Archives for the month of: January, 2007

A friend just sent me this quote:

Imagine a world in which generations of human beings come to believe that certain films were made by God or that specific software was coded by him. Imagine a future in which millions of our descendants murder each other over rival interpretations of Star Wars or Windows 98. Could anything –anything — be more ridiculous? And yet, this would be no more ridiculous than the world we are living in.
-Sam Harris, author (1967- )


CRAIG’S list had an ad and I troll thru morning pages, thinking i can find my work place, my work pace, somewhere in this distant land of our fathers, and I came across an ad (under legal) which advertised for receptionist in medical office (go figure) and thought Spanish helpful, and wanted resume and instructions on how one described fixing their breakfast. Well, don’t think i am really up to working, but couldn’t resist the breakfast description. I had fun with it!

I can send my resume, which is 98 years of being a legal secretary, and delightful epochs of teaching creative writing, and references that would be quite telling in my affability, friendliness and reliability. But, I am not sure, as I do not speak Spanish, that I would serve you to the best of your needs.

But I would like to tell you how I make breakfast. First, the night before, I pray for the golden light of dawn to shine upon my coffee pot with exceptional rays of sun and warmth, Then when I lift the top to my iron lung where I am encased in the deepest slumber, I look up, swing my legs over the end of the bed and stagger (2 seconds) to my nook of a kitchen and flip the switch. I feel like Ayn Rand, author of I am powerful type books, men running railroads, women loving those men.

Then, knowing coffee or the like will be sludging happily through my rather long body, I survey my breakfast possibilities:

1. Trader Joe’s breakfast bar, “sweet, savory, tart trail mix, and so much more, blended with organic oats and crispy rice,” and think “Why not,” and proceed to a flick of the wrist, a sound of tearing cellophane green packing over bar, and voila, breakfast is accomplished, with that consumption and a lonely half banana crying out to become one with me.

2. That’s Monday. But wait, Tuesdays, after two cups of coffee (nonfat cream and pink sugar substitute) I haul out my large Quaker Oats box, and scoop a half cup of oatmeal into a plastic measuring cup. But first, and I explain this, in case you are from another planet and wouldn’t know our utensils or what a pan is, first I would take a small sauce pan, fill it with a cup of water, and maybe a small slop of apple juice and bring this liquid to a boil (bubbles appear on surface-of the pan, not my brain). Then slowly I pour the lovely flaked, beige and paper thin oatmeal gently into this liquid boil, and stir with a wooden spoon, all the while ambidextrously turning the flame of my gas stove down to a low output.

The oatmeal is cooked, and it sits cooling off as I search for a bowl, large, curved, and dig raisins, walnuts, and maybe a blueberry or two out from confines of my kitchen. A little nonfat milk is poured upon this offering to the Gods, and I top it with not frosting, no frosting on the cake for me, but maple syrup, a simple one tablespoon (well it spills over) serving, and I go to my living room which is an inch away, settle my expectant body down on a black leather couch, and lift the spoon towards my mouth-a spoon filled with promise. Pepsi moment has nothing on this. Crunch, crunch, sip, slog, sounds Gulliver like in Lilliputian land fill my head, and my head lifts, and then I go to Craig’s List on my computer and hit this ad!

This is my writing voice. My regular earth school tell it like it is; speak, be friendly, kind and helpful is sort of a low nasal New England twang in the background, soothing to people when reading my literary work, annoying once upon a time to a son, when this same voice said “clean your room,” and so goes life.

Wishing you well

Esther Bradley-DeTally

“The winds of despair are, alas, blowing from every direction, and the strife that divideth and afflicteth the human race is daily increasing. The signs of impending convulions and chaos can now be discerned, inasmuch as the prevailing order appeareth to be lamentably defective. I beseech God, exalted be His glory, that He may graciously awaken the peoples of the earth, may grant that the end of their conduct may be profitable unto them, and aid them to accomplish that which beseemeth their station.”
“Mona’s Dream” will be produced as a feature film by Jack Lenz this year. He is asking that youth everywhere arise to do what Mona has asked us to do: To gather together and create unity. To allow youth to have a voice, especially young women and girls, and to create service projects.

“We cannot segregate the human heart from the environment outside us and say that once one of these is reformed everything will be improved. Man is organic with the world. His inner life moulds the environment and is itself deeply affected by it. The one acts upon the other and every abiding change in the life of man is the result of these mutual reactions.”

Shoghi Effendi, through his Secretary to an individual believer
from a letter dated 17 February 1933

“The more we search for ourselves, the less likely we are to find ourselves; and the more we search for God, and to serve our fellow-men, the more profoundly will we become acquainted with ourselves, and the more inwardly assured. This is one of the great spiritual laws of life.”

(From a letter written on behalf of Shoghi Effendi, to an individual believer, February 18, 1954, Compilations, Lights of Guidance, p.114)

The Middle East; the many masters…

An interactive map of the Middle East and war:

January 10, 2007 Life filled with the ordinary details. Grandson Theo flies back to Portland area with his mom, dad already back there. Jessica went to horse school, her mom also; they had a wonderful time; Jessica a pro at cleaning horses hoofs. Bill is in his umpteenth day of a cold and I am sure could be in the Guiness Book of Records for his sustained coughing. I am loading up on all immune strengthening items, and yet we sally forth. Sold the old Buick; my 98 year old Aunt drove that baby for a long time, and declined at 98 when they took her license away. The nerve! A lot happening in the world, and as a result I found myself surfing on the net for Pug images; they comfort me; so I may post one or two; qui sait; meanwhile ta ta for now, love e

This is fantastic; artwork on buildings of Russian buildings; unbelievable; encroyable!

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or somethingof meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.
-Pearl S. Buck, novelist, Nobel laureate (1892-1973)

January 2, 2007. Sun just highlighting upper level of bamboo trees which seem as tall as the sky in the next house over. Am going to put a picture of a pug who looked like Puggy in his older days, if I’m lucky. I am glad to dig into the New Year. Hope all is well with everyone. Esther