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"El Gran Divorcio and The TwentySix-Dollah Bowl"
The Sumptuous Cave Cafe': Backgrounds
"El Gran Divorcio and The TwentySix-Dollah Bowl"This has been a difficult Thanksgiving because I've felt so badly for the family and friends of Ferguson MO's Mike Brown, and our nation for being that. And no better, cognizantly and historically heart and soul, by majority. I wanted to not believe that distastefully unpleasant hard truth.
As a child, I didn't understand our solidly Nor'easter family wealth, which wasn't historically or spiritually ugly, like that of the sadistically tight-fisted american south's, and wasn't specifically alluded to in any venue. That would have been unspeakably crass. Filthy lucre was never discussed or mentioned then "in polite company." I revel now in sensually vivid memory of the casual comfort and generously bounteous loveliness of our generationally-cherished, memorialized by monogram, everyday sterling, cut crystal, fine china, hand-done silks and delicate lace, classic paintings and statues, formal art and candid snapshot photographs, ornately-mounted lithographs and cameos, sweetly-inked letters and journals, paper and gold coinage, oriental rugs and ornamentations, precious jewels filigreed into platinum or gold, superbly carved and inlaid furnishing woods, exquisite prints and bas reliefs, antique engravings and imported etchings, gold-stamped leatherbound first editions with raw pages yet uncut finely embedded of delightful art reproductions and personally-inscribed rarities from miniature to regal in prose and poetry, rolled oversized portfolios of signed charcoals and watercolors ribbon-tied dispersed and destroyed [looted] by hi-trash virginia "whitey" vandals and their co-traveling bandit gangs throughout the execrable american south that they and their kin young to old will never experience or know. Praise be to a just God. You can't steal that life or knowledge or memory. Nor heaven. Or salvation. Or legacies truly worthwhile and invaluable. As our heads settled nightly onto hand-monogrammed pillowcases of heirloom linens, we prayed the Lord our souls to keep, and meant it.
For routine entertainments we employed Boston Pops orchestra season tickets, luncheons at Wellesley Inn, Boston Schrafft's and Newton's Brae Burn Country Club. In sports, we walked scenic neighborhoods, paddled nearby lakes and pools, ice-skated crusty ponds, sledded hills paved or grassed. Every unquestionable Sunday we dressed in cheerfully crisp formality for sermons and prayers and doxologies of chorused song and felted keys, holy book instructions and testings, before cozily ordered afternoons of worshipful everyday home activities -- mostly all managed and funded by our heartily-beloved and multiply-affluent matriarch, Marjorie May.
I'm thankful, additionally, for my "raising" world in Boston metro where I studied, practiced and performed with kids and parents of lotsa ethnicities and faiths and social strata and thereby learned Humanity, and Divinity, up-close and personal. That's invaluable stuff southern "whitey" junkees can't rape or rip off -- or appreciate apparently.
And for all-weather sojourns richly-ensconsed untethered, booted or barefoot, amidst nature's teeming wilds of flora, fauna, and fragrance -- fun to fury, north to south, east to west, stream to ocean, puddle to bay and lake, innate or manmade, tower to teepee, cruiser to plastic float, holler to crest echoing songs and sighs of freedom in sight of the boundless sky.
As a working Quaker-affiliate volunteer I avoided by a year being set aflame by insentiently-enraged emigre' southern blacks in Roxbury's seething ghetto so I learned respectful empathy and interactional condolent compassion thereabouts also.
Southern "whitey" boys will not win their filthy wars by mugging small elderly and genteel Yankee women. Big Yankee men are around to explain this to them bye and bye in ways I can't and couldn't.
A smartly good and great nation would provide a festive meal and other holy day gifts for our neighboring citizenry now in murder mourning of Ferguson Missouri.
Considering all we've unhealthfully ingested -- forcibly or voluntarily -- from mercury-tainted fish to GMOs to DDT to artificial pharmaceuticals to diverse air/water-borne factory filth the preoccupation with tobacco, considered sacred by early natives, and tobacco smoke is sociopathically psychotic. And is profitably monetized within a sociopathically psychotic pseudo-capitalist system which ingests that without taking aware exception or differential notice that within the deafeningly dead din the Mayans were right.
Of course our armed and militarized "legal" legionnaires foment street wars planetwide. What other would they do with all their costumed toys and the idled manufacturers if peace unaccountably broke out?
Through God all things are possible; not all the ancient to new stories, Biblical and otherwise, can be factually denied or defensibly disproved.
"The way of the Cross is not easy, yet it is the tuneful, the rhythmic, the beautiful, the lovely way."
-- Edgar Cayce, Association for Research and Enlightenment