It’s not easy having seven rabbits in a single house. Rabbits may look cute and cuddly – and they are! – but they are extremely sensitive to their territories and out in the wild, they have hierarchical structures that go along with their status of prey animal.

Here in the TGWS household, the rabbits are organized by how they came to us, and their territory takes into consideration their temperment and gender.

She’s-A-Little Half Pint is now the oldest rabbit in terms of her time here (three years), but when she was taken in the house had already been set up for our now-departed rabbits Marble (who had the run of the whole house) and Pepper and Marble Junior (who had a play area and the bottom floor of a three-story rabbit condo in our office den). Because we had the room, when Half-Pint came she was set up in the upper two stories of the rabbit condo, so she’s never known anything but her penthouse suite.

Cosmo’s play area occupies the northeast corner of our den office between the big oak deak and the wall. His cage area was originally rigged up for The Big Nipper, the gentle soul whom we lost back in 2007. While TBN was never given run on anything outside of his area due to his seemingly-unquenchable desire to leave little bunny urine reminders that he was an alpha male wherever he could, Cosmo has the run of the house (bedrooms excluded) during the day. After his breakfast, he’ll bound out to the dining room where he’ll plant himself under his favorite chair, then stay there until it starts getting dark. Then it’s back to his cage area for supper and the night.

Peanut is a cutie, isn’t she? We’ve had her for over a year now. But don’t let that charming little face fool you – she’s a beast! She tolerates Cosmo and will let him chase her around the house whenever we let her out for limited social engagements, but she absolutely despises the other rabbits – especially her arch-enemy, Little Half-Pint. Which is why her domain is our bedroom, where during the days she has the run of the room but at night is kept in a cage. Whenever we let Half-Pint out for some exercise, she seems to know just how much Peanut hates her and how protected she is beyond Peanut’s fence. So there she’ll lay down and/or linger until Peanut charges at the fence, hissing and spitting. The Peanut fence keeps Peanut and her charming personality away from the other rabbits.

Ginger and Geronimo call the den office their home. Across from Cosmo’s area and under Little Half-Pint’s penthouse suite, they have the play area originally occupied by Marble Jr. until her passing this past June. Both Ginger and Geronimo are still getting used to their digs – they’re both quite sensitive in nature – and they appear to prefer the fence that keeps them apart from the others.

(no picture)

Last but not least we have Floppy and Cookie. These two rabbits belong to Tracey’s sister Tammy, and are here (at least we hope) for only a limited engagment. How limited, we’ll see… Their home is the guest bedroom, and new fence placed across the doorway to that room serves two purposes: 1) it prevents all-out nuclear war from taking place between them and Cosmo – something that we’ve already had a couple of previews of, and 2) it sequestors them away from the other rabbits who live here permanently. The fact they’re even here is something only Cosmo knows about, and he ain’t telling the others.

They’re all good rabbits, made even more good by the fences that separate them from each other.

Long day involving Tracey’s sister-in-law. Courts, psych hospitals, social workers, lawyers, outpatient strategies. Welcome To The Machine. Lots of uncertainty going forward. No matter how you slice it, none of it good, I’m afraid…

Knowing, perhaps, that it’s all starting to close in, Tracey and I played a lot of Pink Floyd music tonight – a big release. If you’re a “glass half-full” kind of person, you’d rest your hopes on their awesome “Coming Back To Life”, from their wonderful “Division Bell” release from 1994:

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted
Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime
I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

If you’re a “glass half-empty’ guy, this from “Sheep”, from 1977’s “Animals” (one of their all time best, if you ask me, BTW) sums the day up nicely:

Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away;
Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air.
You’d better watch out!
There may be dogs about
I looked over Jordan, and I’ve seen
Things are not what they seem.

That’s what you get for pretending the danger’s not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel.
What a surprise!

A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem.
No, this is not a bad dream.

Chalk me up as the latter.

Perhaps none of this matters in the end – after all, it’s after days like this the only thing you can take comfort in is that in the end it will work out in whatever way it will. The Floyd’s Roger Waters wrote so much in “Eclipse”, the Floyd’s magnificent coda to their classic 1973 release, “The Dark Side Of The Moon”:

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that’s to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

Indeed.

Rob has to be pretty psyched about the Saints’ chances this year. Have to admit they looked pretty good today.

Gotta pick the Yankees to take it all this year. As much as I hate to see it – and you’ll excuse me if I don’t watch them play the Phillies for all the marbles – they just seem to have all the good karma this year.

…when it comes to national broadcasts of baseball, I just can’t watch if it involves the Yankees. Everyone just kisses their asses and you can bet they’ll be fawning over Alex Rodriguez (oh A-Rod, isn’t he wonderful!!!) and Derek Jeter. The Phillies won’t even exist. It just makes me want to puke.

Although I’m only a casual follower of the NBA, I’m picking the Celtics to go all the way this year. I think the addition of Rasheed Wallace trumps the Lakers picking up Ron Artest.

Reading Tom Piazza’s Why New Orleans Matters. It’s an interesting read.

And I’m slowly working my way through The World At War. When it comes to World War II documentaries it’s hard to beat this. I remember seeing it whe it first came out thirty years ago; it looks great on DVD.

Me, I’m gonna pass on “This Is It”. The whole hoopla surrounding Michael Jackson’s death still eludes me – I mean, I get it, right? But I don’t get the extent of it. Of course, same thing holds true for the “balloon boy” and his family thing. Maybe it goes back to the fact that I was never a big circus fan – I guess freaks never really interested me.

Anyone remember this instrumental hit from the late ’60s? I heard it today on the DirecTV “Escape” music channel, and it immediately perked my ears up. Talk about the transcendent quality of music! It’s a song from my early teen years, and I love it now as much as I loved it then.

What I remember liking about this particular recording then are the same qualities I find both intriguing and endearing now. Not only is it a very clean recording, but it has an interesting arrangement. The tack piano (of course, I didn’t know it was a tack piano then, that took me years of listening to Brian Wilson / Beach Boys recordings to hear the difference between a tack and that quaint piano sitting in the corner of the school auditorium or church hall) pounding out the rhythm, the soaring strings with killer cello flourishes (sounding that way because of the echo applied), those cool trombones and trumpets playing triplets (listen for the bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup-bup linking the verses, you can’t miss them), that funky vocal arrangement – it all sounded so cool and so sophisticated to me back then. It’s still a beautiful recording that nearly brings me to tears whenever I hear it.

Putting it all together, 1968 (I was 12 going on 13) was the year I guess I first realized I had an interest in not just listening to music, but an interest in hearing how songs were arranged. For it was in ’68 that I was exposed to several songs I consider significant in the development of my musical “ear”. “Soul Coaxing”, “Hey Jude”, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass’ “Flamingo” (his salute to Phil Spector and his “Wall of Sound”, BTW), and The Ronettes’ “Do I Love You” (a song already four years old by that time, but heard for the first time that year courtesy of an old box of 45 RPM records bought at a church fair) – all of these songs played an instrumental (no pun intended) role in cultivating a gift for which I thank God for every day.

And not just God. I will forever love and thank my parents for their contribution as well – after all, it was because of them that my brothers and I grew up in a house filled with all kinds of music off the AM dial or the records they would play on our Hi-Fi console!

Great music defintely NOT spelled N-O-I-S-E, and fond memories.

Went to visit my sister-in-law for the first time today since her admission into the Maricopa County behavioral health system last week. I really didn’t know what to expect – after all, my only exposure to psychiatric institutions (probably like everyone else) was watching Jack Nicholson in “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”. I mean, until you live this kind of thing how would you know?

Those who frequent this site have probably figured out I’m no big fan of government by nature. I believe Ronald Reagan was right – government doesn’t solve problems, government more often than not is the problem. So to me, the less government, the better. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see a need for government to protect this nation and take on certain responsibilities to ensure the general welfare of those who cannot take care of themselves.

And that’s where the Maricopa County Division of Behavioral Health comes in. Look, I have no way of knowing whether putting your county’s or state’s mental heath system under private contract is a good or a bad idea, and I can’t speak for every psychiatric hospital that might be under the County’s jurisdiction or every other behavioral health system across the country, but I will say that from what I saw today, my sister-in-law could not be in a better place or treated by better people. The doctors, nurses, attendants, and social workers where she is staying could not be more professional and caring, the hospital itself any cleaner and more conducive to quality care than what I saw. Sure, it may be government-run, but in this particular case Maricopa County should be given kudos for providing the kind of care and treatment I witnessed today.

Don’t get me wrong – Tam is hardly staying at the Omni Royal Orleans. But in her condition, and the condition of those who share her unit with her, it doesn’t need to be. But it’s very clean, very secure, and the program she is in very structured. It may not be The Ritz, but can sleep at night knowing she’s in good hands.

What stood out to me more than anything else was how mental illness knows no particular demographic. It doesn’t matter whether you’re male, female, white, Asian, Hispanic, young, or old – I saw them all. And you can’t help but wonder about all their stories: how did they get there? What is their situation? What is their long-term prognosis? How do their families handle their situation? I mean, it just astonishes you and, yes, it breaks your heart.

I’ve always wondered how fine the line is between sanity and insanity, but I will tell you I’ve come to view that line being a lot wider than I once thought. Yes, I can communicate with my sister-in-law once again, but there’s something different about her now that leaves one quite uneasy. Over a week ago we thought she was just troubled and needed time away from the horrible situation she was extracted from; now there’s something else going on there that leaves one with the inescapable sense that she is truly mentally ill and psychologically incapable of being anywhere else than where she is right now.

It’s a sad and humbling thing to see, but I’m sure glad that she’s where she is right now.

I wish I could say there was a chill in the air tonight. But there’s not.

More like, if you will, a non-heat. On Monday, when the pool was 74 degrees, I took what is most likely the last swim of the year. It felt refreshingly familiar, yet foreign to me. The last time I took a swim, more than four weeks ago, the world was a far different place. Then, the pool was a refuge, an escape, from all the cares of work and the dull drumbeat of daily life.

Now, there’s chaos all around. Chaos before you go in. Chaos waiting for you when you get out. There is no escape.

Here in the Valley of the Sun, it’s a non-month, really. The RV parks are starting to fill up with people from the Dakotas and Canada and other points north, and while there’s not the same blazing heat as May through September, the sun still feels hot.

To me, October shouldn’t feel like that. There ought to be a nip in the air, color in the trees, and the dread sense of winter approaching in the frosty chill of early morning. Summer’s long gone, and winter’s still at arm’s length. yet the sense of change and the closing in of the days, and seasons, and life itself are palpable. I miss that. Tomorrow’s just another warm, sun-shiney day in a series of warm, sun-shiney days.

October, you say? Here it just means if you’re gonna do steaks on the grill, get them started before 5:45 PM; otherwise you’ll be dragging out your flashlight to see when they’re done.

Still, October is a great month for poems and dreaming of places where October means something. Of poems like these:

When all the cows were sleeping
And the sun had gone to bed,
Up jumped the pumpkin,
And this is what he said:

“I’m a dingle dangle pumpkin
With a flippy floppy hat.
I can shake my stem like this,
And shake my vine like that.”

Clouds gather, treetops toss and sway;
But pour us wine, an old one!
That we may turn this dreary day
To golden, yes, to golden!

Autumn has come, but never fear,
Wait but a little while yet,
Spring will be here, the skies will clear,
And fields stand deep in violets.

The heavenly blue of fresh new days
Oh, friend, you must employ them
Before they pass away. Be brave!
Enjoy them; oh, enjoy them!
– Theodor Storm, A Song in October

Of course, there’s also something to be said for brevity. I like this one:

“October’s poplars are flaming torches
lighting the way to winter.”
– Nova Bair

Aaah, winter. Some people flee from it, others seek a chance to embrace it. You don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it. You don’t what you’ve lost until you have it. Kind of a ying-yang thing, don’t you think?

Hat tip: EGreenway

We live in historic times.

I’ve often thought that one of the most logical ways to address a couple of long-standing desires on the part of the Roman Catholic Church – the furthering of worldwide Christian unification under Rome, and an answer to the acute shortage of priests – was to issue an olive branch to traditional Anglicans and Anglo-Catholics around the world by providing a means and structure through which they could be welcomed back to Rome while at the same time recognizing and seeking to preserve their theological identity.

While I doubt any worldwide unification under the Vatican is ever likely to happen anytime soon, Pope Benedict XVI appears to be taking a bold step in reaching out to to disaffected Anglicans around the globe to come home to Rome:

The Vatican has announced that Pope Benedict is setting up special provision for Anglicans, including married clergy, who want to convert to Rome together, preserving aspects of Anglican liturgy. They will be given their own pastoral supervision, according to this press release from the Vatican:

“In this Apostolic Constitution the Holy Father has introduced a canonical structure that provides for such corporate reunion by establishing Personal Ordinariates which will allow former Anglicans to enter full communion with the Catholic Church while preserving elements of the distinctive Anglican spiritual and liturgical patrimony.”

Think about it: imagine going to an Anglican church and experiencing the inherent beauty of the Anglican rite of worship and receiving the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, knowing that in doing so you are reconciled with millions upon millions of Roman Catholics around the world? The whole idea is absolutely breathtaking in both its scope and impact.

I have no doubt the Pope is sincere in this effort, and I applaud him for his boldness. After all, he’s a keen observer of history and a student of Christianity and the Church, so he is well aware of the historical significance of such an initiative. Sure, there will be some out there who will accuse him of seeking to undermine the so-called “competition” by making it more difficult for churches who support actions Rome doesn’t (the ordination of women and non-celibate homosexuals, for example) to survive by providing an outlet for clergy and parishioners who simply could not swallow full conversion to Roman Catholicism, but to that I say, too freakin’ bad.

Orthodox Anglicans have had to put up with their various churches’ sad slide towards godlessness and irrelevance for far too long. Traditional-minded clergy in churches like The Episcopal Church, the Anglican Church of Canada, and the Church of England have for too long been subject to (dare I say, persecuted by) the heavy hand of gay activists and moral relativists who long ago hijacked these once-venerable institutions and traded the altar of Jesus Christ for the new post-modern (actually, post-Christian) “trinity” of tolerance, acceptance, and diversity. For both these groups, the Pope’s outreached hand is not only an opportunity to vote with their own feet and find a place in Christendom where they are truly welcome, but a 21st century affirmation of the Holy Father’s historic role in preserving and protecting the historic teachings of the Church to the extent where it is possible.

Bottom line comes from Jonathan Wynne-Jones, at The Telegraph, who writes:

Pope Benedict XVI has thrown a hand-grenade into the [Church of England], and it will potentially obliterate Archbishop [of Canterbury] Rowan [Williams]’s hopes of maintaining unity in the Church. He has been at pains to try and find a way of keeping Anglo-Catholics in the Church, but now that power has been removed from him with this formal offer from Rome. Years of protracted negotiations over how to keep traditionalists in the Church could effectively be rendered meaningless by today’s announcement.

(Hat tip: David Virtue)

Of course, the devil (pun intended) will be in the details, and for Anglican/Episcopal clergy and parishes there will be significant obstacles that will have to be considered (for parishes their very buildings, for clergy their pensions and other benefits). Nevertheless, I can see the Pope’s offer being seriously considered by African and Asian churches who have become increasingly restless and vocal in their opposition to increasingly-bold actions taken by their Northern Hemisphere sister churches in their support of the homosexual/transgender movement, and their overall lack of conviction in preserving and promoting the traditional teachings of orthodox Christianity.

As someone who has watched (and witnessed first-hand) the struggle of Anglicans and Episcopalians worldwide who consider themselves traditionalists and found themselves, increasingly, outcasts in their own churches, I find this all incredibly interesting and historic. It will be worth watching to see how in the months and years ahead all of this plays out.

“You don’t know what’s going on
You’ve been away for far too long
You can’t come back and think you are still mine
You’re out of touch, my baby
My poor discarded baby
I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time” — “Out of Time”, The Rolling Stones (1966)

Phew! talk about a GREAT song. My favorite Stones song by far.

National Review Online‘s Victor David Hanson and The Great White Shank are on the same page. Oh sure, our particular likes and dislikes may be different, but our view of 21st century American culture in all of its manifestations is most certainly not. While reading Hanson’s article, I was trying to think of:

…the last new CD release by a current artist I ever bought. That has to be Enya’s “A Day Without Rain” (a great CD, BTW). Nowadays, I’d rather listen to my own MP3 surf music mix, or my magical “tropical breezes” MP3 mix that combines steel drum music, personal favorites, and a bunch of mellow Jimmy Buffett tunes. I guarantee Jana would like it.

…that last real network TV show I ever watched? I honestly don’t even remember. I did watch “The X Files” when it was on Fox. Does that count? I also remember watching the delightful “Anything But Love” when it was on ABC, but that was a very long time ago. Funny thing, I remember that show’s purple and green logo as much as anything else. That’s my my favorite color combination – put anything in purple and green, and The Great White Shank is like putty in your hands.

…the last movie I ever went to a theater to see? That’s really tough. Might have been “Troy”, but don’t ask me why we would have gone to see that to begin with. But we did.

The whole point is, everything about 21st century American culture, Hollywood, the music business, and TV seems so utterly vile and vacuous to me that, frankly, it’s not worth either my time or dime. And that bothers me to some degree. I used to love going to movies for their pure escapist quality, but now I get my movie reviews from Rob.

And that rap and hip-hop crap I hear blasting from cars driven and ridden in by young people too young to have as many tatoos as they have? It’s shit spelled N-O-I-S-E. I make no bones about it. I have a passionate love for music, and I believe in its ability to inspire, unite, and heal. And, truth be told, I do enjoy a wide range of music, including Indian, South American, and Middle Eastern. But I believe rap and hip-hop is evil, disgusting, without any redeeming quality, and the absolute epitome of 21st century American culture. It’s angry, negative, demeaning to women, and everything I try to avoid at all cost.

And while I’m at it, I hate the gross politicization and penisization of everything. You go into a Walgreens and see stupid Obama “Hope and Change” baseball caps. What’s up with that? And you can’t watch a sporting event without having to see couples who can’t freakin’ wait for their college-aged kids to leave the house so they can jump each others’ bones in a Viagra-induced stupor.

OK, I may sound like a grumpy old bastard, but I can’t help but go back to Bill Marlowe, a Boston DJ legend who so many times would bemoan modern American culture and its lack of taste, class, and appreciation.

Think about those words: Taste. Class. Appreciation. I challenge anyone to find that in their day-to-day travels.

But that’s all OK. Me, I’m glad to have been born when I was. During my downtime, I’ll be more than happy to pop some corn and watch DVD documentaries on The First World War or World War II, or the “All Creatures Great And Small” series, or one of the movies we have assembled in our own humble DVD collection.

It’s not perhaps the best way to respond to 21st century culture, but my soul is at risk.

Summer has returned here in the Valley of the Sun. We’re heading towards triple digits today, though I’m sure the folks back east would love to trade. Me, I’d be more than happy to – there were few things in life I enjoyed more while living back east than a good East Coast storm – but unfortunately that’s not in my power.

(Actually, as the last two weeks – no make it two months – wait, make it this whole year – has shown, if anything, that any ideas that we have control over much of anything beyond what we might individually eat, do, and say are really nothing more than an illusion. And as I’ve also learned there is a very fine line between sanity and insanity, healthy and being not healthy, and the haves and the have nots of the world.)

Today the house gets a significant cleaning, and we try to put things back together (in some cases, literally) from the events of Tuesday. Over cocktails on the patio the other night, Tracey and I decided that it was critical that we carve out one area of the house where I can chill away from everything, so today Tam’s rabbits are being moved from my office bedroom to the guest bedroom, allowing a place where me, my work area, and my prayer table can reside in relative peace.

For those who might be interested, my sister-in-law is doing better than she was on Tuesday, although I’m not sure how much worse she could have gotten. Tuesday night she was transferred from the hospital she was originally taken to, to a temporary bed at an urgent-care psychiatric unit while waiting for another bed to open up at a larger psychiatric hospital in the area. That’s where she’s been since Wednesday night. Since then Tracey has been able to visit her daily, and she’s back to being more like herself, although quite tired and still a little paranoid.

Sound like anyone you might know personally?

…want to know the weird thing? As out of her head as she was, Tracey reports she remembers everything about it, from soup to nuts (literally!). Me, I find that pretty strange, but then again, that’s psychotic behavior for you.

After this past week, the humdrum aspects of life like housecleaning will bring a necessary form of relief. After all, isn’t housecleaning nothing more than creating order out of chaos on a small, very local scale? Afterwards, I’ll reward myself with one or two Pusser’s Painkiller #2s on the tiki bar patio to watch this warm day dissolve into dusk. Boring? Perhaps.

But this weekend, after this week, I’ll take it.

Headline: Archbishop of Canterbury calls for an end to economic growth to save the planet

I’m trying to figure out exactly who and what gets “saved” if economic growth were to end. No more industrial food production? No more advances in medicine and technology? Surely he understands that the end of worldwide economic growth would means death to millions upon millions of people, right? Sure, everyone longs for those “good old days” of medieval Europe; methinks the titular head of the worldwide Anglican Communion should stick to what he knows and the ecclesiastical boundaries of his office. Otherwise, he sounds like a fool.

Headline: Iran Hanged A Straight Man Last Week For Gay Sodomy

Wait a minute: Didn’t Iran’s President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad insist there were no gays in Iran? That lying bugger!

Headline: Scientists Make Desktop Black Hole

Here’s my concern with that: if you mistakenly knock over your coffee cup, where will the coffee emerge? Somewhere on the other side of Pluto?

Headline: Limbaugh Dropped From Rams Bid

First of all, let’s all agree that the NFL has a right to deny anyone full and/or partial ownership to anyone – after all, it’s their show and their own private club. And anyone putting an ownership group together ought to at least understand that anyone involved in a potential ownership group could face a certain amount of scrutiny – especially if they’re as controversial a figure as Limbaugh is – something I’m sure we’d all agree Limbaugh is. So I don’t blame Limbaugh for wanting to be a part of some prospective ownership group, I blame the person putting it together.

That being said, in this country you’re supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. And in this regard, the character assassination via unsubstantiated quotes attributed to Limbaugh by his many detractors on the liberal left should send up a big warning flag to anyone who believes in the right to freedom of speech.

OK, so Limbaugh said Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb was treated differently because of his race. Agree or disagree (I have no clue), it was wrong for Limbaugh to inject McNabb’s race into a football broadcast, and he was let go because of it. Fine. But when cable channels like CNN and MSNBC put forth completely fabricated quotations based on entirely unreliable sources, that’s not just shoddy journalism, it’s libel, and Limbaugh should sue. I hope he does.

Both channels have subsequently withdrawn their accusations, but the damage has been done.

If the NFL wants to reject Limbaugh for certain statements he has made in the past, fine, but for CNN annd MSNBC, the NFL players union, and racists like Al Sharpton to fabricate statements simply because they disagree with a certain person’s politics, that’s nothing short of McCarthyism.