Make this apple ginger pancakes recipe for breakfast at PBS Food.
Source: Apple Ginger Pancakes
~ You are being scurrilous, Mr. President.
~ What?
~ Insulting.
~ After what you Marble Palace bastards did to me?
~ Not us.
~ Then who?
~ The US.
~ What?
~ The Law, Mr. President. Of the Land.
~ I put some of you bastards in place.
~ But you can’t put the Law in its place.
~ I’m POTUS. I’m above the law.
~ Not above. Or below. Or equal.
~ I’ve got Power.
~ Not before the Law.
~ I’m the Leader. Elected by the people.
~ Before the Law, you are but E Pluribus Unum.
~ What does that mean?
~ You don’t know?
~ Why should I?
~ It’s on all the money.
I can testify to the veracity of this blog. I wrote the book.
FROM: Canadian, eh – Canada Day 2003;
AKA: Canadian, eh; God’s Country Only in Canada, you say; Proud Canadians; Ten Cents;
 | An American decided to write a book about famous churches around the world. For his first chapter he decided to write about American churches. So, he bought a plane ticket and took a trip to Orlando, thinking that he would work his way across the country from South to North.On his first day, he was taking photographs inside a church when he noticed golden telephone mounted on the wall with a sign that read “$10,000 per call.” The American, being intrigued, asked a priest strolling by what the telephone was used for.
The priest replied that it was a direct line to Heaven and that for $10,000 one could talk to God. The American thanked the priest and went along his way. |
 | Next stop was in Atlanta. There, at… |
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(sweet baby Kafka)
03 July is Kafka’s birthday and – I forgot.
I could say (without any honesty) that I am distracted by COVID-19 and all the changes (some of them fundamental) which are happening around me. {I had my own two week self-isolation to deal with}. BUT Kafka not only lived through the Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918, he contracted the disease. And he survived, even though he already had the tuberculosis that would eventually kill him six years later.
But, this morning, a Twitter respondent from across the Atlantic reminded me. I have already thanked her. So, I will repost my Kafka Birthday blog.
First, is the letter I have written to him (as yet, unanswered).
Second, is the diary entry I gave him for his birthday, from my novel, Kafka In The Castle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Present / Your Future
Still in this World
A Life Away
Dear F:
You would find it perverse to be wished a “Happy” birthday, but your response would be gracious. Such is the reality you understand, and how you deal with it. I have found that your reality is actually real.
Although it will give you no pleasure – well, ‘little’ pleasure – you are correct in all your observations.
Governments become the tools of the bureaucracies which run them. It doesn’t matter what type of Government, from the monarchy under which you lived, to the right wing horror of fascists that called themselves socialists, to the inept socialism pretending to be ‘for the people’. All three governments held their sway over the city where you spent your life. All three oppressed the people they ruled. All three looked after themselves first.
Writers are either writers or they aren’t. The urge to write encircles one like a snake around its prey. Feed it and it won’t quite squeeze you to death. You can not ignore it – even at your peril. It is with you every hour of every day, ever inquisitive and (sadly) always looking for something better.
Love is a see-saw of extremes. Every high guarantees a low. Every low reaches for a high. Every high reaches for a high. When these hills and valleys are eventually levelled, they are still desired.
Sex is highly over rated. The thing of it is, even rated fairly ’tis a consummation devoutly to be had. Yes – I know – you appreciate Shakespeare. On a par with Goethe, even if you can’t bring yourself to say the words.
People are just one damned thing after another. Of course, so many people have brought you blessings, you throw up you hands to ward off the snake. And sometimes – some few times – it loosens its grip.
There is no castle with walls thick enough to hide against the perils of being human. Which is why you never tried.
Except the grave, of course.
Except the grave.
Yours,
D
~~~~~~~~~~~
03 July 1918
The anniversary of my birth.
In celebration of the day, I did not make it my last.
{I wrote this after Donald Trump was elected President of The United States of America. He is still in place.
Today an article popped into my news stream entitled : “Trump Has Franz Kafka Spinning His Grave”. You can find it here: https://www.laprogressive.com/trump-has-franz-kafka-spinning/
So, in honour of Kafka (and I have visited his grave), I’ll play it again, Donnie.}
““““““““““`
~ Frank. Welcome to your world.
~ Thanks, DT. I’ve been living it all my life.
~ I’ve taken some pages out of your books, Frank.
~ I did try to get them burned.
~ You didn’t try too hard.
~ Well – no.
~ You know – neither did I.
~ I know. They all ran to your tune.
~ They did.
~ You were the Pied Piper of Havoc.
~ Worked like a charm, Frank.
~ Yes, DT – yes, it did.
~ They thought I was a bug.
~ Yes.
~ But I turned them into bugs.
~That you did, DT. And turned them against each other.
~ Yes.
~ And stood back, and watched.
~ Pretty well.
~ To the victor goes the spoils.
~ I was astounded – believe me.
~ And they keep making the same mistakes.
~ I know, Frank. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so funny.
~ The one-eyed man is King in the land of the Blind.
~ Yes, Frank – yes. But you know what?
~ What?
~ I’ve got great vision in both eyes.
We know that Canada Day is really Dominion Day.
But – that said – there is still no better symbol for Canada than the industrious beaver. But even hard-working beavers hard-working beavers need their time at play. This is what I saw.
I was walking along the river and heard the strangest noise.
It was one of those noises which, when I found out what it was, sounded exactly as it should. A beaver was chewing at a branch on the bank of the river.
First there were small rolling noises, as the branch went through its hands.
Then the ‘gnaw gnaw gnaw’.
And then the turning noise and the cycles were repeated.
This went on fifteen minutes or so, until the beaver and I both heard noises in the river.We both saw another beaver approaching.
The beaver-at-gnaw quickly went in her direction (though I can only guess which sex was which). They swam toward each other, then rubbed faces. The approaching beaver made small bawling noises like a young calf. They rubbed bodies and sniffed each other. They then swam in different directions.
This performance – the swimming away, the languid circling, the approaches – went on for twenty minutes. A couple of times the ‘gnawing’ beaver clambered over the over beaver’s back, but this lasted just a few seconds. The beaver that had first approached rubbed noses once again, then made the bawling sounds one more time.
I never appreciated how large beavers are until one of them came up on the bank. The water was clear enough to see their feet and tail move underwater (I wonder if the portion out of the water might have the 1/10 proportion of an iceberg). The sun was setting and they became difficult to see.
However they decided to part anyway. One began to go down river toward the harbour and one headed to the other shore.
Perhaps they had just had a date. Perhaps they had just arranged for a date. Whatever the case, I had the distinct impression they were more than friends.
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