine. Legalism is pretending the Song of Solomon doesn't exist. Legalism is pretending the Bible has anything definitive to say about tobacco, or Vitamin C for that matter.

The Ten Commandments, however, are not legalisms. They are the very "law written on the heart" that God affirms as a proof of devotion, as the sign of someone who loves and follows Him. If Bernie Madoff had a keener sense of the Ten Commandments, he wouldn't have stolen 50 billion dollars. If Bristol Palin had a keener sense of God's law, she would try very hard to marry the father of her child.

I use this example a lot, but without the law written on the heart--on both believers and non-believers--it would be impossible to run a u-pick orchard. You really can't open an orchard for picking, or a store for buying, if a majority of the customers don't believe there is something deeply wrong with stealing.

It would seem, however, that if Sarah Palin's church life is any guide, America's spiritual leaders are more concerned with jumping straight to forgiveness and more or less squatting right there, on that theological spot, forever. No one is really taught what they need to be forgiven for, or after being forgiven, what standard they should follow.

Pastors, consider Bristol Palin.



How much ignorance can we produce--and still keep the orchard open for picking? Abstinence is not "realistic" today. Will honesty be next?

Blood Loyalty

There's a rather small, back-water debate going on in conservative circles about the decision of Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston not to get married. Bristol, you will remember, is the teenage daughter of Governor Sarah Palin, who was lauded in pro-life circles for keeping her child and announcing that she would marry the baby's teenage father, Levi Johnston. I was among those applauding. It was a decision that showed respect for life, and for taking responsibility for that life, by giving the toddler a mother and a father. The two of them made a mistake, but they were taking responsibility for that mistake, by having the child, and starting a new family.

Well, it looks like the "new family" part of the deal is on hold. Bristol sold the pictures of her new child to People Magazine for $300,000, and she announced a "mutual" decision not to get married.

I feel something like a fan, rooting for an inglorious underdog on American Idol, only to find out her agent negotiated a big prize money deal, if she agreed to take a fall on stage.

There was a time, in America, when even a divorce meant you were finished in politics--even if the divorce was not your fault. Now, as Teddy Kennedy proves, you can even dump a girl in a river and get nighted for it by the Queen of England. We've gone from a fairly high standard of integrity for both politicians and their families to a sense that everyone screws up, so...whatever...move on people...nothing to see here.

Of course, conservative family-values politicians get raked over the coals far more vigorously for moral failure because they make the mistake of championing the ancient truths in the first place, but it seems that even the "values voters" are reconciled to accepting not just a little personal weakness--but a whole lot of it. When Pat Robertson endorsed Rudy Giuliani last year, it was a signal that some values voters don't believe the political power of those values, or in the likelihood of any politician representing them.

In the instance of Bristol Palin, we are told, first of all, that Sarah Palin bears no blame for her adult daughter's actions--and certainly that is true, to an extent. We hope that Mom's values will influence her children, but Bristol's television admission that "abstinence" is "not realistic," either means Sarah shares her opinion, or Bristol wasn't listening. Since, Sarah, however is the public figure, the one selling conservative family values to the American public, we would expect--at the very least--to hear her response to her daughter's decisions.

It could take a lot of forms: "Maybe I should have spent a little more time teaching and less time governing," or "I gotta tell you, I taught my daughter well, but she made her own decisions, and I don't agree with them," or even "heah, at least she didn't kill her baby, even though I'd like her to take the next logical step and marry Levi." The American public is very forgiving--praise be--but forgiveness begins by admitting a mistake.

It would seem that some sort of public statement is in order, particularly for a politician whose commitment to pro-life values includes a huge personal and self-sacrificial commitment to life, and particularly a politician who advocates personal self-government over the welfare state. Small government is made possible by a people who rule over themselves, and govern themselves--starting with their own families. It's very difficult to argue against the state assuming responsibility for single mothers if you argue--by your actions, or by your failure to comment upon wrong-doing--that fathers aren't important to the raising of children. If Governor Palin doesn't say something, she will be talking up traditional families in the abstract, but living out a matriarchy in the flesh.

What is the argument, by conservatives, against this sort of a statement? Why is Sarah Palin being allowed this inconsistency? It involves her "family." Blood is thicker than water. Even conservatives are arguing that a politician shouldn't have to state what is good and bad behavior, if it means her children's feelings might get hurt. The results of that policy are clear: enter, stage left, the destruction of the very principle itself. No one can argue for a public standard if they won't allow that standard to be scrutinized in their own household. The American people can forgive a mistake, but they can't forgive an unwillingness to even discuss it.



Governor Palin: the little guy deserves a dad--and you should say so.

An Evening, at least, in the Colonies

Mary took the kids swing dancing last night and I tried to do some cipherin' as to how I get you up here this Saturday night for An Evening in the Colonies with Patrick Henry. Let's see: great food, fresh rainbow trout, great music, a romantic, post & beam country tavern, and the oratory of Patrick Henry. You can even bring your own wine or hard cider, since we don't sell it. I'm in. Sounds good to me.

America is at war over competing mythologies. I will confess to being completely out of touch with the sort of America that signs onto a "global new deal." If the global economy has taught us anything, it's that a weakness in one spot replicates itself across the water and makes everyone, everywhere, suffer. Where would the world have been without a Churchill or a George S. Patton to check the global ambitions of a Hitler or a Tojo? Why do we pretend that America has anything at all in common with freedom-hating Yemen or slave-holding Mauritania? Global peace is not achieved by handing everyone a Diet Coke and passing out free back rubs. Harmony is not the result of holding inter-faith dialogues with religions and political systems that have absolutely no interest in either peace or compromise. The current administration wants $900 million of your tax dollars to re-build Gaza. What is the lesson for thinking people? It's very simple: if you need construction money, launch rockets against Israel.

Insanity. Get me back to the colonies--for at least for an evening.

St. Patrick's 2009

"The BreastPlate of St. Patrick"



I arise today

Through God's strength to pilot me:

God's might to uphold me,

God's wisdom to guide me,

God's eye to look before me,

God's ear to hear me,

God's word to speak for me,

God's hand to guard me,

God's way to lie before me,

God's shield to protect me,

God's host to save me

From snares of devils,

From temptations of vices,

From everyone who shall wish me ill,

Afar and anear,

Alone and in multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils,

Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul,

Against incantations of false prophets,

Against black laws of pagandom

Against false laws of heretics,

Against craft of idolatry,

Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,

Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.

Christ to shield me today

Against poison, against burning,

Against drowning, against wounding,

So that there may come to me abundance of reward.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness,

Of the Creator of Creation.

When the Dream is Waking...

Last night, a room full of very respectful fifth graders gave their rapt attention to my version of Patrick Henry's speech. This afternoon, one of the school tour moms told David Thomas, "Riley's Farm is magic." I couldn't quite hear what she said, so David repeated it: "She said what I believe--this place is blessed." About two hours later, I dropped in on the rehearsal for the "Near St. Patrick's Day Ball at the Old Packing Shed." Logan Creighton sang "Whiskey in the Jar" with a voice that perfectly matched his range. He might as well have been standing on a dry stone wall in County Cork, earning the brotherly laugh of a dozen Irish shepherds. My marine friend, Steve Klein, belted out Rosey O'Grady in a perfect baritone that made me think, "why haven't I put this guy on stage earlier?" Susan Usher put piano to the rhythm and the chords for Danny Boy, and David Thomas punched out the very soul of the tune with a clarity and strength of voice that made me think, "let's have a moment of silence for poor Danny's Da'." Angela Shaddix sang "The Parting Glass," very nearly a cappella, without a written score, and I wanted to hang my head and weep. (The staff sees me get emotional too much, so I held back.)

When I got back to the house my good friend, John Reilly, an Irishman who spent his youth as a bull rider, sent me a card in the mail about St. Patrick's day. I can't quite repeat the joke, but Mary and I had a good laugh. Brandon Ryder was excited about making retail work around here. Jon Harmon loves to see the kids catch a fish for the first time. The bakery--in a recession--sold more pies than ever. Jeff Hammond got in here at 5:00 AM to work on Courage, New Hampshire, and Maricella--fresh from wisdom tooth surgery--helped out working the windows. Jan Thiem--as always--troops on, through colds and storms and icy roads and the duties of a young grandmother, to help make this place work.

My son Samuel and my daughter Lizzy and my son Nicholas and my son Lockton have all discovered music. They beg me for a new piano, new Irish flutes, and they get geared up in their colonial clothes to join the orchestra downstairs. My daughter Mallory labors to bring you new issues of old news, and she is going to be marrying a man who loves history and drama and music.

My wife teaches Gabriel how to do his fractions, and listens to him read, and she stops to rub my neck as I write the farm journal.

How does one man ever deserve such heaven?

Sometimes paradise, sometimes the dream, is a waking affair.

I stand all amazed.

Let's Just See Already..and Operation Kill Market Garden

This is a post for the video-technoids among ye. We're post-producing our Farm Television pilot--Courage, New Hampshire--and we're trying to settle on a "look" for the interior shots. This sequence had very little light on the original shoot (our first mistake), and our efforts to bring up the light and the contrast digitally resulted in a deep reddish cast, brought on by the burnt-cherry stain of the public house walls. Premiere CS3 gives you dozens of color correcting tools, each with dozens of controls like "input black level," "hue correction," "saturation," "pedestal," "gain", "gamma" and more. (Those are just the ones I remember off the top of my head.) If you add too many of them, or dial the controls too far, the results can be very grainy, and sometimes you don't even see that blow-out until you play it out on a big screen TV. Anyway, here's a little measure of modern color-correction option shock:

My Click Here to See Video

 

Jeff came up with a version of the last one that looks really nice even on big screen TVs. (This process is something like a family sitting around a TV and arguing over the controls. "Too yellow!" "Too red! Too blue!") I think we have it now--at least for that scene.

 

 

 

Kill Market Garden Update

My rant last night on H.R. 875--a bill that would require all market-bound small farmers and back yard gardeners to register with the federal government, and endure inspections--got me stewing about the very venal realities involved: it's absolutely essential to remember that most of our policy making has nothing whatsoever to do with safety or the public good. Sure, it's always sold that way. They call this stuff things like "The Produce Safety Act" or "The Healthy Families Act" or the "Safe Streets Act," and there may be a few policy wonks and legislators (the ones who have never run a business) who actually think they are doing good in the world, but what they are really doing is: 1) creating a procedural burden that ends up criminalizing small time family business 2) protecting inefficient, leviathan semi-monopolies who can afford lobbyists and compliance staff and 3) making us all poorer for spending more time filling out forms and less time producing a product.

The best politician, in other words, is the guy who says: "I'm not going to do anything good for you. I'm not going to sponsor any legislation--unless it's a bill to roll back the last fifty years of do-good idiocy. Got that?"

A guy can dream anyway..

HR 875 -- Operation Garden Kill

Picture a guy named "Skip" out on the golf course. He's a tired looking corporate executive. The guy next to him is a congressman. He looks tired too. He carries around the weight of an old family surname -- Sandborne. That's not his only problem. He's facing an election against someone who has a reputation of telling it like it is. He's going to need a very hefty campaign war chest to make his own brand of falsehood seem something like the truth.

At the end of the last hole, Skip says: "I need a favor."

Sandborne: "Shoot."

"We sell more grain and produce than anybody in America."

"Right," Sandborne says.

"We're getting tired of doing it the honest way. These farmers markets are picking up steam around the country and we want them snuffed. Terminated. Diced and juiced with extreme prejudice. You understand?"

"How we gonna do that?"

"Make them apply for a federal permit and an inspection."

"C'mon now, Skip. They ain't ever gonna do that."

"Regulate Organic completely out of existence."

"Organic? Skip. My niece is like an organic nut."

"Who butters your bread, Sandy baby?"

"Dont' get touchy. I'm just sayin--"

"I don't care what you're saying. I want these backyard tomato turks shut down before they grab share. What's good for Ag-Dax is good for Sandborne Paxton of the seventh congressional. You get me?"

Of course it doesn't happen that way in practice. Now we have congress people who are very much in touch with their feminine side, and you don't really have to use bald force anymore because the policy people don't think. A corporate goon from a huge agricultural conglomerate can call it something like the "Food Safety Act," and everybody gets weepy-eyed about protecting the public.

Believe it or not, there is a bill being considered in Congress that would make it very difficult for any small farm to take their produce to market. Here on Riley's Farm, our ox is not being gored. We sell everything we grow right here, but agriculture is good for communities and anyone who wants to throttle it--on behalf of corporate oligarchies-- doesn't really have the best interest of America at heart.

The bill should be killed--and anyone who even considers it, sponsors it, or gives it more than 30 seconds worth of thought should be remembered as the treasonous, anti-American scum they have so manifestly proven themselves to be.

..and that's my measured opinion.

A Little Beef

Saturday morning I went out to see some miniature Angus and Hereford cattle in a place called West Cajon Valley, on the road to Victorville. The nice people at Crossroads Ranch, run by the Coleman family, let me see, first hand, how docile and small these breeds really are. Their website--small world--was designed by Courtney Creighton, the older brother of farm dance-master and all around living historian, Logan Creighton.

I've never really done a spreadsheet on building a herd of cattle, miniature or otherwise, but I'm beginning to think a mini-herd would be worth considering. If there were a way to make sure the beef got a USDA inspection, I think our farm guests would enjoy corn-fed, Iowa style beef. (For a brief time, in another world, I was a graduate student at the Iowa Writers workshop, and I still remember the way Iowa beef and pork sizzled its way, with coffee, across the Hamburg Inn.) If you've been watching the financial news (don't!), Jim Rogers says he is buying up farms. Wouldn't it be ironic if all these agritourism operations started "beefing up" their production operations again? And..if every front and back lawn in the Inland Empire were turned into a vegetable garden, I wonder if we could grow enough food to keep the southland from turning into a Mad Max movie. (Someone else do the spreadsheet on this; I'm tired of graphing commerce this morning, and I don't know how much backyard barley you have to grow to keep the squad cars in reasonably good repair.)

On the beef herd front, Scott says a friend of his is weighing the merits of staying a hobby rancher, or getting into real ranching. I think he has about 30 head of cattle--and that doesn't seem "hobby" to me, but industrial scale is the enemy of most small projects. When you're up against Con-Agra and AMD, you really have to have a pretty good "boutique beef" operation to encourage people pay a premium rate for the extra value. I think the spreadsheet might be different, however, in a restaurant operation, because that premium is more easily blurred into the extra value of the served-food price. (Incidentally, I just finished a turkey sausage sandwich. Incredible. You point-counters would do well to consider the lowly turkey sausage.)

What I really like, however, about a cattle operation is that it is deeply American--and very deeply Oak Glen. These apple farms are called "ranches" because most of the old time farmers ran cattle to make up for bad crop years. I have no problem with someone who wants to survive on carrots and tofu, but you tell me Americans don't deserve a hamburger if they want one--and you have a fight on your hands.

Looking for Courage

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Generally, I think it's a good idea not to read too much in the way of financial news these days. If everyone in America spent more time selling and less time fretting, we could probably work our way out of this financial mess. I learned this here on the farm over the past few weeks; this market is something like selling peanuts at a baseball game where everyone in the stadium is fixated by the sight of two airplanes appearing to collide in the distant sky. Most of the stadium-hawkers are looking up at the spectacle, but a few keep pitching , and they find out most of the crowd is still hungry.

Nevertheless, completely avoiding what qualifies as "news of the century" is something like jumping in a sail boat without pondering the clouds on the horizon. CNBC put together a nice little slide show of "famous last words." It underscores a point I find fascinating: not even the people who claim to know what they are doing, know what they are doing. Why do I find that intriguing? Well, economics, really, is the study of sentient, communicative human beings attending to their rational self-interest. It's the study, in other words, of populations making financial decisions. The mal-functioning sub-structures of a kidney cell can't look up to the scientist peering through the electron microscope and scream: "heah, we're experiencing some surface membrane polarity down here brought on by ATP depletion!"

People, on the other hand, can talk. They buy. They sell. They balance check books, apply for unemployment, purchase insurance, deliberate over car warranties. They answer surveys. They make their financial decisions known by where they sign their names and when they pay their bills. They decide that a doctor's services are worth $300,000 a year and a file clerk's are worth $22,000. The stock market mirrors, over time, the collective sense of what everything is worth. I say, "over time," because this morning's good news can make something really worthless seem really valuable, and "over time," the market comes to know the broad, long-term truths. We've got LOTS of data on what people do financially and--unlike basolateral membrane domains--they can tell us why they do it.

So why can't we study the global financial system with the same accuracy a microbiologist studies proximal tubular cells?

Because people lie. We are gross, calculating, depraved sinners who--without fear of God--are willing to put any face necessary on the story of our financial affairs so as to maximize our take. Of course the lies can be as simple as embellishing the language on a resume or as baroque as conducting a mega-billion dollar swindle, but a failure to be honest about our intentions, and our actions, is at the root of what makes economics so inscrutable. If Kidney cells could lie, we might never have invented the dialysis machine.

The temptation, on the policy level, is to assume that only people directly involved in commerce are the potential liars, but ponder the Madoff mess: Madoff is accused of lying, but so are the regulators themselves; if you take taxpayer money to regulate the securities market, and you don't do your job, you're telling your employer one thing and doing another. If Congress complains about CEO salaries and hides their own automatic pay increases, and travel benefits, how can anyone really trust the dialogue going on between deceptive businessmen and deceptive politicians?

We keep talking about spending more money to "stimulate" the economy, but what we really need is a hell fire and damnation pastor scolding us, collectively and individually, for our sins.

Can you imagine what we could do, as a people, if we realized how much we need God?

Anniversaries

I wasn't going to mention the Boston Massacre, but this morning a "history site" gave Elvis Presley milestones higher billing than the Boston Massacre, so I'm reminding all of you Americans, out of protest, that this was the day, 239 years ago, when the city fathers of Boston were proven sadly right in their objection to standing armies in a time of peace. It has become common place to misconstrue John Adam's defense of the British soldiers, in court, as a sign that this affair was not really an atrocity, but the patriots who gave the annual Boston Massacre oration, for years afterwards, didn't' take that view--and they were the ones who had to live under military occupation. Here is the way the event was reported in New Hampshire in the March 9th, 1770 edition of the Gazette.

P O R T S M O U T H. March 9, 1770. Bloody Work in Boston. By a Person from Boston since the Post, we hear, that about Eight O'Clock last Monday Evening there happened another Difference with the Inhabitants of that Town and some Soldiers of the 29th Regiment, in which both Sides received several Blows, and would have been very fatal, if Mr. Maul, an Officer, had not obliged the Soldiers to retire to their barracks, the Inhabitants gathering very thick in King-Street, the commanding officer of the main guard ordered a File of Men to draw up before the Custom-House, and whether any Words passed between him and the People is not certainly known, but he gave Orders to the Men to fire upon the People, which immediately killed three on the Spot, and wounded four others extremely bad, one of which was dying when our Informer left the Town....we impatiently wait to hear the Result relating to this horrid Affair, as from the Temper of the People something too serious would take Place.

The reality, as the founders knew, is that placing soldiers among a people who valued their charter rights, and their institutions of representative government, is a disservice to both the soldiers and the citizens. A professional army is a clumsy vehicle for enforcing the peace. There were routine fights between two different sets of authority in the town--the night watchmen and patrolling bands of sometimes drunken British soldiers. Soldiers and citizens fought for part time work. Church meetings were interrupted by the fifes and drums of British troops--who didn't like the politics of the pulpit. Finally, no deliberative body is free to engage in free expression with gun barrels pointing at the meeting hall.

The massacre was, indeed, a massacre, but not because every British soldier was a brute. The arrogant ministers of King George had sent them on a mission no fighting man could honorably fulfill--that of making tyranny "peaceful" and "orderly."

The Near St. Patrick's Day Ball

The band is rehearsing brand new (but very old) numbers for our celebration of the "Near" St. Patrick's Day Ball at the Old Packing Shed. (St. Patrick's Day falls on the 17th, a Tuesday, but we're not brave enough to try to get you up here into Oak Glen on a Tuesday night.) This way you can have a family night honoring the great Irish saint, and then celebrate with your office buddies Tuesday night as well. We're just doing our part to increase the sum total of celebration, you might say.



Bea and Jim Romano and their group of Celtic Musicians will join our own Kathy von Arx, Freeman House, David Thomas, and Angela Shaddix for great music, Irish cheer, and an excellent feast provided by the Irish-for-a-night Packing Shed cooking crew.

After you've celebrated the Irish-American tradition, on March 21st, you can celebrate the Scottish-American freedom fighters who constituted the heritage of one of America's clear thinkers: Patrick Henry.



An Evening in the Colonies with Patrick Henry is held at the Hawk's Head Public House and features great food and immortal political rhetoric: give me liberty, or give me death!

Let no one say there's nothing to do in the country this month!



..So Start clicking!

Camp Revolution 2009

Brandon Ryder and Jeff Hammond are putting the finishing touches on this summer's Camp Revolution Itinerary, but you can sign up and pay for the camp now. A Family of four (2 adults & 2 kids) gets a bargain, local living history camping vacation, with all meals provided, and period clothing (rented) for less than $3600. I don't want to tell you what I spent to fly the family to Williamsburg a few years ago, but let's just say it cost a great deal more than Camp Revolution--and although there's nothing like visiting the shrines of freedom in person, this vacation will be a lot closer to living in the 18th century than you can find at most history vacation destinations. There are group and big family discounts too, so call Jan for details. (909-797-7534 ext. 201)