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How to turn left in da UP.
Frostbite of the soul has set in. Won't be feeling better until the snow melts in June or July.
Seems there have been many issues at sea recently, and the U.P. is not exempt. From Jason St. Onge of the Mackinac Island News and Views:
ANCHOR MOORING BREAKS FREE, ISLAND SHIFTS 6 FEET
Officials have said that one of the 4 main anchor moorings that keep Mackinac Island in place was severed sometime late last fall. The moorings, which were installed around 1910, are tethered to bedrock and are in place to keep the Island from further shifting on a northern trajectory. The faulty cable was from the mooring near British Landing on the Island’s northwest side.
It’s unclear how the untethered cable on the beach (see photo) went undetected for so long, however other folks had noticed a slight change in navigation nuances. Chris Shepler, Manager of Shepler Ferry said that several of his Ferry Captains indicated that they thought the west break-wall appeared to be slightly closer to the Round Island Light House. Syd Hawkins, Captain for Star Line Mackinac Island Ferry said, “All fall, when utilizing GPS, we kept coming in 2 to 3 feet off course at the dock, I figured the GPS needed a reset or re-calibration. I never would have thought the Island could shift.” Jason St. Onge, Proprietor of the Cannonball Oasis at British Landing which is very near the break said, “Never noticed a thing, and if there were any changes, it certainly didn’t affect the perfect cylindrical swirl on the soft serve ice cream cones!”
It is unclear at this time when the cable will be re-attached to the mooring and the Island reset to its plotted position, but folks close to the issue indicated it will probably happen before Memorial Day Weekend. In the odd event that a second of the four moorings breaks, a tugboat style ship will be brought in for stabilization efforts. Some quick research indicated that there hasn’t been a separation of the cables from a mooring in almost 61 years. The Army Corp of Engineers, which is responsible for the cables and moorings, inspects them for wear and fray every two years
Dull Academic Incessant Liturgical Yapping: Philosophical Orations on Order & Reaction
Seems there have been many issues at sea recently, and the U.P. is not exempt. From Jason St. Onge of the Mackinac Island News and Views: ANCHOR MOORING BREAKS FREE, ISLAND SHIFTS 6 FEET Officials have said that one of the 4 main anchor moorings that keep…
Forwarded from Dull Academic Incessant Liturgical Yapping: Philosophical Orations on Order & Reaction
There was a harlot named Thais, so beautiful that for her sake many people impoverished themselves. Her lovers used always to be quarrelling, and several young men spilt their blood on her doorstep.
When Abba Paphnutius heard of it, he took a secular dress and a gold shilling, and set out to see her in one of the cities of Egypt. He gave her his gold shilling for the price of her sin; she accepted it, and said: "Let us go into the house." As he was about to lie on the bed, which was strewn with costly coverlets, he beckoned her and said: "If there is an inner room, let us go into it." She said: "There is an inner room. But if you are frightened of men, no one comes into this outer room. If you are frightened of God, you cannot escape his eye anywhere." To this the old man said: "Do you know about God?" She answered: "I know about God, and the kingdom of the next world, and the future torment for sinners." He said: "If you know this, why have you destroyed so many souls, and therefore will have to give account for theirs as well as your own?"
When Thais heard this, she fell down at Paphnutius' feet, weeping: and said: "Lay a penance upon me, father. I trust with your prayers to win forgiveness. Let me have three hours' grace, and I will come wherever you command and do whatever you tell me." When Abba Paphnutius had appointed her a place to meet, she collected all the presents she had won by her sins. She took them into the city square and publicly burnt them, crying: "Come, all you people who have sinned with me, see how I am burning your presents." The value of the pile was forty pounds.
When she had burnt it all, she went to the appointed place. He found for her a hermitage for maidens, and put her in a little cell. He sealed the door, and left a little window through which she could receive food, and told the sisters of the convent to bring her a little bread and water every day. When Paphnutius had sealed the door and was going away, Thais said to him: "Where, father, would you have me pour my water?" And he said: "In the cell, you are worthy." Then she asked him how to pray to God. He said: "You are not worthy to have God's name on your lips, nor to stretch out your hands towards heaven; for your lips are full of wickedness and your hands polluted. You must simply sit down, look towards the east, and say this prayer again and again: 'Thou who hast fashioned me, have mercy upon me.'"
After she had been shut there for three years, Abba Paphnutius was moved with sympathy, and went to see Abba Antony, to ask him whether God had forgiven her sins or not. Abba Antony, learning all the circumstances, summoned his disciples and told them to watch all night, and persevere in earnest prayer that God would declare to one of them the answer for which Abba Paphnutius had come. They all went apart, and prayed continually: and Abba Paul, the chief disciple of Saint Antony, suddenly saw a bed in heaven covered with precious coverlets, and guarded by three maidens whose faces shone. Paul said to himself: "This is the gift of none but my father Antony." And a voice came to him: "It is not the gift of your father Antony, but of the harlot Thais."
Abba Paul told what he had seen: and Abba Paphnutius recognized the will of God, returned to the hermitage where Thais was shut, and broke the seals on the door. She asked him to let her stay shut in. But he opened the door, and said: "Come out, for God has forgiven your sins." She answered: "I call God to witness that from the time I came here I have kept my sins in my mind's eye like a burden, and I have kept weeping at the sight of them." Abba Paphnutius said: "God has forgiven you, not for your penitence, but because you always kept in your mind the thought of your sins." And he brought her out: and she lived for only fifteen days, and died in peace.
This looks interesting:
THE ROOTS OF EVERYTHING
Dr. Zachary Porcu
MONDAY
4 PM ET/3 PM CT
American Religion, Ep.1: Founding Fathers • Is the United States a Christian nation? While the colonies mostly consisted of Protestants fleeing the European wars of religion, the answer is complicated by the strange new beliefs of many of these groups and the occult religious interests of the Enlightenment thinkers.
Dull Academic Incessant Liturgical Yapping: Philosophical Orations on Order & Reaction
This looks interesting: THE ROOTS OF EVERYTHING Dr. Zachary Porcu MONDAY 4 PM ET/3 PM CT American Religion, Ep.1: Founding Fathers • Is the United States a Christian nation? While the colonies mostly consisted of Protestants fleeing the European wars of religion…
Good opening. Argues that the founding documents aren't distinctly Christian, that the only one arguably so is the Declaration. But even the Declaration has these values of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." But even these seem to be anti-Christian. "Liberty" is understood as the ability to do what you want, whereas the Christian understanding of a true liberty would be solely the freedom to become more like Christ, to better oneself and to do the good. None of these documents declare their loyalty, or that of the government or of the people, to Christ, nor the intention of the government to make its people good. They are not Christian. Will have to listen to the whole thing later when it's out.
Forwarded from Dull Academic Incessant Liturgical Yapping: Philosophical Orations on Order & Reaction
From Lon Emerick's Going Back to Central:
"I must confess I did entertain the notion of being a snowbird at one time. A restless peregrination around the nation in a box of metal and glass held little appeal, but I did think it might be pleasant to spend winters in Arizona. After teaching for a semester at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, I became fascinated with the southwest: the blend of Native, Hispanic and Anglo cultures, the intriguing feel of the desert, the red rock country, the vast forests of ponderosa pines. So one year after I retired from teaching, with some reluctance on the part of my wife, we spent a month in Prescott.
Prescott is located in north central Arizona. A small town—at least it was before being recognized in a national magazine as the place to retire—it is situated in the Bradshaw Mountains surrounded by the Prescott National Forest. It has a beautiful city square, streets lined with historic homes and, most important to us, many opportunities to wander. Close to the Grand Canyon, the red rock canyons of Sedona and the Sonoran desert, it should have been an idyllic respite. But I soon became disenchanted and melancholy.
Instead of Lynn and Lon in our home place, where we know and are known, we had joined the flock of mature individuals cluttering up the town. Most of our conversations with longtime residents began with the nervous inquiry: “Are you planning to move here?" Even in local stores we noted posters which read: “If the person in the car ahead of you is elderly, and so is the driver in the car behind you, you must be in Prescott.” Lynn and I found ourselves making pre-emptive strikes in our encounters with locals, telling everyone we met that we were not moving to Prescott.
Have you ever noted that, when several members of one particular age group are clustered together, the worst behavioral traits seem to emerge? The situation becomes what social psychologists call a “behavioral sink.” Whenever we went to restaurants, especially during the “early bird” hours, we overheard groups of retirees talking about medications, surgery, arthritis, even serious discussions of irregularity. Lamenting the untoward behavior of young people today and reviewing financial matters were also frequent topics of conversation. But the thing that got to me most of all was the way many people spent their days. Lacking any meaningful connection to the local community, many of our age cohorts resorted to filling their days with “planned activities.” It seemed to me that many of the snowbirds were simply perched in Prescott for the season, employing shallow diversions such as golf, card playing, shopping and bingo to pass the time.
I felt uprooted, fragmented, a noncitizen. There was no continuity to the past, no personal landmarks, no sense of identity with a community. And my connection to the land, to my home place, was severed.
Thus it is that I am a determined homebody and, when away from this Superior Peninsula for very long, a morose sojourner. Like my literary mentor Thoreau did in Concord, I travel extensively in my own native valley. Oh, I know that those who are rooted deeply in place are sometimes viewed as vegetative, nonadventurous, even stuck-in-a-rut. Moving along seems to suggest moving up and the wanderer is somehow romantic, inspiring, footloose and fancy free. Perhaps. Is it not better, more deeply satisfying, to live in one place and really know it than to have been a visitor in a score or more? Some are born to a landscape and bloom wonderfully where they are planted. Others, pilgrims like myself, eschew the temporary titillations of a migratory existence and search for their Eden. Some of us are lucky enough to find it. St. Brigit of Ireland challenged a group of restless seekers with this short verse:
Tis labor great and profit small,
To go to Rome;
Thou wilt not find the king at all,
Unless thou find him first at home."
"I must confess I did entertain the notion of being a snowbird at one time. A restless peregrination around the nation in a box of metal and glass held little appeal, but I did think it might be pleasant to spend winters in Arizona. After teaching for a semester at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, I became fascinated with the southwest: the blend of Native, Hispanic and Anglo cultures, the intriguing feel of the desert, the red rock country, the vast forests of ponderosa pines. So one year after I retired from teaching, with some reluctance on the part of my wife, we spent a month in Prescott.
Prescott is located in north central Arizona. A small town—at least it was before being recognized in a national magazine as the place to retire—it is situated in the Bradshaw Mountains surrounded by the Prescott National Forest. It has a beautiful city square, streets lined with historic homes and, most important to us, many opportunities to wander. Close to the Grand Canyon, the red rock canyons of Sedona and the Sonoran desert, it should have been an idyllic respite. But I soon became disenchanted and melancholy.
Instead of Lynn and Lon in our home place, where we know and are known, we had joined the flock of mature individuals cluttering up the town. Most of our conversations with longtime residents began with the nervous inquiry: “Are you planning to move here?" Even in local stores we noted posters which read: “If the person in the car ahead of you is elderly, and so is the driver in the car behind you, you must be in Prescott.” Lynn and I found ourselves making pre-emptive strikes in our encounters with locals, telling everyone we met that we were not moving to Prescott.
Have you ever noted that, when several members of one particular age group are clustered together, the worst behavioral traits seem to emerge? The situation becomes what social psychologists call a “behavioral sink.” Whenever we went to restaurants, especially during the “early bird” hours, we overheard groups of retirees talking about medications, surgery, arthritis, even serious discussions of irregularity. Lamenting the untoward behavior of young people today and reviewing financial matters were also frequent topics of conversation. But the thing that got to me most of all was the way many people spent their days. Lacking any meaningful connection to the local community, many of our age cohorts resorted to filling their days with “planned activities.” It seemed to me that many of the snowbirds were simply perched in Prescott for the season, employing shallow diversions such as golf, card playing, shopping and bingo to pass the time.
I felt uprooted, fragmented, a noncitizen. There was no continuity to the past, no personal landmarks, no sense of identity with a community. And my connection to the land, to my home place, was severed.
Thus it is that I am a determined homebody and, when away from this Superior Peninsula for very long, a morose sojourner. Like my literary mentor Thoreau did in Concord, I travel extensively in my own native valley. Oh, I know that those who are rooted deeply in place are sometimes viewed as vegetative, nonadventurous, even stuck-in-a-rut. Moving along seems to suggest moving up and the wanderer is somehow romantic, inspiring, footloose and fancy free. Perhaps. Is it not better, more deeply satisfying, to live in one place and really know it than to have been a visitor in a score or more? Some are born to a landscape and bloom wonderfully where they are planted. Others, pilgrims like myself, eschew the temporary titillations of a migratory existence and search for their Eden. Some of us are lucky enough to find it. St. Brigit of Ireland challenged a group of restless seekers with this short verse:
Tis labor great and profit small,
To go to Rome;
Thou wilt not find the king at all,
Unless thou find him first at home."
Fisher ,smaller member of the wolverine (weasel) family using a fallen tree to cross a stream in the UP. Browning Recon Force Elite HP 5.