Pastor Agnostic’s Ten Commandments

Pastor Agnostic’s Ten Commandments:

If it was good enough for some two part, badly translated, mostly borrowed, and politically edited fairy tale, then ten arbitrary, off the cuff rules must be good enough for the rest of us. Please feel free to take my post in vain.

These commandments should be read like speed limits. Obey them only when it pleases you, especially if your radar detector is not working. Except in school zones, where you must slow down and keep a careful eye open.

1775 – American Revolution: The British advancement by sea begins; Paul Revere and others warn the countryside of the troop movements.

1949 – The aircraft carrier USS United States is laid down at Newport News Drydock and Shipbuilding. However, the giant ship is canceled 5 days later, resulting in the Revolt of the Admirals.

COINCIDENCE? I think NOT!

 “Grown men should not be having sex with prostitutes unless they are married to them.”
— Rev. Jerry Falwell

“The Spirit tells me, Fidel Castro will die in the 90’s.”
—  Rev. Benny Hinn

FROM THE CHURCH OF INEFFABLE STUPIDITY:

If it was good enough for some two part, badly translated, mostly borrowed, and politically edited fairy tale, then ten arbitrary, off the cuff rules must be good enough for the rest of us. Please feel free to take my post in vain.

These commandments should be read like speed limits. Obey them only when it pleases you, especially if your radar detector is not working. Except in school zones, where you must slow down and keep a careful eye open.

1) Read, write, study, learn.

Honestly, what one thing separates us from animals? Writing, written history, and the intertubes. We can share information, knowledge, and experience today in ways never dreamed of just two decades ago. Sure, a lot of it is crap, (see, generally, Drudge, PalinPac, Whirled Nut Delay, WaPo of late, and the formerly honored Wall Street Urinal) but frankly, it pays to see what the great unwashed NeoConmen and  Tea Baggers and are brewing up now.

Learning something new is one of humanity’s greatest achievements. Applying that new knowledge is close to saint-hood.

2) Practice what you preach.

The Intertubes offer most of us anonymity. I post my name in my profile, and have suffered for it. But, unless I am willing to stand up for my (ahem) beliefs, what impact can I ever expect my words to have? We must stand up against injustices. We must learn from our mistakes. We must admit our faults (but not grovel about their occurrence). And, we must act in line with what we say we promote.

If that means that we need to organize an anti-teabagger meeting, so be it. I suggest July 4th as an appropriate date. They can choose the Ides of April to protest their lower taxes. We should, and must, stand up and demand that freedom and independence have responsibilities, as well as benefits.

3) Organized religions do great harm. One must fight the worst of their impact.

So far, the courts have done pretty well. Despite 8 yrs of W, there still is a separation of state and religion. Creationism is not a science, intelligent design is neither, and religious folks who demand that we accept their ways on all issues must be acknowledged politely, then stopped in their tracks. It is not only a 4 yr old girl being reborn, confessing her worldly sins on the 700 Club, it is not only Texass Skule Bored rewriting history, nor is it only the insane claim that only christians can understand what moral behavior is.

Every single time that anyone replaces fact with faith, society takes a hit. The more that faith intrudes, the worse things get for society. Sure, there are many imponderables, many unknowns, even many known unknowns. But to regress to “faith” in response to an unknown is what religion demands of us. We must do the opposite. When there is a hard question, we should be spurred on to do more research. Until we learn a factual answer.

4) Morals, ethics, and societal responsibility must be a necessary part of your daily life.

It is so cute how conservative christians claimed that they, and only they, could be moral and ethical. Everyone else was a sinner, and doomed to hell. Ted Haggard, Rev. Baker, Senators Vitter, Ensign, and many other family values creeps proved the opposite to be the case. Their theft of those issues caused a great deal of harm. It is time we reclaimed them from religious cretins.

Morals, Ethics, and societal responsibility are ours. Every day, in many ways, modern society expresses our current standards and beliefs about what constitutes proper behavior. Some call them laws. Legislation. Statutes. Codes. But laws alone do not constitute (and never can) the whole of what “Morals, Ethics, and social responsibility” are. Unless you are the unfortunate recipient of genes,  head injuries, or magnetic forces,  which prevent you from having an ethical internal debate, (the amazing brain) all of us have some clue of what is right and wrong. It would do all of us some good to study it even further, starting much earlier in life. Say, age 15 or so.

5) If you covet your neighbor’s spouse, be sure to pay all divorce costs.

Seriously, if you and she/he want to get it on, go for it. But be prepared to responsible for your (and his/her) actions. Despite the Papal Maltese Decree that divorce is a mortal sin (and far worse than his bishops covering up thousands of sex abuse cases around the world), life goes on. People are attracted to others. People realize they made huge mistakes in relationships. People need to act responsibly.

One very good corollary to this commandment: ALWAYS GET A PRE-NUPT! That applies to same sex marriages, too, folks. Frankly, the more you think about a permanent relationship, AHEAD OF TIME, the better your’s will be.

6) An open mind is the most cherished prize. Keep the gates to your mind well oiled.

I recently read a couple of posts this weekend, one by Black Kos, and another, by a transgendered person. It struck me that my own gateway to my brain was getting rusty. I deal with many people of color in my profession, quite often. But until I could actually stand in their shoes, how the hell could I understand the daily racism, subtle as it is, that they feel and (even worse) expect? Or as powerfully, how the hell could I ever understand the confusion, the pain, the societal abuse poured upon people who are transgendered? This weekend, I realized that I continue to be a racist, close-minded pig, on top of being a sarcastic curmudgeon. This weekend, I pledged to fix it, no matter how long it takes.

I better get a lot of WD40 for the brain.

7) Government IS by the people and for the people. Make sure it stays that way.

What a horrible time we live in. What great times these are! It is great and horrible. Somehow, that which brings us together, government, has been redefined as the enemy, something to shrink, then drown. How did we let this happen?

Well, partly it is the fault of those in government. I am not talking about the time warp that occurs within Chicago’s Central Post Office, where everything seems to move  a t   h a l f     s p e e d . . . . but rather, those who create secrets, or withhold information we citizens need in order to make decisions when we vote. NSA is a pimple that popped. Yes, having such wonderful eyes and ears all over the world is an asset we should not toss aside. Yes, having a functioning FBI is an asset. Even, to some degree, having a CIA (but without the torture squads, the Blackwater subcontracts, and the assassination squads) can be a good thing.

However, the instant that government starts keeping too many secrets, government is no longer by the people, for the people. It becomes a separate entity, intent on its own self-preservation, “knowing more than we do” and not being able to trust us to do the right thing. BULLSHIT. An informed population is a very powerful force. A misinformed population is a very dangerous group that gets angry when it realizes that it was fooled.  Take Iraq. Please. Oh, wait, we already did. Dammit.

That’s where the “Make sure it stays that way” comes into play. We cannot afford to allow government to classify everything as secret “for our own good.” I repeat, BULLSHIT. Determining what is for our own good requires our input, and therefore it requires as much information and background we can get. Secrecy is the acid which corrodes democracy.

Take Iran. Who can really believe anything the government says about that State? We’ve been lied to so often, on so many critical issues (Iraq, Afghanistan, Katrina, TARP, the economy), that everything the government tells us, (be it Petreaus or any other Soviet-medalled toy soldier they put on tv), that we cannot believe anything they say. Frankly, under Bush, if we took long positions on everything they told us being false, we’d all be billionaires. Much like Wall Street.

Government is good, so long as we have a voice in it. A good way to retrieve that voice is by banning lobbyists from DC, and have federal funding of congressional elections.

8) Be liberal in all things, especially  to others, when dealing with respect, support, honor and how you pour scotch.

I am constantly amazed how “liberal” and “progressive” became profanities, while “conservative” became a path towards sainthood. We now know that the “liberal media bias” is utter crap. Conservatives, corporations, and advertising (for corporations) have way too much control over journalism, to the point that Glenn Beck and Bill and Rush and Sean actually become the sole source of misinformation for all too many people. If any liberal tried to be as fact and logic free as that gaggle of jerks, he/she would be laughed off the air. Rightly so.

Being liberal is a blessing, not a sin. It means respecting others, even including the right of a pompous Glenn faking tears on air. It means helping those in need. It means thinking not of what is most efficient, but what is the most effective for the greatest number of people.  (and then searching out and helping those we missed) Being liberal is what we all should strive towards in every step we take.

Especially as it relates to how you pour my single malt.

9) Every society is damned to repeat the mistakes of the past. The more you learn about history will help limit the damage of future mistakes.

Sigh. This one speaks for itself. Sadly. When you think back to the mid 1760s, to the start of the revolution, and realize just how lucky we were to have our founding fathers, well read, well traveled, well educated, and thinking well of humanity, and how they did their damnedest to avoid the mistakes of the past, you begin to realize how magical this country is. Except for that slavery bit.

Talk to an older person. Ask them about the 50s, (McCarthy), the 60s, (Viet Nam), and more. What we see is not unique, but simply predictable human reactions in this slice of time. If we can learn how they survived, and use that experience, all of us would be far better off.

10) Nationalism is nothing more than perverted bigotry. Patriotism is fine, if you are a patriot of the world. Be a patriot.

War. Riots. Death.

Nationalism manages to tickle something deep inside our brains. It stops logical thought. It replaces it with emotion and group think. Ask any survivor of Stalin’s purges, and how he was cheered as a savior. (even after millions of families were torn apart because some were accused of treason) Ask those who lived in and survived Hitler’s Germany.

Nationalism is evil. It leads to violence. At its best, it is as bad as organized religion. At its worst, it leads to world wars.

We now have global telecommunications. A global economy. A global understanding. And, we have a global need. It is time to start acting  and thinking globally. We are al patriots. It is simply that that for which we should feel patriotic is a tiny, water covered, hot iron rock, orbiting a rather boring star, stuck in an unfashionable arm of the galaxy.

HUGE Scientific Discovery made!

1857 – Herman Melville publishes The Confidence-Man.

1924 – Adolf Hitler is sentenced to five years in jail for his  “Beer Hall Putsch”. He spends nine months in jail, during which he writes Mein Kampf.

COINCIDENCE? I think NOT!

“I’m thinking about killing Michael Moore, and I’m wondering if I could kill him myself, or if I would need to hire somebody to do it. … No, I think I could.”
— Glenn Beck

”I am not a polarizing guy.”
— Glenn Beck  

 FROM THE CHURCH OF INEFFABLE STUPIDITY:

A recent scientific study, conducted by Doctor (Emeritus) Pei A. Tenshun, has some surprising implications for the treatment of brain injuries and mental illness. Dr. Pei, the Chair of the Girolamo Savonarola School of Psychology, East Chicago University, followed up on published studies which proved that with a proper application of a electro-magnetic field to the Right Parietal portion of the brain, a person’s internal “morality” mechanism could be turned off indefinitely.

Dr. Pei hypothosized that other locations of the brain could also be sensitized, turned on or off, depending on the stimuli provided to the subject.

Dr. Pei, and co-author Professor Gill T. Frei, gathered 1,000 volunteers who agreed to undergo this three week project. The volunteers were compensated for room and board while they underwent this experiment, and received a stipend of $25 per diem.  In order to receive the stipend, each volunteer agreed to undergo at least two psychological and IQ profiles, and agreed to do their best on each exam. The tests included the standard array of tests, including the MMPI, Stanford Binet IQ, the Pigham Personality Profile, and other tests to insure honest answers.

Pre-experiment testing found a standard distribution of IQ, ranging from 88 (the bank executive) and 139 (non-union janitor), with a median of 105. This result was well within the norms predicted by historical testing. Even after taking into account the subjects’ education, race, age, sex and financial backgrounds, the results remained accurate, as predicted. In laymen’s terms, these 1,000 participants were extremely representative of the American population at large.

The subjects were then placed in a controlled atmosphere for 5 straight days. Their choice of meals were based on their pre-experiment reports. Alcohol, marijuana, and other intoxicant consumption was permitted, again matching the subjects’ self-descriptions.  Every effort was made to allow the subjects to spend these five days in as normal and routine atmosphere as possible, except for their not attending work.

Beginning on Day 1, The subjects were then given access to a TV and radio. Those who chose TV were limited to watching Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, and video of Rush Limbaugh. Programming was limited to only 4 hours in the morning, and 6 hours at night. Those who chose radio could only receive Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck. Again, the subjects were provided with a choice of viewing, but the programming was essentially the same for all.

After Day 5, Dr. Pei and Prof. Frei agreed to end the experiment early. Video surveillance of the subjects showed riskier behavior, and increased demands for alcohol and drugs.

On Day 6, the subjects were retested, using the same psychological and intelligence tests provided to the subjects before the experiment.

The results were stunning. In every case, the subject underwent a major decrease in psychological health, and a stunning decrease of IQ points. Propensity for violence, spouting inanities, or quoting Sarah Palin became acceptable behavior. The average IQ loss was 12 points, with the extremes ranging from a loss of 9 points, to a high of 34.  

Dr. Pei then began Stage II of the experiment. One third * of the original subjects were selected at random for further testing and experimentation. For these subjects, both the TV and radio were removed, and replaced by newspapers, books, and news and science magazines. After two days under these conditions, half of these subjects  were tested and released, and after one week, the remaining subjects were tested and released.

The studied confirmed the worst fears of Dr. Pei. Two days of reading books, newspapers, and magazines had no positive impact on either the subjects’ IQ or personality profile. Prof. Frei believed that the subjects were still suffering from a form of PTSD, after so much concentrated exposure to Beck and Limbaugh. This PTSD, he theorized, prevented the subjects’ brains from accepting real information for mental processing.

The last group, released after a week’s exposure to books and magazines, showed a slight amount of positive change. While they did not come close to returning to their pre-experiment levels of mental functioning, there were indications that immediate intervention, followed by intense psychotherapy and  the possible use of psychotropic medications, that the subjects could return to rational behavior within 3-4 months.

Positron scans of the brains confirmed that just like in the “Morality” electro-magnetic experiments, certain parts of the subjects’ brains appeared to be not functioning, or “turned off.” Most of the impact was seen on the frontal lobes. Dr. Pei believes that large doses of Glenn Beck, in particular,  act like a video lobotomy, causing serious, but hopefully temporary, brain damage to any viewer.

(*) The test subjects NOT randomly selected for the Stage II testing, were contacted by Dr. Pei’s staffers and were strongly suggested to seek mental health care in the immediate future. Approximately 82% of the subjects followed that advice, but unfortunately, 18% refused all treatment and joined their local Tea Bagger movement. Dr. Pei sincerely apologizes for this unforeseen development.

A Tale For All Seasons, Chap.3 – Springtime at Mt. Fuji

Once upon a time, there was a pretty little girl named Haruko. She lived in a small stone hut at the foot of the beautiful Mount Fuji. Haruko’s father was a poor monk. Because he was so poor, he also kept a little rice farm. No matter how hard he worked, his crop never seemed to be as big as anyone else’s. Even so, her father was always very kind to everyone, especially to Haruko. He always told Haruko that she reminded him of her beautiful mother. Her mother had died so long ago that Haruko could not even remember her face.
   
    Haruko was ten years old.

    Although they were very poor, their hut was always neat and clean, with freshly washed linens blowing in the breeze behind the hut. They also had two scrawny chickens and a lame goat, but the goat didn’t seem to mind it much, and besides, he never really walked far anyway. The goat gave them a little milk each morning. The chickens were so thin that they almost never laid eggs. She also had a dog named Taro, but although the pup slept with her, he always followed her father when he left for the rice field.

    If you walked to the big road that led to Mount Fuji, you could see the top of the mountain just over the hill. There was a waterfall and a river, and a dam that her father built, trying to water his small rice field.

    Even from there, Mount Fuji was beautiful and magical. In winter, her father had taken her to the top of the hill and watched as the full moon caressed Mount Fuji and the clouds that seemed to get caught on it. Haruko always wondered whether Mount Fuji had invisible, secret arms that could reach out and hold the clouds against their will.

    Haruko had a rich grandmother Obaba who lived on the other side of the hill.  She only got to see Grandmother Obaba on very special holidays, like on Obaba’s name day. Haruko’s father was Granmother Obaba’s youngest son, (and therefore, not her favorite) so that was why he became a monk. And that was why he was a poor monk. He had to make do the best he could just to survive, because his two older brothers would inherit Grandmother’s lands and her titles. Because Grandmother Obaba was extremely rich and she had royal blood, her lands included at least one mountain, and more than a few major hills, rice fields, mandarin orange groves, even a lake or two.

    So it happened that Haruko’s father’s two older brothers – her uncles – were rich and famous. Their huge family homes were built right next to Grandmother Obaba’s. Haruko remembered that her uncles’ houses were decorated in beautiful colors. Their paper doors had green dragons and wonderful mountain scenes painted on them. In front of the houses were bonsai trees, a lovely orange grove, and even lovelier gardens. Haruko had never been inside either house.

    Grandmother Obaba’s house was the largest of the three. Her husband came from royalty, and his death many decades ago, was an honorable one in the service of the Emperor.

    From Grandmother’s yard, there was a beautiful clearing which looked over Mount Fuji. It was always peaceful and quiet there. Obaba called it her special place. There were bonsai plants, a small area to pray or read in, and a small flower garden with the most beautiful gardinia and peonies. You could smell the flowers when they bloomed all the way down the hill.

    Haruko always had to take off her wooden slippers the few times that she went inside Obaba’s house, but then again, so did every one else. In Japan, it was impolite to wear your outside shoes indoors, unless you were a beggar and had no shoes at all.

    Grandmother Obaba was having her name-day celebration. Because she was one of her many grandchildren, even Haruko was invited. She spent the past few days practicing Origami with rice paper so she could bring a proper gift to honor Grandmother Obaba.

    Origami is the Japanese art of folding paper. You can make incredible animals, flying birds, even beautiful boxes out of paper. Haruko loved making Origami birds and she was very good at it. Her fingers seemed to talk to the paper as she folded.

    Haruko wanted to make something special for Grandmother Obaba. She practiced hard until she made a perfect peacock. It was very hard to fold it just right, but she finally did it. Then, she worked on a crane, a swan and a sparrow, working hard until she got them just right. She chose the three best birds as a gift. She decided not to take the peacock. Then, she began to prepare her father’s tea and lunch.

    Late that morning, her father returned from the rice field. He was tired, covered in mud and pale. The year before there was a flood and it washed out most of his crop. Last night, the storm was at least as bad as the year before.

    Once the storm started, her father worked all night to fix the dam that kept the water away from his field, but the water was too strong. Half of the dam had broken away again. If it rained any harder, his whole crop would be threatened.

    He sat down, muddy, tired, sore and sad.

    “Oh, my dear Haruko. You look so pretty today. Are you ready to see your Grandmother Obaba?”

    “Yes, father. May I pour you some tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled his favorite teacup from the small cupboard and filled it with a deep green, steaming hot tea. Her father sipped at it and closed his eyes. His head started to nod and he seemed to fall asleep.

Finally, he shook his head and began to talk again.

    “Haruko, the dam is in trouble again. Most of our rice field might wash away. If it does, it will be a hard season for us. I have to go back to save what I can. So, I cannot walk you to Grandmother Obaba’s house. Can you walk alone there? Do you remember the path?”

    “Yes, honorable father. I’m a big girl now.”

    Her father smiled at her words. “Yes, yes, you are a big beautiful girl. A big nine year old girl. Will you show me what you made for her, please?”

    She smiled as she told herself, no, I am ten, dearest father. But she did not try to correct him. He had enough to worry about.

    Haruko brought the paper envelope she had folded and took out three small birds. The largest was no bigger than her small hand. It was a purple and yellow crane, folded just right. The second bird was an owl, red and black with the folds making eyes that seemed to follow you around the room. It was smaller than the monk’s little finger. The last bird was the smallest. It was a green and golden sparrow. As small as it was, it was perfectly folded. Her father smiled at her.

    “These are lovely, Haruko. I am sure that Grandmother will be pleased.” He sighed, then got to his feet. He opened his special box where he kept his few coins and other valuables.  

    “Haruko, let me tell you a story before we go. I’ve never told you about the old witch Yamamba before.  She is a very old lady who eats children, even big nine year old girls like you.  She lives deep in the forest, she comes out only at night and she particularly likes to wander on the hill between here and Grandmother’s house.

    “Yamamba can be stopped, but you have to be brave and very sure of yourself. And, you have to be armed properly. Better yet, always come home before it gets dark, and you can be safe.”

    He kept searching through his little box. “There is a secret about Yamamba. As evil as she is, she can never attack you, but only if you don’t let her. You have to be a brave girl to stop her. Your own fear can cause your death.”

    “What must one do, father?” Haruko asked.

    Her father still could not find what he was looking for, Then he turned and saw his monk’s robe, hanging near the door. He reached over to it, and pulled out a small silk bag. Inside were three small charms, each one of them hardly larger than a small seed. “These are magical symbols and charms. If you are about to be attacked, you must take one, and only one, and throw it behind you. Then, run like the wind away from her. You must chant, `I won’t see you, I won’t see you.’ over and over again.”

    The monk looked at her sternly. “If the last one is gone, all you can do is chant, over and over again, until you get home. Don’t forget to chant. Without chanting, the charms won’t work. If you keep chanting, even if you used the last charm, you will be safe.

    “Now, don’t forget, please tell your grandmother that I am trying to save my crop and that it saddens me to no end that I could not go to her name day party.”

    The monk kissed his daughter on her forehead, finished off his tea,  and went off back to work on his failing dam.  

    Once again, Haruko made sure that her clothes were clean and neat. She packed her gift box in old silk and tied it to her back. Haruko began walking through the forest to her Grandmother Obaba’s house.

    She was careful to avoid all of the puddles left by the rainstorm, but no matter how hard she tried, she still ended up with mud on her clothes. When she finally got to her Grandmother’s house, three servants quickly whisked her to a side door, where two other servants rushed to clean her clothing before being admitted to Grandmother Obaba. In their rush, her hand-made paper gift box was smashed, and the envelope inside was crushed and torn. Haruko began to cry silently.

    The servants chided her to keep quiet, but at least they got her clean. Finally, they let her dress again, and gave her back her gift.

    Haruko took the torn envelope and entered the Tea Room, where all important ceremonies took place. She was introduced and after being granted the right to enter, she bowed to Grandmother and wished her a happy holiday. She meekly handed over the torn envelope and explained that the trip here caused her gift a great hardship.

    All of the guests tittered and laughed, knowing that nothing this poor child could do could ever please Grandmother. Their Grandmother Obaba was too well versed in proper behavior, and how could this silly young girl ever learn it? What, with her father being nothing more than a useless monk and a worse father and husband?

    “Hardship. Ha! What could a monk’s daughter know about life or hardship? Ha!” Grandmother’s voice was shrill and angry.

    Grandmother Obaba picked open the dirty, crushed envelope and found the owl and the  peacock smashed, dirty and torn into bits. She searched further and pulled out the tiny paper sparrow, still perfectly intact. She looked and looked and looked, and after the longest time, she smiled.

    Everyone in the room expected Grandmother to banish Haruko to the servants’ chambers until the party was over. Just then, Grandmother Obaba surprised them all.

    “It’s Haruko, isn’t it? You are my youngest son’s daughter? This sparrow is lovely. How sweet of you to think of my favorite bird.”

    Grandmother’s reaction surprised everyone in the Tea Room.  Haruko was invited to sit at the feet of Grandmother and have her tea. This seat of honor was rarely given to any grandchild, and rarely, even to her favorite sons.

    After all little girls and boys were served with tea (and all the adults were served with Saki, a hot rice drink for adults), Grandmother asked Haruko a question.

    “Haruko, if I gave you some paper, could you make another bird for me? To replace those two torn birds.”

    Haruko bowed deeply and said, “Honorable Grandmother Obaba, if it would please you, I would be honored to make a whole flock of birds for you.”

    Grandmother Obaba laughed, not just because Haruko used to proper form of address, but because in her youth she, too, loved making Origami animals. Grandmother clapped her hands, and a servant came in with paper and a small table. The small table was placed in front of Haruko.

    Haruko’s eyes opened wide as she looked at all the fine paper before her. She had never seen or imagined such wonderful paper or such colors. She searched to find the cheapest, smallest one, so Grandmother would not be angry if she made a mistake. There it was. A square piece of cheap, black rice paper.  Haruko began to fold. As soon as her fingers touched the paper, she forgot about everything else. She ignored the snickers, the stares and her cousins, aunts and uncles. Her fingers flew and drew, pinched and bended, caressed, and finally creased and folded the small paper. When she was done, she handed the finished owl to Grandmother Obaba.

    Everyone in the room could tell that Grandmother was not pleased. Her famous frown was clearly visible to everyone as she examined black owl closely. It grew deeper as she examined the owl over and over again.

    “Why did you pick that paper, Haruko? It was the ugliest paper on the table. Was this to be an insult to your grandmother? If so, then shame on you, little girl. Your father has not taught you well at all.”

    The entire room was quiet as they watched the growing spectacle.  A few secretly exchanged glances as though they were sure what would happen next. Grandmother Obaba was famous for being a fierce lady if anyone insulted her. Her face was turning red. Everyone expected her to chase Haruko out of her home in shame. If that happened, Haruko would never be asked back to visit ever again.

    Haruko knelt down in front of her grandmother and bowed very deeply. Without looking up she answered in a very meek and quiet voice.

    “Oh, no, Honorable Grandmother. If I had torn your bird while making it, I would have wasted your beautiful paper. I did not dare to tear something so special. But If I made something nice from the poor, ugly paper, it wouldn’t be ugly anymore.” She bowed her head again.

    Grandmother Obaba was quiet for a moment, and then started to laugh. “My dear little girl, it seems as that worthless son of mine has done something right. You are polite and apparently wise beyond your years. Come stand up and give Grandmother a kiss.”

    Haruko obeyed at once. Grandmother Obaba looked at the bird again. Haruko really did take a piece of ugly paper and made it into something beautiful. Very beautiful.

    Soon the party was over. Grandmother Obaba got another round of  bows and kisses, as her large family and friends withdrew.

    Just as she bowed for the last time before leaving, a maid grabbed Haruko’s arm and motioned for her to be quiet. When the last of the guests had left, Haruko was led into a small room, filled with scrolls, artwork and  several drawing tables. On them were handwritten poems, art work, pens and ink. Grandmother Obaba sat cross-legged at a small table in the center of the room.

    She motioned Haruko in and pointed her where to sit.

    “Come in, little one. This is my favorite room. I never show it to anyone.” As she talked, she was working and folding a very thin piece of rice paper. It was so thin, you could almost see through it.  Yet, Grandmother never looked down at her own hands. They seemed to move on their own.

    “Little Haruko, tell me.  Did you see that the paper folding was a test? If you had picked the rarest, best paper, it would have told me something about your character. By taking the ugliest paper and making something beautiful out of it, you showed your true self. Your father has done well with you, little one. However, I think you will have to pass one more test, probably the most important one you can imagine.”  

    Grandmother Obaba continued to work the incredibly thin paper, not even glancing at it once. After a few moments, she sighed, then made one last fold. Only then did she look at her work, then handed it to her granddaughter.  It was a dragon, with sharp claws on each leg, two horns and a wicked tail, all from one piece of paper. It was the most incredible thing that Haruko had ever seen. Grandmother Obaba was clearly a master of Origami. Grandmother finally spoke.  

    “Because of your love of paper, I am thinking that you might be welcome back here again. That is, if you pass a test that I will create for you. You will tell your father that. And, also tell him he will be welcome, but only if you pass this test. Better yet, tell him that I insist that he come as well, if you pass.” She looked stern as she said the last words.

    Haruko then explained why he could not come on her name day, and that she had no chance to explain on his behalf earlier. She timidly asked what the test would be.

    Grandmother sat back and stared out the window for a bit. She looked back at Haruko, “It will be a surprise.”

    Grandmother nodded to herself and removed a rag from the floor. Beneath it, she lifted up a floor board that fit perfectly into the floor. Underneath it sat a small, shiny black, wooden box. She handed the box over to Haruko.

    “Here, my little one. This is a gift for you. My grandmother gave this to me when I started doing Origami. I have filled it with some paper for you. Use it wisely. But remember one thing. There will be a test that I will prepare for you. It will be a very important test.”

    Bowing again, Haruko took the box from her.

    “Now, what are you going to do?” She asked Haruko. In response, Haruko again bowed deeply.

    “Honorable Grandmother Obaba-san, this unworthy one deeply thanks you for a lovely party and for letting me stay with you. But I must go back. My father will be coming home and he will want his supper and tea. There is no one else who takes care of him. I am very honored to be here, but I beg you to please let me go back to my
duties.”

    The Grandmother Obaba smiled at her and nodded for her to go home.

    Haruko carefully wrapped the box in her sack, tied it to her obi sash that went around her waist and started up the side of the hill between Obaba’s home and her father’s hut. It was getting quite late in the afternoon. As she walked, Haruko loved listening to the last few lovely birds singing as the sun began to set.  

    Haruko approached the dark forest in the valley, just as a menacing dark storm cloud passed over the low sun. As it blocked out the sun, darkness seemed to crawl out and surround everything, including Haruko. It was as though the trees themselves were oozing darkness.

Soon, there was heavy thunder around her, but Haruko could see no lightning. All of a sudden it became so dark, that Haruko had problems keeping to the path. Just then, she saw a strange, ghostly light ahead of her. It seemed to be floating through the trees without form. The light reflected off the trees, but Haruko could see no person around the light.

    Harukos started walking faster down the path. She was probably still fifteen minutes from her home, and the safety of her father’s arms. As the wind picked up even more, the first drops of rain began to fall. It made her wooden sandals (because all good little Japanese girls wear wooden sandals) slip and slide in the soil.

    The strange light began to get closer to her. Haruko hurried even more. As it approached, she heard a low moaning coming from the light, as though it were alive. Haruko began to run as fast as her little feet could carry her.

    KABOOOM!  Just then, a huge bold of lightning hit so close to Haruko, that it knocked her to the ground. She could feel the weird feeling in the air, as though it were alive. Her ears and eyes ached horrible from the lightning strike. Haruko was incredibly scared. She had never felt such a horrible feeling. Again it became totally black, but Haruko still saw the lighting bolt in her eyes, like when she stared at the sun for too long.

    Just then, the skies opened up and the rain fell harder than she had ever felt it.

    As Haruko tried to stand up, she could not remember which way she was heading. In the rain that now fell, the ground showed no signs of her footprints.

    Again, another KABOOM, this time with twin lightning bolts. That short flash was enough to give her a hint as to her path, but in the darkness that fell again, she could no be sure. She started walking anyway. Just to be sure, she pulled out one of her father’s sacred charms, and threw it to the ground, chanting “I won’t see you, I won’t
see you!”

    She walked and stumbled and fell and walked for so long that she realized that she was not on the path anymore. Huge thorn-bushes, the kind she had never seen on the path, surrounded her. They began to scratch at her arms and legs, and were ripping her wet kimono.

    As she turned around, looking for a way out, she saw the ghostly light, this time following her. Haruko turned back and forced her way through the thorns, finding some space beyond the bushes.

    Luckily, the lightning was moving off, and was now just providing some light, although the strikes were still very loud and very scary.

    Haruko pulled out the second charm and threw it behind her. She looked back, the charm seemed to glow in the dark, and as it did, the ghostly light seemed to get smaller and not so bright.

    Haruko knew that at some point if she kept going downhill, she would reach the river. If she reached it above her father’s dam, the river would be very fast, noisy and rocky. She could follow the stream to their little farm and then to her home. If she reached it down stream of her home, the slow waters would guide her in the other direction. Either way, she knew that she would get home, but much later than she had planned.

    Just then, she heard the moaning again, and saw the ghostly light, but this time, it was really close. She threw the third charm and ran in what she hoped was the right direction.

    All of a sudden, she felt herself grabbed from behind. She saw an old, wrinkled lady, carrying a long pole with a waxed paper candle box hanging from the end. She was so scared that she could not even scream, although with the storm, no one was there to hear her.  

    The old lady started to laugh as she saw Haruko’s face. She grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the hill. Just there, Haruko saw a cave with some light coming from inside. The old lady pushed her toward it. Just then, the rain picked up again and the wind blew more fiercely than ever before.

    It was easy for Haruko to go into the cave, despite being scared that this old lady was the dreaded Yamamba. Just then, Haruko realized her mistake. She had forgotten to chant her protecting chant, “I won’t see you.” She could not even remember if she chanted correctly with the first charm. She shivered, partly because she was completely soaked, and partly because this old, wrinkled lady was looking at her with dark, dark eyes.  On the other hand, there was a nice fire going, and she was out of the rain.

    “So, my little one, you are Haruko, no?”

    “Haruko, yes, ma’am,” she answered. Haruko knew that being polite was never a mistake.

    “So, ‘Haruko-yes-ma’am’, why were you out in the rain so long?”

    Slowly and timidly, she explained about the party, and how her grandmother asked her to stay on later. Too late, actually. She then reached around to show her the box grandmother gave her, only to find that it had been washed away in the rain, or had fallen off in the thorn bushes. Perhaps, it fell off one of the many times that she had fallen. Losing that special box, with all the special papers inside made her very sad.

    Finally, she found enough courage to ask, “Are you Yamamba?”

    The old lady began to laugh so hard that she started coughing and almost fell to the ground. As she stood up, still laughing, she reached for a pot from the fire and poured two cups of tea. She handed one to Haruko, who politely bowed. As thirsty, cold and tired as she was, she did not dare sip that drink.

    “And what if I were? What if I poisoned your tea so that I could eat you? What if you dead already, and in the grasp of an endless nightmare? What would you say to that, my little one?” She grabbed Haruko’s tea cup, poured its tea into her own cup and swallowed it all in one gulp. Cackling again, she poured both of them another cup.

This time, Haruko timidly sipped the cup. It tasted so good, and was so hot, that she found herself drinking it all.

    After a few moments, Haruko firmly pinched her own arm, hard enough to make the skin sore. Now, she was sure that she was awake, and not under any spell.

    “Well, maybe you are not Yamamba,” she said in a tone much braver than she felt. Inside, she was still scared and worried.

    The old lady started laughing even harder. After pouring more tea for the both of them, the old lady started questioning Haruko again.

    “What happened to your gift box?”

    “I . . . I . . . I don’t know,” Haruko stuttered. “It was a wonderful gift, and now it is gone. I feel terrible that I lost it.”

    Haruko wondered again if the tea was poisoned. In the flickering light from the fireplace, the old lady seem to be extremely old one moment, then she seemed to be a very beautiful young lady the very next moment. Haruko shook her head and when she looked again, the old lady was there in front of her.

    “Well, child, let us say that I am Yamamba, but that I am not very hungry at the moment. If I were, that would make me a powerful witch. If I could grant you one wish, what would that wish be?” She cackled some more as she waited for Haruko to answer.

    Haruko was still very unsure of this old woman, but as time passed, she did not think that she was about to be poisoned or eaten, at least no right away. But, she was still scared, and tired, and wet, and hungry, and lost. Worst of all, she was late and her father would worry. Then it came to her – the answer to the old lady’s question.

    “I would want my father’s dam fixed.”

    “What? You don’t want Obaba’s gift back? You realize that you are insulting her by losing it?” the old lady asked. Again she looked young and beautiful. It had to be a trick of light from the fire.

    Haruko was quiet for a bit. Finally, she looked up, saw that it was the old lady again, and said, “It is not an insult that the wind, the rain, and the forest to take something from me. And, although I lost something beautiful, it is not an insult to my wonderful grandmother. If I have one wish, and only one wish, then I wish that my father’s dam could be fixed, so our crop would not wash away again this season.”

    The old lady stared at Haruko with the strangest look. Again she seemed to shift from old to young back to old. Haruko was getting dizzy looking at her, so she turned to stare at the embers in the fireplace, red, black, shifting colors, and so much heat, wonderful heat coming from the flame. As she stared at the embers, she realized that she missed her father, very, very much. And her puppy. Her mood was as dark as the evening sky, even though the storm had finally passed. For Haruko, everything had gone wrong.

    The old lady poured herself another tea, and then sat next to Haruko. She took Haruko’s hand, and gently caressed it.

    “Little Haruko, it is time for you to leave. I think there is a dog down the hill, someone you know. Why don’t you greet him? He misses you badly.”

    Haruko almost jumped from her seat. A dog? Looking for her? That had to be Taro. She bowed deeply to the old lady, and ran out of the cave, forgetting to thank her for the tea. As she stepped out of the cave, she was almost blinded by the midday sun. Haruko had only been in the cave for an hour the night before, yet, there was the sun high in the sky.

    As Haruko took a few steps down the hill, she recognized Taro’s voice. Taro ran up to her, barking and jumping. After a face-full of licks and paws, she turned around to wave good bye and thank you to the old lady. But the cave had disappeared, in fact the whole rocky hill had gone away. In its place stood a grassy rise, with birch and fir trees.

    Suddenly, Haruko knew exactly where she was. She had played in this field many times, and she knew that there was no cave here. She realized that her home was just around the bend of the path, no more that five minutes away. By now, nothing could shock Haruko anymore.

    Haruko and her puppy ran into her home, where she saw her father, muddy, exhausted and sleeping with his head resting on their table. He did not stir when Haruko entered, not until the puppy nipped at his leg.

    Haruko’s father finally stirred, and noticed his daughter. He stood up, shook himself awake,  and hugged her .

    “Haruko, I was so worried. What happened? Why did you not come home last night?”

    Haruko explained what happened at the party, then grandmother Obaba’s meeting in her drawing room, and finally, her trek back through the storm, and all about the old lady.  She told him that as the sun set, the storm arrived and how she was in a cave for a short time.

    Her father nodded thoughtfully. “There is some powerful magic indeed.” He yawned and stretched again. “Haruko, if you aren’t too tired, can you bring tea and hot water with me? I must try one last time to fix our dam.”

    Haruko was surprised that she did not feel tired at all. Seeing her father lifted her spirits wonderfully. As they made their way to his rice field and the broken dam, Haruko told her father everything else that had happened. As they approached the falls, her father stopped, as though he were struck by lightning.

    There, in the place of his little broken leaking dam, stood a beautiful, strong dam. Powerful magic, indeed. Her father inspected the dam with Haruko. It was better and stronger than ever before.

    Haruko and her father walked back to their hut. As they entered, Haruko’s mouth dropped open in surprise. There on the table was Grandmother Obaba’s beautiful black box. Next to it was a fine paper scroll. Her father opened it and began to read out loud.

    “Dear son and dearest Haruko. Little Haruko passed her final test. It was my personal sorceress who met you last night. (Every important Japanese household had a personal sorceress) She told me of your wish and granted it. Little Haruko is welcome to visit anytime she wants. When she comes next time, I will tell her my most favorite fairy tale. This afternoon would be wonderful.”

    Haruko looked anxiously at her father, who nodded permission for her to go.

    When Haruko arrived at her grandmother’s, she was allowed in the front door. A maid took her to the small room again where she sat and waited.  Her grandmother came in with an ancient scroll. She unrolled it and nodded to the bowing Haruko.

    “Hello again, little one. I am pleased that you came. This story is about a son of a prince and an evil cave, much different than the one you saw. It is also the story of the desert, far away from here.”

    She began to read to Haruko.

A Tale For All Seasons, Chap.2, A Winter’s Tale

Once upon a time, deep inside the dark forest, there lived a little girl. She was named Kasha and she lived all by herself. Well, except for her brother, who didn’t count because he was such pig-head, and her parents, but they worked all day long and sometimes even long into the night.  There was also Grannie Ivanov, but Grannie usually stayed near the big fireplace in the kitchen, especially in winter.
 

The fireplace took up half the kitchen. During the winter, it was kept burning all the time. Grannie even slept near it so she would stay warm. Actually, Grannie mainly slept on TOP of the oven all winter long. Whenever it got cold,  Grannie would ask Kasha and Pig-head to add the wood to the hot coals, or to take her bucket and empty it. So really, in Kasha’s mind, she lived all alone.

Last year, it had started snowing early, in the middle of October. Here it was early February, and still the snow seemed to fall straight from the sky. The snow was now much higher than Kasha, so it was not easy to go and play. One time, she dug a tunnel into the snow, but when she was inside, Pig-head stomped on the top until all the snow fell around her and she couldn’t breathe for a while. Her father pulled her out and yelled at Pig-head, but he just stuck his tongue out at her.

Later behind Father’s back, Pig-head promised that he’d get her again later.

Boys could be so bad, especially if they were older brothers.

Kasha had one friend in the whole wide world, a rag doll she named Annushka, or Anna for short. Anna was her best friend. Anna even promised Kasha that she would never to tell anyone about Kasha’s secrets, so Kasha told her everything, her dreams, her fears and even a love story she once saw in her sleep.

Her dream had a big shiny golden castle in the sky, a handsome prince and wonderful fir green and daisy yellow fairies who flew around the clouds. She was dressed all in white, except for the flowers in her hair that the fairies brought her every morning.

One time a huge, evil ogre had caught her and was about to eat her when the handsome prince jumped out of the forest and stabbed the ogre with his shining, silver sword.

The ogre screamed and ran away, dripping steaming drops of black blood. She and the prince lived happily ever after, and the prince did not have any big brothers to tease or bother them.

It was a fun dream.

Today was her first day of school. After Pig-head and she finished breakfast, they walked down through the snow, over the bridge and waited at the bottom of the hill for a cart that would carry all the other kids from nearby farms. Pig-head had started school last year.

He always told her scary stories about how the Teacher ate bad little girls. He said that because she was such a bad little girl, that she would be the first to be eaten this year.

Kasha would never admit to Pig-head that she was scared, especially of the Teacher. (But, deep down inside, she was!) The cart ride sounded exciting, even though Pig-head would be going with her. She put on her thickest coat and gloves to keep the bitter wind out. Just before they left,  Grannie Ivanov called out to both of them.

“Watch out for Morozko, Old Man Winter. He loves to eat little girls and little boys for dinner. He is very hungry this season. Dress warmly.”

Their Uncle Vanya had told the story of Morozko many times, about how he froze children in their sleep, and how he tricked grown men into walking and talking on and on, even in the bitterest cold, until they became lost in the forest, and how you could never rest when Morozko was near. Old Man Winter was sneaky, mean and loved little children most of all.

Pig-head and Kasha walked down the trail, over the rushing, frosty river, and to the road. You could see the path left by many carts’ skis and where the horses had trampled down the snow and ice in between. Finally, the cart arrived and the driver helped them both up. There were four other children in the cart.

Kasha looked at the other children, but they did not look scared. She turned her face so they would not see her fear.

The ride to school took almost half of an hour. The school was a one-room wooden building with a little fireplace near the teacher’s desk. The teacher sat in the front of the class. She had a hooked nose and thick wire glasses. Teacher’s face wore a frown that seemed to be made out of stone. She was dressed in layers of black, matching her mood perfectly.

Kasha was told to sit in the front row. The other students found their seats. Pig-head sat behind Kasha.

The teacher started with the older students, asking them to open their spellers and take out their writing tablets. She started giving them grammar problems and words to write down. Kasha soon got bored and started thinking about her doll Annushka. She wondered if Anna missed her as much as she missed Anna.

Kasha jumped with a start. The Teacher had just slammed her long wooden ruler on Kasha’s desk. “Why are you day dreaming? You cannot learn if you do not listen. You have just earned one detention.”

Kasha did not know what detention was, but it sounded bad. The Teacher continued her lessons with only one short break for lunch. Kasha managed to stay awake and alert for the rest of class, even if it was for the older children.

The Teacher passed out small pieces of paper. Each student was instructed to print his or her name on it with an ink pen.  Kasha carefully filled out her name on the top, being very careful not to drip any ink on the rest of the scrap of paper. She heard something fly past her ear, and saw a wad of paper hit the front of Teacher’s desk with a bang.

The Teacher looked up, frowned even more, then walked to the front of the desk. She stooped down and picked up the wadded up paper. She unfolded it and turned to Kasha. The paper had Kasha’s name on it.    

“Is this what you do with your trash? Throw it at the Teacher? Shame on you! You wicked little girl. Your detention starts tonight, right after class.”

Kasha tried to explain that it wasn’t her paper at all, but the Teacher refused to listen.

“You will go kneel in front of the class. Then you will stay after school and wash each and every tablet in the classroom.” Kasha walked to the corner the Teacher pointed at. She saw from the corner of her eye, Pig-head trying to keep from laughing. She was sure that he threw the paper with her name on it. Kasha tried to keep the tears from running down her face. She was there for the rest of the class.

Finally, class was over. Kasha’s knees hurt from all the kneeling. She started washing the writing tablets. She heard the cart approach just as she dried the last tablet. She ran to get her coat and hat, but by the time she ran outside, the cart had already gone. She saw Pig-head whispering something to the cart driver as they left. She tried to chase the cart, but the snow was too deep. She fell face down into the snow.

She saw the cart moving further away with each breath.

Kasha began to cry. She turned back to the school. The door locked behind her and everyone else had left. It was getting cold and dark outside. Kasha began to walk.

It was hard work, even if she tried to stay in the path made by the cart’s skis. Finally, she tried walking in the tracks of the horses. That was a little easier. The wind was still blowing all around her, but luckily, the snow had stopped falling.

The last bit of sunlight was now gone. A few wispy clouds moved across the night sky. Behind the clouds was a smallest sliver of the moon. It gave her a little light to see by. On and on she walked. Kasha was getting very cold and tired. Her empty tummy made loud noises to her. She could not feel her fingertips even though she wore thick, woolen mittens. The wind seemed to grow even louder and angrier.

Finally, she got to the hilly road that led to her house. She had lost track of time.  Because her family always talked about how far that was, she knew that she still had two more kilometers to go.

Because of the snow and wind, the hill leading to her home was steep, icy and slippery. She heard the trees rub back and forth against each other. The wind was making them talk to each other. The clouds now covered the moon. It was all dark except for the slightest hint of light over the hill.

She thought that she heard someone behind her. Could it be Morozko? The terrible Old Man Winter, coming after her? She tried to run, but found that she could not keep her footing if she hurried. On and on she climbed the hill. Often she would slip, and have to climb back to where she started. By the time she came to the bridge, she was sure that that someone was behind her.

As she tried to cross the icy bridge, she slipped again, but this time, she fell down the snow bank. Down and down she tumbled. Finally, she landed on the river’s ice. She heard it cracking under her weight. The river moved so quickly that it hardly ever froze up completely. The cracking sound was horrible. It sounded as though the river wanted to eat her up.

Kasha was terrified. She heard someone calling her name, just like Morozko would do if he were after her. She was even more terrified.
Finally, she yelled back, “Hello, Morozko? Is that you? Please leave me alone. Please don’t hurt me.” She heard her name being called again. If it was Morozko, would he help or hurt her? She decided that she had no choice. The ice was cracking faster and faster. She felt it move under her.

Just then she saw Uncle Vanya hurry over the bridge.

 “Wait there, little Kasha, don’t move!”

She almost fell with relief. Uncle Vanya grabbed a broken tree branch and held it out to her.

“Take this, Kasha and crawl towards me slowly.”

 Just then the ice broke through. Kasha fell into rushing water at least knee deep. The cold was so painful that Kasha couldn’t even scream.
Uncle Vanya dropped the branch and jumped into the river to grab her before the rushing water pulled her away.  He picked her up like a little doll over his shoulder and ran back to their cabin.  Kasha could barely tell what was happening. Everything was getting misty, dark, and oh, so cold.

The next thing she knew, she was back at home. Mother and Grannie had taken off all her wet clothing and started to rub her with coarse linen towels. They sat her right next to the roaring fire. Grannie wrapped her with Grannie’s biggest and longest gown. Mother put Father’s thick wooly socks on her feet. They came up way above her knees. The feeling started to return to her fingers, legs and face. It tingled and hurt a lot as she warmed up.

Her mother and Grannie were still in tears. Uncle Vanya handed her a mug of hot tea. He poured in a little brandy. The brandy made her eyes water, but she drank it down just like Mother told her.

“Oh, my little Kasha, we were so worried. Why did you not take the cart home?” asked her mother.

Kasha saw Pig-head peering around the corner, looking at her with tearful eyes. She knew that finally she could get back at Pig-head. He had been so mean to her. But, still, he was her brother. And he looked more scared than she ever was.

“Mamushka, I forgot something at school, so I thought I could hurry back and get it.” There, Kasha did it. She had lied. She had never lied to her mother before. She saw Pig-head looking at her with grateful thanks and relief. She knew from that then on, Pig-head would never tease her again.

Only Uncle Vanya saw the looks that Pig-head and Kasha exchanged.
He looked funny with his pants were off. While they dried, he was wearing a funny night gown. Vanya grabbed his own tea, and added a lot more brandy to his mug. He decided to put a stop to any more questions.

“Come, little Kasha, it is time for you to go to bed. Let me read you a story.”

Uncle Vanya picked her up in his bear-like arms and took her upstairs to her little room, but not before Mother and Father and Grannie kissed her.

Uncle Vanya pulled out a sack and sat in a chair next to her bed.

“You are a brave little girl, Kasha. You walked five kilometers at night without any help, in the deepest winter chill. That is really brave. I am so proud of you. But please don’t do it again.”

He smiled at her and patted her head gently. Annushka the doll was waiting for her under the covers.

“Kasha, I can guess what your brother did. But, Kasha, you should know that he was scared when you didn’t come home.  You were brave not telling on him. I think he’s learned his lesson. Let’s just keep it a secret between us.”

Kasha nodded her head, still shivering a little in her bed. She pulled all the covers over her tightly.

“Do you mind if I read to you?”

Uncle Vanya had a great deep voice and she loved it when he made different animal sounds and other noises as he read. She nodded to him eagerly. Uncle Vanya pulled out a big leather book from his sack.

“This is a story about another brave little girl. Her name is Haruko.  She lives in Japan, a beautiful country far away. Japan is filled with magic and sorcerers and dragons. It has beautiful mountains, deep rivers and many, many secrets. She has a beautiful name, Haruko, almost as sweet as yours, little Kasha. Would you like to hear it?”  

 Kasha nodded between her shivers.  He started reading:

A Tale For All Seasons

A TALE FOR ALL SEASONS
By Robert A. Kezelis

Chapter One – Winter

She had turned nine just a week earlier. She didn’t get any presents, not even a special meal. No one had ever given her a present, not once. She didn’t have any birthday cake either. But then she never had any cake, not once in her life, not even for someone else’s birthday.  In fact, she had never been to anyone’s birthday party.
The only place she had even seen a birthday cake was in a book. It had candles and icing and sweets and pretty blue flowers on it. If she closed her eyes, she could still see it whenever she wanted.

It was cold outside. It had been bitterly cold all winter. The wind howled angrily around the house. Her friend Old Mr. Pine’s longest limbs kept knocking against the edge of the house, right above her room’s tiny window. She would have said something, but her dad was a very strict man. He would not change his ways or his days to listen to a little girl’s worries. He would get angry if she mentioned it, so she just hoped that Old Mr. Pine wouldn’t hurt himself with all of that banging around.

Regimen. That is what he called it. She liked that word. It rolled off the tongue like oil, but without the bitterness that Mother’s castor oil had. She didn’t blame her dad. He always said that times were tough and their bills were too high. Maybe that was why he yelled so much.

She liked words. She knew many of them. She just didn’t have a chance to see them in books. Once she heard a new one, she savored it until she fully got its meaning and flavor. For her, words were another universe. She once looked at the dictionary at her school, but found that all the words after R were missing. She often wondered what mysteries or treasures could be found in U, V, or even W. The letter Z seemed so far away, that she couldn’t even imagine what words starting with Z were like.

There was a candle on the little table next to her bed. Her room had only the one window, a little one above her tiny drawer that held her all of her clothes. Except for the slightest corner of the barn and a little bit of sky, most of what she could see was a willow and a pine tree.

Those trees and their many guests had become her best friends. There was Mr. Robin Red Breast and Mrs. Blue Feather and that tiny little wren she called Blinky that sang to her in the Spring, even if her window was closed.

She had read all of the books in her school library, all 14 of them. She had always done her schoolwork, and while she could still walk, managed to finish each school task early. For some reason, her father was not pleased. Quite often he would come home late at night, smelling of that tavern smell and shout,  “I don’t need some sick, brainy girl. I need a SON to help me in the field.”  He would glare at her as if it were her fault that she were a girl, then stomp off to the meal table. After he ate, he would sit quietly, looking into his drink, until finally Mother led him to their bedroom.  

Many months ago, sometimes late in the night, her father would come, and kiss her on the forehead. But that stopped as she got more ill. In the last few months, he hadn’t done it at all.

For some reason last year, her legs stopped working. Quite suddenly, and without any warning, she could not walk anymore. Her mother tried camphor, castor oil, hot bindings, all of the old wives’ treatments, but nothing helped. She could hear her mother plead with her father to call in a Doctor, but it always ended up in a fight, with him stomping off back to the tavern.

She never had seen a real Doctor. In her mind, the Doctor would be a huge, terrible man, all dressed in white, with a mean look in his eye and an evil tube around his neck, ready to search all the way to her inner soul. He would have the most horrible needles and other strange devices. Of course, armed like that, the Doctor could read her mind and all of her innermost dreams.

Still, as her pain got worse, maybe she really did need to go see a doctor. But last month when her mother asked again, her father refused. He began shouting, “Doctors cost money. I won’t waste my hard earned money on a little girl.”

The little girl knew that Mother could not argue against Father. If Mother tried, bad things would happen to her. Only after Father had gone to bed, Mother would come in and bring her meals and help her wash.

Her Uncle Ivan was nice, though. She wasn’t quite sure how he was an uncle. He couldn’t always make it, but when he did come visit, it was wonderful. One time, he even made it three times in a week. She felt like a little angel. And he brought the most fantastic books to read to her. She used to be able to read them herself, although she needed help with some of the big words.

But after last month, with the first snow, even Uncle Ivan’s visits seemed to fade away now. Last month, she heard Father and other voices arguing. She recognized her Mother’s voice, but after Father started yelling, she lost track of all the other voices. All she knew was that they were arguing about her, because she heard her name again and again.

She felt small and sad.

Lately, she was having problems holding the books up so she could read them, so when he did visit, Uncle Ivan had to read aloud to her again. She looked out of her little window at the snow blowing through the trees. Even with all her blankets and her warmest winter night clothes, she always felt a chill.

It was still snowing out when Uncle Ivan came by for a visit. She had not seen him for many weeks. Seeing Uncle Ivan again filled her with joy. Even the snow falling outside seemed brighter.

“So my little one, how are you?”

He wiped the snowflakes still clinging  to his bushy grey and brown beard before kissing her on the forehead. He was large, much larger than her Father, but to her, he was as gentle as a lamb. She always thought of cuddly, big brown bears when he visited. His cloak was glistening with snow. He shook it off and laid it on her dresser.

“Uncle Ivan! Thank you for coming! Did you see the snow? Is there much outside? Is it very pretty?” Her little round face beamed with happiness.

“Oh, yes, it is beautiful snow, and there is so much of it, my dear. Even the horses and cattle are coming inside. The snow is almost as tall as you are, my little one.”

 When Uncle smiled, his whole face seemed to radiate warmth. Just then, he gave her a big one, one with a twinkle in his eye. She recognized that twinkle. Uncle Ivan had a trick up his sleeve.

“So, what shall we do tonight? May I sit on your bed?”

She nodded politely. Somehow his smile made her feel stronger. With Uncle Ivan sitting this close, she could smell his smoking pipe, made out of this milky white stone he called meercham. The pipe had this wonderful scary bird’s claw carved into the bottom. Parts of his pipe had turned a rich color from his smoke, a beautiful yellow brown that somehow looked warm. Uncle loved holding his pipe in her room, but he would never light it. This smell was much nicer than the nasty cigarettes that Father smoked.

“Today, my little one, I brought you a little something, as well as a very special book. May I read it to you in a bit? Do you think you can stay up while I read?”

“Yes, please, Uncle. I would love that.” She nodded eagerly.

Uncle Ivan sat next on her bed and nestled himself against the wall, so her candlelight could shine on the pages. He moved closer to her so she would be able to see the words as he read to her. He lit the candle, and pulled out two extra ones if this one should go out.

He pulled his rucksack from the floor and pulled out something floppy wrapped in bright red, shiny gift paper. There was a pink ribbon with a tiny bow on top. He handed it to her without a word.

She carefully opened up the paper. Inside, she saw a beautiful rag doll with orange hair made of yarn and a painted mouth and eyes. She was so surprised that she couldn’t say anything to Uncle, not even thanks.

She hugged the doll as hard as she could. She had never gotten a toy before. This doll was just beautiful. Tears started running down her face. Her first present – a wonderful, beautiful rag doll, all her own.
Uncle Ivan gently smiled at her. No words in the world could explain just how she felt. With her eyes closed, she rocked back and forth with the doll held tightly in her tiny arms.

After several minutes, Uncle Ivan reached back into his rucksack and pulled out a large, old, leather-bound book.  He opened it to the very beginning. He looked over to her. She nodded at him, as though she were ready. The doll was still deeply in her grasp. Her tears were replaced with a wide-open, happy look.

He cleared his throat and began the story:

A HALF BAKED ALASKA SERMON

(also posted on dKOS)

1832 – In Hiram, Ohio a group of men beat, tar and feather Mormon leader Joseph Smith, Jr..

1999 – Glenn Beck begins talks with Church of Latter Day Saints to trade his ADHD disorder for a lifetime membership in their church.

COINCIDENCE? I think NOT!

“Don’t retreat. RELOAD”
— Sarah Palin

“I cannot live without books.”
— Thomas Jefferson

FROM THE CHURCH OF INEFFABLE STUPIDITY:

At the request of President Bush, the Department of Homeland Security began a review of potential domestic threats. After an extended study, in April of 2009, it concluded that the biggest threat was coming from right wing organizations:

DHS assesses that the combination of environmental factors that echo the 1990s, including heightened interest in legislation for tighter firearms restrictions and returning military veterans, as well as several new trends, including an uncertain economy and a perceived rising influence of other countries, may be invigorating rightwing extremist activity, specifically the white supremacist and militia movements. To the extent that these factors persist, rightwing extremism is likely to grow in strength.

Unlike the earlier period, the advent of the Internet and other information- age technologies since the 1990s has given domestic extremists greater access to information related to bomb-making, weapons training, and tactics, as well as targeting of individuals, organizations, and facilities, potentially making extremist individuals and groups more dangerous and the consequences of their violence more severe. New technologies also permit domestic extremists to send and receive encrypted communications and to network with other extremists throughout the country and abroad, making it much more difficult for law enforcement to deter, prevent, or preempt a violent extremist attack.  

There are three individuals who appear to be fomenting violence, and who happen to have superb access to the general public. Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, and Sarah Palin. It is easy to ignore these buffoons, offering to help Rush move to Costa Rica, using a vat of  Viagra and Oxycontin as lures, replaying Jon Stewart’s dead-on portrait of Beck, or laughing at the transparent greed and stupidity that covers Sarah like a perfectly tailored Needless Mark-up suit. It would also be a mistake.

It is easy (since I do it so often) to pull out their own words and use them as evidence against them. But that is not enough.

As the DHS report points out,

” the threat posed by lone wolves and small terrorist cells is more pronounced than in past years. In addition, the historical election of an African American president and the prospect of policy changes are proving to be a driving force for rightwing extremist recruitment and radicalization.”  

This is not some dusty report that can be glanced at, then put back on the shelves. This is an accurate, even understated, warning about a clear and present danger that affects our country.  Rumors that President Obama will outlaw the private ownership of guns or ammo continue to spread through the intertubes. Dipping my toe into that filthy, retch-filled stream, I can assure you that those people do believe in three things, guns, the bible, and that liberals/socialists/progressives/democrats are conspiring against them, working on destroying their freedoms.

If anything, the volume and the tone are increasing. The passage of health care reform has become their rallying cry, even though most of them would greatly benefit from it. Window breaking? Threats directed to the children and grandchildren of Democratic office holders?  Believing that Obama is a foreign born Muslim, a supporter of terrorists, and the anti-christ?

When you sit down, and put all these elements together, it paints a very worrying picture, one of street battles, riots, and out of control mobs, terrorizing those who dare disagree with them. When (not if) that happens, every liberal, agnostic, democrat and anyone who favors some religious faith outside of their preferred conservative evangelical or baptist cult, better be prepared.  I would even venture to suggest that lynchings might occur.

What is worse is that Rush, Glenn and Sarah are deliberately making things worse. Instead of telling their followers to behave, they spin fact with blatant lies, simply to rile and anger their base even further. If anything, these three have gotten worse over the past few days. Their followers are reacting as expected.

Honestly, where in any decent, civilized society is there room for Sarah’s latest tweet, “Don’t retreat, RELOAD?” While some may dismiss that as silly rhetoric, or even humor, it is anything but. One only has to recall some of the weirder moments during the last presidential campaign, especially the Sarah Palin rallies. Some of those people were not only whacked-out, conspiracy nuts, they were more than willing to take “justice” as they define it, and use whatever means necessary to achieve it, including violence. And they are armed.

Yesterday, I spent a scotch or three with one of my best sources into the minds of these right wing nuts. That’s because he is one. Carries guns and a bible in his pickmeup truck, built a  survivalist outpost in a Michigan forest, and is online frequently, with many like minded people. He gets all his news from Rush and Glenn, and he firmly believes that every statement they make is the gospel truth. He was as unconsolable as he was unreasonable, swearing, even screaming how Obama, “that fucking nigger African muslim” was taking away his freedoms. Like many in his group, facts are immaterial. On the issues of liberal politics, or a pragmatic, successful president, he and his fellow right wingers are as certain about their beliefs as the wildest home-schooling, bible beating, ultra-conservative evangelical is about the “theory” (insert extreme scorn here) of Evolution.  

That raises the obvious question. What do we do? Do we radicalize our own followers, hoping that our far larger numbers will intimidate the nut jobs of America and force them to hide out in their survivalist caves and mobile homes? Do we arm ourselves?

Dare we silence them?

Of all the constitutional protections we have, two of them top my list: Freedom of speech, freedom of (and from) religion. As much as I disagree with Beck and Limbaugh, I would fight to protect their right to spew the garbage they air each day. As anyone who has read my sermons before, as much as I attack religion, I also fully support the right of people to choose a religion as they see fit. So, silencing them is simply out of bounds. It goes against everything that we stand for. If we head down that slippery slope, we eventually have to select our censor, the person or group empowered to determine what is permissible speech. In no time at all, we will find ourselves victims of that very same censor. No, shutting them up would be counter-productive, and would eventually bite us in the ass. It would also anger and energize their followers and could even bring the eventual violence that we will face closer, faster, and without time for us to prepare.

One solution, only a partial one, is to come to grips with the situation. we have to realize the danger that we face, and the factors that can make it even more dangerous.  We have to recognize that violence, domestic, American based, societal violence is not only possible, but probable. We also have to realize the truth about Glenn, Rush, and Sarah, uncomfortable as it may be.  We have to admit that in doing what they do, these three musket-ears  are superb spokespersons. They can and do energize a similar minded group of people who truly believe that their way of life is under attack. They feed bad (and worse) information intended to keep the listeners angry. We also must realize that a very large, extremely well trained group can easily be convinced to join them. As the DHS report states:

— (UFOUO) Returning veterans possess combat skills and experience that are attractive to rightwing extremists. DHS/I&A is concerned that rightwing extremists will attempt to recruit and radicalize returning veterans in order to boost their violent capabilities.

As an aside, Rush and Glenn were broadcast to the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan on a daily basis. Keep that in mind when you consider PTSD, mental and physical damage,  the nonstop trauma, and emotional drain that living in a combat zone has caused our brave troops. Recall that they have far greater needs for social acceptance and interaction, something that has been missing, possibly for years for most troops.  

Once we realize and admit that we have a problem, various solutions come up. The DHS outlined its proposals in their report. It makes for good reading. But, we the people should also act. Whenever the three musket-ears do or say something vile or unforgivable, we call them on it. In public, online, to advertisers, to editors and producers. We need to protest them, in non-violent ways, and show them (and their followers that we will not be intimidated or kept quiet. A show of numbers, in public, does far more good than you might imagine. It isn’t easy, but it is necessary. A great example is in TPM today, An Open Letter to Conseratives, a great and accurate read. We need more of that kind of writing. We need to support talented writers like that who can get the message out.

We cannot stop with Glenn, Rush, or Sarah. Those three are simply the best known, and have a large impact on their followers.  Our society is under attack elsewhere. At least Canadians showed how rational and committed they are to a civilized society. Their (calm, nonviolent) protest was so large that Anne Coulter cancelled her first college stop. If only she were greeted that way here. BRAVO, CANADA!

Or, take Texas. Please.

The Texas board that trashed US history, and rewrote it with a bigoted, religious, conservative  theme is unforgivable. We cannot let it stand. We need to contact our own school boards and demand that they boycott those school book sources, until rational changes are made to those books. We need to gather in front of the publisher, and in front of members of the board, and express our outrage. Once those ridiculous changes make their way into our schools, the fertile minds of America’s youth risk serious, possibly permanent damage. Teach a child a fairy tale, and the science that disproves it is far harder to learn in later years.

If you wonder why Thomas Jefferson was erased from America’s history, perhaps this one quote will explain:

I have recently been examining all the known superstitions of the world, and do not find in our particular superstition (Christianity) one redeeming feature. They are all alike founded on fables and mythology.

Yeah, that would do it.

Here are the final words in that DHS report. They are well worth considering:

(UFOUO) A number of law enforcement actions and external factors were effective in limiting the militia movement during the 1990s and could be utilized in today’s climate.
— (U
FOUO) Following the 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah federal building in Oklahoma City, the militia movement declined in total membership and in the number of organized groups because many members distanced themselves from the movement as a result of the intense scrutiny militias received after the bombing.
— Militia membership continued to decline after the turn of the millennium as a result of law enforcement disruptions of multiple terrorist plots linked to violent rightwing extremists, new legislation banning paramilitary training, and militia frustration that the “revolution” never materialized.
— Although the U.S. economy experienced a significant recovery and many perceived a concomitant rise in U.S. standing in the world, white supremacist groups continued to experience slight growth.
(U
/FOUO) DHS/I&A will be working with its state and local partners over the next several months to ascertain with greater regional specificity the rise in rightwing extremist activity in the United States, with a particular emphasis on the political, economic, and social factors that drive rightwing extremist radicalization.