tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119735182012-01-01T18:42:55.016-08:00Prose, poetry, photos. India, Seattle, Travel, Food, Army, Memoir, Misc. SAMMLER: I see you have these recollections. WALLACE: Well, I need them. Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door. Saul Bellowrwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.comBlogger571100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-40368817117042146912009-07-08T07:03:00.000-07:002010-08-23T14:44:19.510-07:00

Due to the vagaries of life on the www, and mac's horrible mobileme serviceI've been forced to start a third (and current) volume of The Resident Djinn (Bundle of HIs(s)) and it can be found here:Volume IIIand Volume II, the child of blogspot, can be found here although the Welcome page is totally fakakta:Volume IIThanks for stopping by. Keep the home fires burning.Richard (The Resident Djinn)

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-27224424259812914182007-05-21T17:37:00.000-07:002007-05-21T17:53:16.999-07:00

I've moved to my own website:Bundle of His(s)It's a continuation of what I've been posting here, plus plus.C'mon over...

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-75877154991406342392007-04-19T23:51:00.000-07:002007-04-21T11:08:28.294-07:00

Ooops, I broke the post. Am in the process of reposting.Sorry for the inconvenience.Richard

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-80546891320117026842007-04-12T12:52:00.000-07:002007-04-18T12:59:11.862-07:00

A Celebration of Curious and Colorful Colloquialisms My friend, Brenda, and I share what we consider to be a duty and a joy making sure certain words and phrases don’t go out of usage – at least within our own lives. We collect them, use them, and reminisce upon them. They should not pass, but if they must, they must not pass un-noticed.Of course, language changes as generations and

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-51145404384146576052007-03-26T10:43:00.000-07:002007-03-27T22:23:02.132-07:00

The piece of the I-90 lid between MLK and Lake Washington is Sam Smith Park.Sam was a life-long, African/American, city council member who was wise, wily, and well liked. Most anyone who was involved in Seattle politics during Sam's tenure has a good story. Here's mine:I was working for the Seattle Tenants Union trying to get a piece of legislation through city council. The legislation would

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-70679830366376003032007-03-17T15:57:00.000-07:002007-03-17T17:04:18.963-07:00

Possibly the most radical bumper sticker I’ve ever seen, and certainly the only one I’d consider putting on my car. It got me to thinking about God, blessings, and…everyone, so I’d call it pretty effective. GodGod is always radical, and putting God in the slogan is a sure path to a reaction. Fundamentalists, “Hello Central, get me heaven,” not only have a direct line, but actually call “person

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-52501445179509053682007-02-24T19:10:00.000-08:002007-02-24T21:46:24.630-08:00

The urge is to alter and adorn...Lately I've been taking Sammy (altered but unadorned,)for long walks and discovering just how much art, publicly and privately endowed, adorns our Seattle neighborhoods. I'll be posting what I discover, and everything I post is guaranteed within walking distance of our house.(Double click on any photo to enlarge.)Nestled into the ivy...Is is a frog, or is it

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-81418634744819072612007-02-09T12:12:00.000-08:002007-02-09T12:22:45.147-08:00

The big news that I seeis that Anna Nicole's soulhas been set freeBut I can't remember who she wasor was meant to be,I guess those are the vagariesof celebrity.Today I readthat justicewants her pickled,To help discover who had donethe diddled.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-59867052006336476832007-02-05T18:10:00.000-08:002007-02-05T18:37:17.794-08:00

Better late than never...the third of the August '06 Teahouse Concerts, and here Reggie introduces Brenda Bufalino, and Jay Clayton. Randy Halberstadt waits in the wings.Kicked into gear, and away they go...Brenda taking flight...Faster than a speeding bullet...A high flyin' solo of his own...An hour later it's time for a well deserved ovation and bows...The Rainbow Lady (without whom no

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-263965331619643272007-01-01T20:44:00.000-08:002007-01-01T20:48:31.192-08:00

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-38261167859452381672006-12-23T14:02:00.000-08:002006-12-23T14:14:37.956-08:00

ONGOING WORLDWIDE CONFLICTSBETTER LUCK NEXT YEAR!

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-73938493580524608632006-12-07T14:49:00.000-08:002006-12-08T10:46:15.434-08:00

I was taking a lunch break on September 11, 2006, and decided to take a bench in Seattle’s Occidental Park to enjoy the late summer weather. There were three pieces of sculpture, with no explanation, that hadn’t been there the previous day.No one I spoke to knew anything about them, but it was painfully obvious they had something to do with the war in Iraq, and the Abu Ghraib prison debacle.I

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-61910786744029859622006-12-01T15:06:00.000-08:002006-12-01T16:47:48.573-08:00

It's extremely rare for a topical piece to cut to the quick, but with frightening clarity E. L . Doctrow gets below the surface of our current Commander-in-Chief to reveal the man.Thanks to Cousin Mitchell for forwarding this on:An Essay On Our Presidentby E.L. DoctorowI fault this president (George W. Bush) for not knowing what death is. He does not suffer the death of our twenty-one year olds

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1163202406044736772006-11-10T15:43:00.000-08:002006-11-10T15:48:04.340-08:00

Richard Altenbernd, a.k.a., RA, was a hard-drinking, Camel smoking, womanizing, wood worker who I met about thirty-five years ago in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He was Scorpio to my Libra, and November always brings him back around.RA hailed from the Amana Colonies in Iowa, finished his course work toward a PhD in Political Science at Columbia University, and decided he’d be happier making children’s

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1162597159504003162006-11-03T15:09:00.000-08:002006-11-30T17:50:11.697-08:00

I was born into a Catholic family, baptized, educated, and raised Catholic – pre-Vatican II; even so, I’ve never been a very good Catholic, or at this point a practicing Catholic. I have, however, been fascinated by the joys and miseries of Catholicism my entire life.Catholicism is deeply rooted in the primitive with unrivaled spectacles of music, language, setting, costumes, and props

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1161206306902954622006-10-18T13:52:00.000-07:002006-10-18T14:22:53.696-07:00

(What with extraordinary rendition, and the US writing torture into the rule of law I thought it time to pull this piece from 1985 out of the trunk. It was written with Victor Jara in mind, but is really about all...)The DisappearedThe soldiers took him from his home. He was a poet. It was mid-day, not, and the barrio was quiet. The soldiers took him from his home, threw him into the back of

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1156437846866893732006-08-24T09:18:00.000-07:002006-08-24T09:44:06.906-07:00

Another beautiful Seattle-Sunday, and Reggie introduces the band.Friend Dina Blade sits in with a few vocals.Jay Clayton would have lifted the roof had we not been outside.It's never too soon for jazz in the garden, and a good time was had by all.Next up, (and last chance):Sunday, August 27th:Brenda Bufalino - doyenne of International TapJay Clayton - vocalist extraordinaireaccompanied by Randy

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1155762243881692492006-08-16T13:23:00.000-07:002006-08-16T22:44:52.923-07:00

Some concerts are magical. The confluence of music, venue, weather, audience, and there you have it.Last Sunday, Pearl Django kicked of the Teahouse Concert Series in our, or I should say, Reggie’s beautifully tended garden.The day was Seattle warm – meaning, “not too” – the sky was blue, a soft breeze whispered past every now and again, the audience was relaxed, and the band played on – all

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1155240996439447132006-08-10T13:05:00.000-07:002006-08-14T11:50:19.636-07:00

One afternoon I was sitting in the hills outside SantaFe with three or four dogs. It was very hot, verystill, and the dogs were sacked out.At one moment, and almost as one, the dogs sat up,perked their ears, and started moving their headsaround. A few seconds later I heard a sound like surfmoving in the distance; and then, after a few moreseconds watched the pinon and juniper catch a breezeas a

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1154641491849111372006-08-03T14:22:00.000-07:002006-08-03T14:44:51.883-07:00

We adopted this little fella from the Columbia City Farmer's MarketIt's important for young things to have a supportive home.I guess we'll eat him.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1151102083177773282006-06-23T15:33:00.000-07:002006-06-23T15:40:58.013-07:00

(thanks to travis for the pic)

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1149898432721822462006-06-09T17:13:00.000-07:002006-06-09T17:16:21.513-07:00

(for Reggie)All life has voice and sings of itselfA great and resounding song of itself The choir of life sings “Life!”Wind and the RiverRain and the SunHave voiceAnd are alive!The Flowers and the Clover and the DirtHave voiceSing lifeAnd are alive!Even the Rocks have voiceSing songs so low and downDeep in a rumbleAndClose to the groundSing lifeAnd are alive!And the Sky has a voiceSings blueSings

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1149176226940002632006-06-01T08:35:00.000-07:002006-06-01T08:47:31.100-07:00

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1148581621845249152006-05-25T11:17:00.000-07:002006-05-30T12:13:20.666-07:00

One day, our back fence neighbor, Mr. Vibur Kohli called. Mr. Kohli lives in a three and a half story mustard monstrosity of a house with undulant decks circling each floor. The top half story is shaped like the bridge of a tugboat, giving the overall impression of Noah's Ark plopped into the neighborhood. The reason I mention Mr. Kohli's architectural gaffe is because the back yard gardening

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1147984991941637692006-05-18T13:26:00.000-07:002006-05-18T13:58:17.666-07:00

Every day, at about four o’clock, my workmate Hugo, with an Englishman’s care, prepares a pot of tea. These days he’s been using Taj Tea, a gift from Rakesh, with just a pinch of Lapsong Souchong. He drinks it with milk, not cream, which would be an abomination, smacks his lips after the first sip, and proclaims, “Ah, the best fucking drink of the day.” I join him on occasion, and try to beat

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1147215362529894372006-05-09T15:48:00.000-07:002006-05-09T15:56:02.546-07:00

In our family the ambrosia, the nectar, the meal of celebration, or ultimate comfort was czarnina – duck soup, but so removed from anything as prosaic as a duck boiled with vegetables as to be other-worldly; and my grandmother, “Busia,” was the doyen of czarnina. Not to harass the culinarily squeamish but, without blood – duck’s blood - there is no czarnina. Cheapskates would try to get by with

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1146078679590844752006-04-26T12:10:00.000-07:002006-04-26T12:11:19.603-07:00

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1145559661216455952006-04-20T11:54:00.000-07:002006-04-20T19:54:46.346-07:00

Well dressed casual,Early sixties, well built,Gray crew-cut, and tan.Navigating the West Lake Mall,between the La Rouchiesand the Witnesses; Shouting:“Tom, talk to me! Talk to me, Tom!”Marching,Through a jungle, Around a wreck, Into an ER,Or,Kneeling,and shouting:“Tom, talk to me! Talk to me, Tom!”

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1144966771108537022006-04-13T14:25:00.000-07:002006-05-05T09:51:38.040-07:00

This morning, while waiting for the bus, I spotted a black gentleman about my age sitting on the bench. He was dressed for the job: brown coveralls, work boots, and a tool-belt. But it was his baseball cap emblazoned with a 2d Armored Division – “Hell on Wheels” unit patch that caught my eye. I was in the 3d Armored – “Spearhead.”I felt no qualms in walking up to him and starting a

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1143850879665314072006-03-31T15:04:00.000-08:002006-04-03T16:46:51.470-07:00

I’ve been in a car since I can remember. When I was a kid, my folks would put us into the back seat in the hope we’d nod to the rhythm of the road, and they could get some quiet time together; and, like most American families of the 1950’s, our family traveled by car. On day long trips from Erie to DuBois, Pennsylvania to visit my uncle we’d count all the places George Washington slept. It

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1143232759400196312006-03-24T12:38:00.000-08:002006-03-24T12:39:19.413-08:00

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1142625387451185912006-03-17T11:56:00.000-08:002006-03-17T11:56:30.486-08:00

.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } One Stop Shopping, originally uploaded by rwellsrwells.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1141945177971086012006-03-09T14:52:00.000-08:002006-03-09T16:06:04.190-08:00

I don’t know how it is in other cities, but in Seattle the young and the hip are tattooed with anything from hearts and flowers to self-designed prayers to sun, moon, god, or goddess; to parlor bought Celtic mazes, or Maori designs. My informal survey revealed that many of these tattoos are fraught with meaning, but a tattooed friend told me whatever information I’ve garnered barely scratches

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1140738120258427232006-02-23T15:16:00.000-08:002006-02-23T15:42:00.280-08:00

“I shut my eyes in order to see.” Paul Gauguin As an adolescent and I think this is true of a lot of kids, what I really wanted was to disappear, or step off the planet to return only when there was no one around to notice. Actually, the return trip wasn’t an issue. I would have been happy with a one-way ticket. Before I reached drinking age, fourteen in my

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1140124809935246572006-02-16T13:11:00.000-08:002006-02-22T15:25:07.566-08:00

Tracers flashlike falling starsbehind your eyes.Sand graspsat anklesto hold you back.You lumber,stumble,closerAnd Yassar's armsare open wide.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1140123410635352522006-02-16T12:14:00.000-08:002006-02-16T12:56:50.670-08:00

His ComaA tide of bloodBehind his eyes.Mouth filledWith stones.The whirlwind.Central nervous system intifada…What you reap, Yassar.His WifeSuhar!He’s yours.Weave your grief,Guard the cocoon,Protect the husk,Even as his gangstersFly to his side.His FuneralCairoUnder the tentSuits and dishdashaWaiting…kissing…plottingWhile in the sunLies Yassar,Rotting.RamallahA roiling mobAnd shooting,Always

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1139439675728839782006-02-08T14:58:00.000-08:002006-02-23T15:41:29.483-08:00

In the summer of 1971 Jack Kerouac’s vision of a “rucksack revolution” came true as thousands of young Dharma Bums hit the road hitchhiking around America, and I was one of themI was in some sort of emotional bankruptcy having blown my chances at a college education, my future with the alternative education project that was foolish enough to hire me in the first place, and my relationship with my

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1138306294141202702006-01-26T12:07:00.000-08:002006-01-26T12:11:34.143-08:00

"Outside the arch there seemed always an arch, beyond the remotest echo a silence."E.M. Forester"A Passage to India"

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1138051550408389192006-01-23T13:24:00.000-08:002006-08-06T10:41:44.176-07:00

“A hat should never have a bigger personality than the person underneath it.”----------Richard AltenberndFebruary 6, 1959. I was twelve years old. Edward R. Murrow was still on TV, and his “Person to Person,” show was regular viewing for our family. On this particular Friday night Murrow was to interview Fidel Castro, and we were gathered around the tube. Fidel had only been in Havana for a

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1136843910121646622006-01-09T13:52:00.000-08:002006-01-09T13:59:36.720-08:00

Fleece-gray sacks of humanityhuddled in each others arms,Too large for the doorway,barely out of the rain.Animal warmthand angelsmay keep themthrough the night.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1136499599095716372006-01-05T14:18:00.000-08:002006-02-08T16:20:00.593-08:00

NowWe spend some timeInside the pearlWhere light is liquidAnd form & distanceAre unclear.ThenBefore it’s ever fully dayNightLays her handsUpon us.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1134373312940851762005-12-11T23:35:00.000-08:002006-02-08T10:56:25.670-08:00

Gentle Readers,Your indulgences. This is a long entry, and as such probably breaks all the rules of blogdom. Are there rules?My young friend, Juhi, asked me to recommend a few books to her. I went off the deep-end and produced the following:November 30 – December 12, 2005Hyderabad, IndiaDear Juhi,Thanks for asking me to recommend a few books to you. What sounded like a very simple request

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1133515521609366352005-12-02T01:24:00.000-08:002006-02-15T16:27:39.650-08:00

“It’s good if you become a soul and then disappear.”Robert Bly1. Some time in my personal way-back I “suffered” rheumatic fever. It left me with a heart murmur. “Heart murmur,” a wonderful term – a heart that can’t quite be heard.2. A few days after my First Communion my appendix burst. Poison took over my blood stream – high fever and intense abdominal pain. My folks took me to the emergency

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1130146790251935802005-10-25T02:29:00.000-07:002005-10-24T21:09:02.790-07:00

I've been working in India for about five years now, and I've yet to get through an entire week without at least one, "Oh my God," "Ah-ha," or eye-rolling moment. Sometimes they occur so often I just have to stop looking.These are two photos of today's moment - a knife salesman cum scissors grinder parked in front of my favorite coffee spot in Hyderabad.With a display of knives attached to the

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1129788952316815712005-10-19T23:14:00.000-07:002006-02-08T11:04:38.540-08:00

Last night I dreamt I was sitting on the floor with Ghandiji. I was spinning cotton, on the same small spinning wheel seen in pictures of the Mahatma. "Ghandiji," says I, "Why aren't you spinning?""I don't do that anymore," says he."But you said spinning would save India. What are you thinking?""Vulcanized rubber." That's when I woke up.The End

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1128940003198157582005-10-10T03:24:00.000-07:002005-10-10T03:36:46.596-07:00

My house in Delhi came with a beautiful garden that held a small lotus pond. On occasion I would see my house-boy, Surinder, sitting beside the pond, gazing at the blossoms. On day I sat down beside him. He pointed at a half-opened lotus flower, and we watched. Before long, an unopened section flopped open. There was nothing delicate about it, not a slow unveiling, but a flop, accompanied by

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1128607866089010152005-10-06T07:09:00.000-07:002005-10-06T07:11:06.103-07:00

When I was six, my family moved from the Polish ghetto of 13th Street to a somewhat less ghettoized 10th Street, and I met Richard Flack. He was a slight and fragile kid, other-worldly, and lovely, and he became my immediate best friend.I can't pin down why at that age two kids would be so attracted to each other. Maybe it was because we shared a name and were both fairly quiet, or maybe Richard

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1127912717254247482005-09-28T06:04:00.000-07:002005-09-28T06:05:17.260-07:00

Afraid to be alone,I clutch my cell-phone.

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1123501265570467302005-08-08T04:37:00.000-07:002005-08-08T04:47:51.100-07:00

I was brought up by uncles and aunts - mostly by aunts, but most profoundly by uncles. The two most important men in my life had the broad shouldered names of Bernard Charles Szymanski, and Louis Leon Kozlowski. Uncle Barney, and Fr. Louie. In my eyes, and between them, they were the whole world.Barney was secular and worldly wise, an empiricist and agnostic, comfortable on boulevards and in

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1117569238107906462005-05-31T12:53:00.000-07:002005-05-31T12:53:58.113-07:00

Jimmy Mack, our infantry squad leader, was a short, chubby, black guy with a baby-face, and absolutely no charm. Jimmy Mack was a corporal and a lifer bucking for his third stripe before he rotated to Nam. We were a hash-smoking, beer-drinking, slacker outfit enjoying easy German duty, and resented his ambition. No one had been fragged in Germany, but Jimmy Mack was a prime candidate.We were

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1114558942868991292005-04-26T16:22:00.000-07:002005-04-26T16:42:22.876-07:00

BOUTROS IN LOVENow in his reclining years, Boutros-Boutros Doggie has just about lost interest in the pursuit of other creatures. A voracious bee-eater, I haven’t seen him snap all this season; squirrels come and go, eating out of the bird feeders, and Boutros doesn’t budge; he’s even given up on cats – he musters a pro forma chase so as to not let all dogdom down, but hot pursuit is a thing of

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1113437506419992842005-04-13T17:09:00.000-07:002005-04-13T17:14:24.403-07:00

The other day I was sitting in my room on the third floor of a 5-Star business hotel in Chennai, India, watching the Iraq War on BBC when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a short flurry of red confetti falling outside my window. It was a little shower of bougainvillea petals that had been dislodged by the hemp ropes that banged against the window a few moments later.After endless repeats of

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1113437291176672532005-04-13T17:05:00.000-07:002005-04-13T17:08:11.176-07:00

Conversations in India tend to veer in unexpected directions, sometimes taking you right back where you started. Here are three certified true and verbatim:1. At a restaurant:After having ordered the coconut souffle I was presented with a dish that looked to be more like a coconut pudding (another item on the menu.)Me: Ah, waiter, is this the coconut souffle or the coconut pudding?Waiter: (

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1113260629250679582005-04-11T16:03:00.000-07:002005-04-11T16:03:49.253-07:00

Sundays in LentThis past Lenten season (2005,) I decided my Lenten duty would be to pay attention to the Gospels, “crack them open,” as they say, and put my reflections to poetry.It’s been an interesting task.I’m not a literal believer in any part of the Hebrew, or Christian Scriptures. In fact, I’m so off-the-charts as a Catholic that I can’t – in good faith – recite the Creed. The Virgin

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1112990244292467542005-04-08T12:53:00.000-07:002005-04-13T12:58:13.606-07:00

I. The Temptation in the Wilderness(Mark 4: 1-11)After forty daysOf solitude and fastingA man might gnaw at a stoneThinking it was bread,Or grow wingsAnd flyAround the cities of his mind,Or walk nakedThinkingHe were clothed,Decorated,And perfumed.A man might do these thingsAnd people might sayHe was possessed.I would sayHe wasHungry.II. The Transfiguration(Mat 17: 1-13)"A Matter of Fact"Erie,

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1112984933911352722005-04-08T11:27:00.000-07:002005-04-08T11:28:53.913-07:00

I do a lot of reading, and thinking that goes unexplored within a community because we just don’t have time to get together often enough to talk about this stuff. So, welcome to what I hope will be an ongoing conversation with more of you than I could possibly physically talk to.This also gives me a form for thinking in print, which I hope will help make me a more disciplined thinker – and

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973518.post-1112817555594993842005-04-06T12:59:00.000-07:002005-04-06T12:59:15.593-07:00

Separated at birth?

rwellsrwellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17189198787248084987noreply@blogger.com1