what the shades showed

"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!" cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. "Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And bide the end!"--Charles Dickens, from "A Christmas Carol"

I drove last night from Austin back to Allen while a radio commentator voiced concerns about alleged actions of "the evolutionists". I listened to stories on the radio of people who kept investing in something too good to be true, because the investment manager was connected into the social philanthropy network. I remembered tales from past days of hearing stories of successful retirees, picked off like quail on country club lawns, while friendly fellows told them about "guaranteed" high-yield investments in death benefits on life insurance policies. I read Tuesday night about expensive gadgets in PC Magazine, which will soon eliminate its print edition for want of money. I passed last week by a small town fire station whose electronic sign said "Two Dogs Available for Adoption". I attended a "mission market" Sunday, where instead of buying gifts, one donated monies to people helping the local homeless or the people who live in deeply impoverished colonias along the border. I eead about how one doctor spends her work time making house calls to people who cannot afford her. In the distance, there were rumours of past sleet and snow--and mild signs of hope that the long frost may thaw.

spiral wrench of avarice

Spiral Wrench of Avarice, originally uploaded by gurdonark.

A mournful warning greeted me when I visited a familiar website. Some months ago, the site had faced a challenge when a hacker embedded something malware-ish onto the page. The site cleaned out the problem, but mozilla now flashes a "warning" sign on the site. I wonder how many times people see me as having my own warning sign, based on some failure in the past. Probably not all that many--because I find that people are in general less worried about by others than worried about what others think.

Now is the season of the spiral wrench of avarice. The ghosts of greed past, present and future long for a little roast goose and perhaps a child's blessing, as things seem more blood diamond than gilt-edged these days. My own business is way up, which tells me something about the economy, as I am related to the condor in matters of economic feast and famine.

They say when you step on a sea urchin, it hurts more than a little. But the other proposition is also true--when you manage to avoid the urchin while snorkeling, then you feel a sense of blessed release--a feeling of a determined certificate of deposit investor or a devout bicyclist.

My thoughts these days go out to auto workers, to the unemployed,
to unwanted children, and to people and animals thrown into shelters by foreclosure. What I want for Christmas is the generosity to pitch in, at least a little.