Nice Ride!

Does this look familiar?

That would be SN2 and DIL Alisa, standing next to their new-to-them 1990 Corvette.  SN2 called me Friday evening to let me know their latest baby was home and filled me in on all the details.  Which, to wit: a 1990 Vette convertible, 40K miles on the clock, six-speed manual, and the UCR small-block V-8 in its 245 HP iteration.  This is the Vette I SHOULD have bought in the way-back, which is to say a convertible and a six-speed.  The Second Mrs. Pennington wouldn't be denied, however, and we got an automatic, hardtop Vette.  As for the familiarity bits?  This:

TSMP and HER 'Vette, the weekend after we bought her.  On M-25, just south of Harbor Beach, MI.

Nice color!

Sometimes It's Not Easy

From the Langley-Eustis Joint Base web site:

In loving memory of Senior Airman Prine

Roxanne Prine, mother of the late U.S. Air Force Senior Airman James Prine, accepts the Air Force Achievement Medal from Maj. Ivan Pennington, 1st Aircraft Maintenance Squadron commander, during a memorial service at Langley Air Force Base, Va., July 3, 2014. Senior Airman Prine, a 1st AMXS crew chief, died at the age of 23 in an accidental drowning and is survived by his mother, father, sister and other relatives. (U.S. Air Force photo by Senior Airman Aubrey White/Released)

SN1 and I talked a bit about this last week.  This terrible event happened during Buck's first full week in command and profoundly affected him.  As the post title indicates... sometimes it's not easy.

RIP, SrA Prine.

Apropos o' Not Much

I'm not sure if anyone picked up on the framed photo on SN1's desk when I put up the congratulatory post about his selection to Lt. Col. this past week.  To refresh your memory, I'm talking about the pic below the white arrow on the right:

Here's that same photo, but larger:

The explanation, from an old post:

The top picture was taken sometime before 1991. I know the approximate date because Buck isn't sporting his Gulf War I ribbons. From left to right: Sam, as NROTC cadet; your humble scribe, six or so years post-retirement (and the uniform fit perfectly); and Buck, as a Senior Airman. I hesitate to say Buck, Jr, as he isn't a "junior." "Buck" just happens to be the common nickname given to us both. Buck is the older of the two.

My, how time flies.  SN1 is much closer to 50 than he is to 40 and both sons could retire from their respective services if they had a mind to do so (shorter: both are working for half pay these days).  Makes a body feel OLD, it does.

Congratulations!

SN1's boss gave these to him yesterday...

... saying "All Lt Cols are arrogant bastards*."  Shorter: Buck's on the list (which became public today) for promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.  He prolly won't pin on his new leaves until July of next year, which means he'll have to walk on egg shells for the coming year.  But, Hey!  It's coming!

* I'd be a little bit concerned about that beer's tagline: "You're not worthy."

Raptors!

From the Usual USAF Source:

Air Frame: An F-22 Raptor from the Hawaiian Air National Guard takes off from Royal Malaysian Air Force P.U. Butterworth in support of Exercise Cope Taufan in Malaysia, June 11, 2014. (Air Force photo by TSgt. Jason Robertson)

SN1's new squadron maintains Raptors, so he gets to be "up close and personal" with these guys.  Rumor has it the security surrounding the F-22 is VERY tight.  You... the unclean, uncleared person that you ARE... can't get closer than 20 feet to the jet in most circumstances.

Correction.  In other related news... SN1 tells me I got the caption to this photo wrong.  The caption said "Major Wilson (left), 1AMXS outgoing commander, passing the guidon to Major Pennington (center).  Colonel Venzke, 1MXG commander, looks on."  What's really happening is Col. Venzke is passing the guidon to Buck while Maj. Wilson looks on.  That's the way it's done.  My apologies to all.

Memo For Record

We're in receipt of a few pics from last Friday's change o' command ceremony at the 1st AMXS*, Langley AFB, VA.  So, without further ado...

Playing the national anthem.  SN2... in his blueberry's... in the second row at far right.

Flowers for the ladies are a nice touch.  DIL Erma got red roses.

Major Wilson (left), 1AMXS outgoing commander, passing the guidon to Major Pennington (center).  Colonel Venzke, 1MXG commander, looks on.

You could eat off that hangar floor, couldn't you?  Impressive.


* "AMXS" is USAF-speak for aircraft maintenance squadron.

The Sunday Re-Run: Sartorial Elegance

Our tongue is firmly in our cheek with that "elegance" bit.  That said, we do have our own personal style in garments.  From November of 2008:

We’re currently in the midst of a pretty good cold snap, as noted elsewhere and below. I kinda like that because this is the time of year I get to drag various coats and jackets out of the closet and renew my acquaintance with ‘em… an acquaintance that goes back over 20 years in two cases and nearly that amount of time in one other.
 
Like most guys, I don’t own a lot of outer garments. As I matter of fact, I have five…which is probably a little bit more than most men. But two of those garments are relegated to storage; I wear three outer garments on a regular basis. Strangely enough… all three are military-issue items. Today was the first day of the winter season that I wore my favorite jacket… an M-65 field jacket. (Full disclosure: I actually have two field jackets, only one of which is still serviceable enough to wear in public. The other is really worn… ripped here, torn there, the Velcro is gone, and it has all sorts of grease stains and such on it. It’s worn as a work jacket… if it’s worn at all, given as how I don’t do much “work” these days.)
 

My daily-wear M-65 was issued to me in 1984, the year before I retired from the Air Force. I knew I was gonna go, my retirement papers were in and approved, and I wanted a new field jacket to last me into retirement, as my old one was looking a lil bit the worse for wear. So… I beat feet down to supply, requested a new field jacket, got it, signed the receipt, and was on my way, a Happy Troop if there ever was one. I’ve worn that jacket every winter since. You cannot beat the thing for utility, what with its four large cargo pockets, collar-concealed hood, a button-in polyfil lining that keeps you oh-so-toasty, and the fact it’s waterproof… provided you give it an annual spray-down with Scotchgard. And when it gets dirty? Just throw it in the wash. That’s it. The M-65 looks damned good, it’s utilitarian, and it’s low maintenance. What else is there?
 
(Me and my M-65 in Yellowstone, May of 2000. It was frickin’ cold that day… and I was on the bike, too. But I stayed warm.)
 
Well, it turns out there IS something else. The M-65 is casual. VERY casual. For more upscale occasions I wear my pea coat. (Don’t laugh… it’s true. And I’m weird, I’ll freely admit.) My pea coat is The Real Thing and not some sort of knock-off (one sees a tremendous amount of knock-offs advertised as “Navy Issue” or some other such blather. Most aren’t even close.) And how do I know my pea coat is real? Coz it used to belong to SN2 when he was on the E-side of the Navy house (Pea coats are only worn by enlisted sailors. Ossifers wear Bridge Coats [scroll down for pic]. I’m serious.). He gifted it to me the year he was commissioned… the culmination of literally years of me badgering him to “get me a pea coat!!1!!” And so he did.
 

I love this coat. It, too, is quite versatile, and being 100% heavy wool it’s also very warm… especially with the collar turned up. I’ve been wearing my pea coat for about 15 years now, assuming I’ve done the math correctly. From the looks of things I’ll probably get at least another 15 years out of it… maybe more. The thing simply doesn’t show wear at all.

(Pic: Me, Grandson Sean, and SN1 on San Francisco Bay… an appropriate milieu for a pea coat, no? c. 2001.)
 
Last, but not at ALL least… My A2 flight jacket is perfect for Spring/Fall weather and is the jacket you’ll see me in most frequently. My A2 is over 20 years old and was made by Cooper, a firm that’s out of business now but was the official supplier to the USAF, back when the Air Force re-authorized the A2 for wear in the 1980s. The A2 I own is made of goatskin and is the “older” design, which precedes newer gub’mint-issue items manufactured after 1987. You can still buy the older model here (from Cockpit USA (formerly Avirex LTD), the current manufacturer and supplier of the A2 to the Air Force). Or… if you prefer the current, updated model (which is visually identical to the original A2 but has internal pockets)… you can buy that here.

 
Digression: The Second Mrs. Pennington about had a cow (man!) when I told her I wanted this jacket in the way-back. She looked at the price and flipped out… being the frugal woman she was and probably still is… telling me I could get something “just as good” for about half the price at any six stores in Detroit. But that wasn’t the point, I countered… “this is an official Mil-Spec A2!” And so it went… back ‘n’ forth. I obviously won the battle (I lost the war, but let’s not go there) and I feel somewhat vindicated, too. The jacket has lasted lo these 20+ years and looks just as good as the day I bought it. Better, even, since it’s acquired that patina one sees in old but well-kept leather. Besides that… It’s Teh Quality, Gentle Reader.

(Further digression: TSMP and I had a “one hundred dollar rule,” meaning consultation was required prior to purchasing anything over that amount. That’s a really good rule to have in a relationship, btw. It stops a lot of arguments… not to mention regrettable impulse-buys… dead in their tracks.)

(Pic: Me wearing my A2… somewhere in the Wilds of New Mexico (which is shorthand for “I don’t remember”), c. 2004.) 
 
And those other two outer garments? One is a Yuppie-looking windbreaker with an oh-so-discreet EDS corporate logo embroidered on it. It’s nice but it’s not me. I wore that thing rarely… most often to casual corporate events back in the day where it was de rigueur to fly the flag. I don’t know why I keep it. Souvenir value, I suppose.

The other item is a Burberry trench coat, another relic from corporate days. It, too, is most versatile, warm (with the liner zipped in), good looking in a “Bond. James Bond.” sort of way, and probably never will go out of style. I love that thing (as much as anyone can “love” an inanimate object), but it doesn’t quite go with the levis and tee shirt ensembles that are en vogue around here. But: I can’t bear to part with it and who knows? I may have to go to a funeral in a cold rain some day. And if that happens… I’m ready. 
 
Well. That was much ado about not much, eh?

I said we had style.  I didn't say we had GOOD style, yanno?

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Huey Lewis...

I want a new drug
One that does what it should
One that won't make me feel too bad
One that won't make me feel too good

Well, not exactly.  I'm perfectly satisfied with my drug o' choice... beer... but what I want is more variety in that drug.  Yeah, it's a First World Problem, to be sure.  That said, I was somewhat depressed when we went to the Beer Emporium yesterday to re-stock.  I've sampled all o' the beers in stock there, or at least all o' the ones I might have an interest in, which is to say the stouts, porters, and ales.  I suppose I shouldn't complain, given as how the fridge is chock full o' Abita Turbodog and Sammy Adams' Winter Lager, yet still... we want more.  And different.  We want a beer store like this:

SN1 at his local beer emporium... just one aisle o' many.

My only options?  Fold up the tent and move to a more beer friendly location.  Or mebbe explore mail-order options.  Yeah, the latter would be kinda-sorta expensive, but what's a boy to do?

It's always sumthin'.

Almost '14 and Our Traditional Boxing Day Post

There's this, for starters...

Yup... drones and mePhones.  That's us.

This is us on Boxing Day for the past eight years or so:

The Usual, Customary, and (Somewhat) Reasonable Boxing Day Post

It's a short one, but.. with the exception of 2007... we've been putting this one up every Boxing Day since 2005:

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

I had to pop out to do a little grocery shopping. All the way to Wally-World and back I was thinking about Christmas' Past and the strangest thing struck me. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a single thing about the last Christmas The Second Mrs. Pennington and I spent together (1997). Nothing. Zip. Nada. I think it’s because the cataclysmic events that unfolded over the eight months following that Christmas completely obliterated all memories of times immediately preceding. It was, after all, the Winter of Her Discontent, and I was completely oblivious. Quite another story.

It is more than passing strange, however. That Christmas was my youngest son’s First Christmas. Even though he was only ten months old at the time I’m sure he had a great old time tearing into boxes and playing with the wrapping paper, as very young children do. But I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember the tree. I don’t remember taking any pictures. I don’t remember what I gave or received that Christmas. I don’t remember a damned thing, except for the fact we were in Rochester. That’s the sum total!

I did recall, in great detail, the year we spent Christmas night on a British Airways flight from Detroit to London. Our flight left sometime around six or seven in the evening on Christmas Day, and we were at the airport a good three hours before that. There were three of us: TSMP, our great good friend Kim, and myself. It was Kim’s first trip outside the US, and she was as excited as is humanly possible. The flight was nearly empty because, who, after all, travels on Christmas Day? Just us bargain hunters. TSMP and Kim stayed awake most of the flight. I, on the other hand, found an empty row and slept. Don’t you just love empty airplanes on transatlantic flights? It doesn’t happen a lot these days, from what I read.

We arrived at Heathrow around 0700 and were completely through customs and baggage claim in about an hour. The Captain, although he was either a Buck Sergeant or a Staff Sergeant stationed at RAF Lakenheath at the time (ed: and is now -- in 2010 -- referred to as The Major, time advancing as it does), met us at Arrivals. We loaded up the luggage and piled into his ratty old British Ford Cortina with the broken heater and leaky floor and did the patented B&P nickel tour of London for Kim’s benefit.

Sidebar: I use the term “B&P nickel tour” in a very personal sense. TSMP and I lived in London from 1980 - 1983 and we had a LOT of visitors. After the first wave of visitors had come and gone we developed our own little two-hour driving tour of London that hit all the high spots: Buckingham Palace, Westminster, Picadilly Circus, Tower Bridge, et al. We also threw in a few of our favorite places. It was great fun reliving that tour!

So. After the tour we grabbed lunch and went to the hotel for a little nap before our evening out. And thus began the ten-day England Christmas Tour of 1990-something. I don’t remember the exact year, actually. But I sure remember that trip…one of my BEST Christmases (and New Year’s), ever. 

We added this in 2006:

The Best Thing about our arrival in London on Boxing Day was the heretofore unmentioned party we went to that evening. TSMP, SN1, Good Friend Kim, and I went to my Brit Buddy Rob’s place, where we partied into the wee small hours. The most interesting thing about that party was that Rob and I picked up exactly where we’d left off more than ten years earlier.  It was as if we’d seen each other only yesterday. It’s like that with great, good friends.

To quote myself: "That's SN1, The Lovely Miz Lynch, and YrHmblScrb at a world-famous pile o' rocks, the pic which just might have been taken 20 21 23 years ago today."  That's not entirely true, it would be more like 23 years ago the day after tomorrow.  I spent Boxing Day of 1990 partying in London.

What a great good time THAT was!

Happy Birthday(s)!

The First Mrs. Pennington turns 70 today, a fact I find rather amazing.  "Amazing" in the sense the both of us have managed to live this long and I'm thinkin' more about me than she, given as how she's a saint in both habits and behavior as compared to YrHmblScrb.  Then again, she's also 18 months older than me, too.  I may or may not make it to 70 while she already has, and good on her for that.  I think a few pics are in order.

TFMP & Friend, c. 1969

SN2, (L), TFMP, SN1 (R), and Grandson Sean - SN1's commissioning, May 2000

TFMP and SN1, at SN2's house in Maine, June 2006

So.  Happy Birthday, Ramona.  Many happy returns!

Wait.  I said birthdays, plural.  It just so happens Joni Mitchell also turns 70 today... so Happy Birthday to you too, Joni!

There's a "ya hadda be there" sorta story involved here, as well.  It came to pass that Rolling Stone had Joni on the cover sometime in November of 1973 as part of a story that, if memory serves (BIG-ass caveat, that), was titled sumthin' along the lines of "On Turning 30."  Keep in mind that this was a point in time when us young'uns were constantly exhorting each other to "NEVER trust anyone over 30."  And then time caught up with some of us.  But not ME... not yet, anyway.  I was still a youngish 28... and I spent the next few months telling TFMP that I simply couldn't trust her any longer.  Or at least until such time as she threatened to beat the Hell outta me, at which time I ceased and desisted.  The woman did NOT make idle threats.

A Helluva Way to Wake Up

Police work the scene on M St., SE in Washington near the Washington Navy Yard. The U.S. Navy said that three shots were fired around 8:20 a.m. at the Naval Sea Systems Command Headquarters building, where about 3,000 people work.

Jacquelyn Martin / AP

I got a call from SN2 about a half-hour ago; he wanted to let me know he's OK.  He led with "Did I wake you up?" and I replied that no, I'd been up for at least five minutes.  Then he told me about the shooting in the Navy Yard.  The shooter(s) were two floors above him in his building and everyone in his area is OK.  It sure as Hell could have been worse...

A Day Out In Old Virginny

My day Saturday...

We set out to drive the Colonial Parkway, destination Williamsburg.

We found this old guy writing a declaration o' some sort and I lent him a hand.

That same old guy kinda took a shine to Grandson Sean.  Watch where you put your hands, Mr. Jefferson.

Speaking of Old Guys... they were pretty wise.

Taking a page out of Mr. Johnson's book... we headed for the Dog Street Pub, whose menu had one page of food and three pages of beers and wine.  Srsly.

Grandson Sean & SN2, in the pub.

SN1 & YrHmblScrb in the same venue.

My lunch: mussels.  Yum!  I HAD to do seafood.

SN2 was the designated driver.

It was a guys' day out... three generations o' Pennington men set loose on the unsuspecting inhabitants and visitors of/to Williamsburg.  No locals or tourists were harmed in the making of this production but a great good time was had by all concerned.

I've decided to delay my departure for home by a day; we'll spend the entire weekend at the SN1 home.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

It's a stretch... but there are a couple o' lines that fit:

Well I'm learning
It's peaceful
With a good dog and some trees
Out of touch with the breakdown
Of this century

It's about the trees and a good dog at my feet this afternoon.  At some point in time I'll capture Ace, the SN2 family dog.  He's hard to catch sitting still but we will endeavor to persevere.  In the meantime, our day looks like this:

This is the environment on SN2's back deck: very leafy with sunlight filtering through the trees on a seriously balmy September afternoon.  The weather has taken a turn for the better, which is to say 80 degrees and 48% relative humidity.  Perfect, in other words.  It's gonna be hard to go back home after this.

Life Is Hard

About an hour or two ago...

SN2.  Click to embiggen.

YrHmblScrb.  We didn't put fire to the cigar... we simply chewed it.

The homeowners' association in SN2's neighborhood has access to three... not one, not two, but three... private beaches on Lake Montclair, a rather large-ish lake in the immediate vicinity.  We were down on the lake at the West Beach this afternoon, just chillin'.  The only drawback?  No alcohol, no tobacco, no drugs... strictly verboten.  This is America?

Big-ass sigh.  But we endured.  Life IS hard, sometimes.

A Nice Neighborhood, Part Deux (SN2's Block)

Leafy

REALLY leafy

You know that piece o' the American Dream that sez you want your kids to live better than you did?  I think I got that box checked.

Dinner

SN1, Grandson Sean, and I* journeyed into beautiful downtown Hampton this evening to dine on raw fish and other delicacies at Musasi restaurant. Like this:

The first pic is SN1 and Sean, the second pic is my entree, about which we had already done considerable damage by the time I took that pic.  I have to mention the fact that Sean's taste has broadened considerably since his first encounter with sushi.  This time out he ate the tuna and the salmon roe with considerable gusto.  The last time?  Not so much.

So.  We got back over an hour ago but I took an hour off to sit out on the verandah, have a cigar, and drink three fingers (x2) o' SN1's Macallan stash.  Let me say this about that: the good weather I brought with me from New Mexico has vanished into the ether, replaced by what's usual, customary and quite UNreasonable for this part o' the world, which is to say 80 degrees and 85% relative humidity at 2200 hrs, Gentle Reader.  That's like the dead o' night and it's frickin' STIFLING outdoors.  But, Hey!  It what it is and what it is... is GOOD.

* Where's DIL Erma, you may ask?  She's in NM, attending to granddaughter Monique who had an ultrasound today.  It's a boy!  That would be great-grandchild number five, but who's counting?  Not me.

All the Best Parties End In the Kitchen

It's not like this was the end, but...

It was a group shot.  Left to right: Jeff, one of the guys who works with Buck; SN1; grandson Sean; me; SN2; neighbor Nick.  A good time was had by all... and said good times continue, as we speak.

A Nice Neighborhood

The view from my bedroom window at the SN1 house:

Hey!  Haven't we seen that lil green car somewhere before?

Here's the smoking lounge, a nice screened-in porch in the grand old southern tradition:

More cheesy mePhone pics*

You can't make it out in the picture, but there's this big-ass fountain in the middle o' the pond which makes VERY pleasing noises while one's enjoying a cigar on the porch.

I might stay here for a while.

Update, a lil bit later.  I forgot the asterisk, which was supposed to say I brought the dSLR to take GOOD pics but I'm just lazy.  The mePhone is close enough for blog work.

Laundry Day...

... here at El Casa Imóvil De Pennington, about which... this:

Further on “Procrastination…” It occurred to me last evening that one of my “issues” these days is the decided lack of nagging in my life. Now most men would consider this particular lack a blessing, and I most certainly DO… most of the time. But, let’s be honest about this, Guys. A lot of stuff gets done around the house (other places, too) simply because the nag-ee desperately wants the nag-er to STFU. Or more diplomatic words to that effect. Men being men, inertia will raise its ugly lil head in the absence of “motivation.” We’ll do what’s expedient, we’ll do the absolute minimum of what’s required to keep us breathing, fed, and smelling less bad to those we encounter, and we’ll most definitely accomplish things that must be done in the face of penalties… such as paying the bills on time. But we’ll also put off to the VERY LAST MICROSECOND those things we find distasteful or even boring. If left to our own devices, that is.

In my current situation, for example, I find reading every single game recap and poring over obscure hockey stats infinitely preferable to, say, doing laundry. Especially since I haven’t even come close to tapping the emergency vintage tee shirt supply, and I don’t wear socks once the temp is consistently over 60 degrees. Ergo: there’s no real need to do laundry, yet. That changes, once the supply of clean clothes runs out. Or: I’ll be off to the laundromat in my LAST clean tee shirt at the very last microsecond.

Necessity is the Mom of Execution in My World. NOT invention, as is commonly thought.

Oh. I don’t want a live-in nag, thankyouverymuch, if you’re thinking along those lines.

Procrastination may be bad, but there are worse things in life.

Well, we don't have to hie our Old Ass off to the laundromat any longer, seein' as how we have our very own washer and dryer now.  But, that said, it's still a right royal Pain-In-The-Ass to do laundry and I ran it right down to the very last moment these past few weeks.  Which is to say we were but ONE tee-shirt from having to break out the vintage tees, linked above.  Like this:

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Vintage Tees

Remember when I told you I had to do laundry coz I was down to “vintage” tee shirts? Well, I wore one of those self-same tee shirts out to the base yesterday, specifically this one:

And Boy-Howdy did I ever get some hard looks from some ol’ codgers. I felt like telling at least one of those guys “Hey, I’m not a Commie, it’s a souvenir.” And so it is…from one of my Moscow trips during the ‘90s. (I have NO idea what the text says, and I've asked around, too.)

I probably would have gotten approving smiles had I worn this one, instead:

The yellow font is hard to read: it says “Miller.” Make sense, now? I love this shirt; it was a gift from SN2 back when he was an enlisted sailor on a boomer...the USS James K. Polk.

Sigh.  So... laundry, and we're ALMOST done.  I've said it before and I'll say it again: "Life's been Hell since the maid quit."

One other thing: I've given up... completely... on tryin' to fold fitted sheets.  These days I just roll 'em up in a ball and then change the linen, immediately after they come out o' the dryer (or shortly thereafter).  The next time I buy linens... if there IS a next time... I'm only gonna buy TOP sheets.   I know how to make hospital corners and doin' that is infinitely preferable to wrestling with fitted sheets.  I HATE those damned things!

The Afterlife

I had a weird thought while sitting on the verandah last evening, enjoying a couple o' few fingers o' Bulleit Rye, a Partagas Spanish Rosado, the rain falling in the vertical (as opposed to the normal slashing, horizontal sort we usually get) and the coolness that came with said rain.  Altogether a rather marvelous experience, heightened by our soundtrack, which was the Glenn Miller station on Pandora.  My thoughts turned to my parents, Mom in particular, and my thoughts ALWAYS turn to my parents when I hear Big Band music.  So then it occurred to me that I might not be too far removed from seein' them again, assuming there's an afterlife.  Our mind began to wander on that topic... the afterlife... and we wondered about Heaven, Paradise, and other possible destinations, not the least of which was "how do we get there?"  And what's there, there?  Is Heaven one big place where all souls congregate?  Consider this, from The Wiki:

The CIA's World Factbook gives the world population as 7,021,836,029 (July 2012 est.) and the distribution of religions as Christian 33.39% (of which Roman Catholic 18.85%, Protestant 8.15%, Orthodox 4.96%, Anglican 1.26%), Muslim 22.74%, Hindu 10.8%, Buddhist 6.77%, Sikh 0.35%, Jewish 0.22%, Baha'i 0.11%, other religions 10.95%, non-religious 9.66%, atheists 2.01%. (2010 est.)

I KNOW some of those religions have a theology that excludes non-believers (we won't name names), so one kinda has to think there are several different neighborhoods in Heaven, including gated communities and a ghetto or two.  There's also the problem of atheists, and I assume those sorts simply go to ground and stay there.  We Buddhists, OTOH, know we have to come back and do it over until we get it right.  While we're on that subject, I'm thinking Nirvana is prolly a VERY small space, inhabited by the Buddha and a few of his minions; that's coz most of us will NEVER get it right.  I'm hoping that I got enough of it right this time around to come back as a woman, specifically as that "hooker with a heart o' gold."  (We've gone on about that before, but I can't find the link)

Devotions at El Casa Inmóvil de Pennington

I had more thoughts on this subject, particularly about the trip's beginning, wherein The Deity At  Hand (or one of her staff) announces... 

"Welcome to The Celestial Paradise Port.  Christians report to Concourse A, where you'll find your gate listed by denomination on the monitors.  Muslims report to Concourse B... Sunnis to the left and Shi'as to the right, please.  Hindus go to Concourse C.  You Buddhists aren't going anywhere just yet, and a few of you will become bugs running around Concourse B.  All other Buddhists should check in at the Wheel of Life for gate assignments.  Thank you for your attention and have a nice afterlife."

Or sumthin' like that.

In other theological news...  I had a conversation with SN1 the other night and he mentioned he forgot to tell me he picked up some pretty good incense, which he burns in his office.  He also mentioned DIL Erma stuck her head in the office while he was burnin' some of that stuff and said sumthin' to the effect of "It smells like your father's house in here."

Well.  I suppose that's preferable to a house that smells like stale beer and cigar smoke, eh?  Erma's right, though.  We do burn a bit o' incense, which is a part o' our daily devotions.  We have to keep the protocols if we hope not to come back as a bug in Concourse B.

Update, 1430 hrs:  Great Good Friend Lin sends this along with the suggestion that I update this post with same.



Heh.  Oh, that's GOOD.