The forty days associated with Christmas and Epiphany continue. The coming of the Savior in the course of the liturgical year is further made manifest. So too is the relationship between the sacred and the secular.
The Sunday after Epiphany, that which falls between the 7th and the 13th of January, is commemorated in England as Plough Sunday, when the beginning of the agricultural year is celebrated. Farmers will arrive at the parish church in their tractors, which are blessed along with the seeds for planting, as found in the official worship book of the Church of England. The day is also remembered by Morris dancing after church services, where a homily for the occasion is often proclaimed.
As if that were not enough, we found this little gem by one Matthew "Rev" Simpkins, accompanied by his fretless banjo.
We went out weeping and sowed
But when we’re going home is not ours to know
It’s not ours to know when we’ll break bread together again
And so, our response to the "Christmas-Season-Lasts-Forty-Days" tirade continues.
The forty days associated with Christmas and Epiphany continue. The coming of the Savior in the course of the liturgical year is further made manifest. So too is the relationship between the sacred and the secular.
The Sunday after Epiphany, that which falls between the 7th and the 13th of January, is commemorated in England as Plough Sunday, when the beginning of the agricultural year is celebrated. Farmers will arrive at the parish church in their tractors, which are blessed along with the seeds for planting, as found in the official worship book of the Church of England. The day is also remembered by Morris dancing after church services, where a homily for the occasion is often proclaimed.
And so, our response to the "Christmas-Season-Lasts-Forty-Days" tirade continues.
The forty days associated with Christmas and Epiphany continue. The coming of the Savior in the course of the liturgical year is further made manifest. So too is the relationship between the sacred and the secular.
The Sunday after Epiphany, that which falls between the 7th and the 13th of January, is commemorated in England as Plough Sunday, when the beginning of the agricultural year is celebrated. Farmers will arrive at the parish church in their tractors, which are blessed along with the seeds for planting, as found in the official worship book of the Church of England. The day is also remembered by Morris dancing after church services, where a homily for the occasion is often proclaimed.
And so, our response to the "Christmas-Season-Lasts-Forty-Days" tirade continues.
The forty days associated with Christmas and Epiphany continue. The coming of the Savior in the course of the liturgical year is further made manifest. So too is the relationship between the sacred and the secular.
The Sunday after Epiphany, that which falls between the 7th and the 13th of January, is commemorated in England as Plough Sunday, when the beginning of the agricultural year is celebrated. Farmers will arrive at the parish church in their tractors, which are blessed along with the seeds for planting, as found in the official worship book of the Church of England. The day is also remembered by Morris dancing after church services, where a homily for the occasion is often proclaimed.
The forty days associated with Christmas and Epiphany continue. The coming of the Savior in the course of the liturgical year is further made manifest. So too is the relationship between the sacred and the secular.
The Sunday after Epiphany, that which falls between the 7th and the 13th of January, is commemorated in England as Plough Sunday, when the beginning of the agricultural year is celebrated. Farmers will arrive at the parish church in their tractors, which are blessed along with the seeds for planting, as found in the official worship book of the Church of England. The day is also remembered by Morris dancing after church services, where a homily for the occasion is often proclaimed.
VIDEO: Chaim Topol as Tevye, in the 1971 motion picture Fiddler on the Roof, which won three Academy Awards, and was nominated for Best Picture and Best Actor.
There have been stories of people reaping a fortune in millions of dollars from state lotteries, only to squander it away and subsequently ruin their lives. But oh, no, not me, mes amis. I would be one to show the world that this need not happen.
How dare do I make such a bold claim, you ask, dear minions?
One of my cousins was a professional baseball player. And while he was never among the first-string high-profile talent, his contract did run into the millions before he retired. He now lives in a very fine (and from what I am told, very big) house, and he makes his living as a contractor, building backyard decks. No, he does not just own a company that builds decks; HE builds decks.
This essay is to demonstrate, through the depiction of four scenarios, what would happen to me were I to be so fortunate, be it winning the lottery, writing the next great American novel, or just having it fall into my lap. It includes certain prudent measures, not the least of which would be to have a long and serious conversation with that cousin of mine; you know, what's okay, what's not okay. Taking into account roughly thirty percent going to taxes, and ten percent being tithed to the Church (which is the least I could do), I presuppose for this example, that I would be left with sixty percent of the amount in total. Other than that ...
If I won $100,000 ($60,000) ...
... I would settle my credit card debts (which aren't much, but enough to be inconvenient), and any funds borrowed off my inheritance, as well as make up for any deficiencies in my retirement portfolio. I would also trade in my current car and put a big down payment on a new one. The rest would go to the renovation of my townhouse, or maybe getting ahead on my mortgage. My life would not change much, but would improve.
... I would do all the above, except that I would find an estate in the middle of town with a large carriage house and a servant's cottage, to create a neighborhood within a neighborhood, one sufficiently insulated by its landscape and other barriers. My wife and I -- hey, it could happen -- would live in the main house, with a separate entrance at the walk-in basement for at least two boarders, most likely expatriates from the Philippines who work in the home health care industry. There would be a quarter-acre garden for flowers and produce, and a shed for chickens, all under the care of a semi-retired couple living in the carriage house above the three- or four-car garage. The guest cottage would be for a retired priest, who would say private (Traditional Latin) Mass in the chapel to be built on the property, preferably on wheels, because zoning laws are such a pain.
... I would do all the above, and quit my day job. Instead of tithing to the Church, I would set up an endowment with the amount in question, to disperse the interest off the principle. This could lead to the reception of papal honors, in which case I would only accept membership in the Sovereign Military Order of Malta. There's just something about being "sovereign" ...
IMAGE: Artists rendering of Hundredfold Farm, a cohousing village near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Used without permission or shame.
Instead of buying an even bigger estate, I would buy property, either in the Blue Ridge, western Maryland, southern Pennsylvania, or southern Ohio, and build a village. It would follow the “cohousing” model, and would hold between twenty-four and thirty-six residences, or up to about three hundred people. Solicitations would be sent to Catholic homeschooling families, for whom would be secured low-interest loans to begin their new lives. We would establish a corporation to oversee the planning, design, and construction, and later govern it as a homeowners association (only we'd call it a "board of selectmen" presided over by a "mayor" and "vice-mayor"). There would be a common house to function as a "village hall," a chapel, something resembling a post office, and one or more small working farms along the perimeter. A village-based cooperative would own the general store, the workshop managed by a guild, and (finally) a produce stand along the main road nearby.
Finally, I would also establish a trust fund for my son and his family.
+ + +
In the second, third, and fourth scenario, I would hire an accountant to manage the fortune.
In the third and fourth scenario, I would hire an accountant to manage the fortune, and a lawyer to protect it from the riff-raff.
In the fourth scenario, I would be designated the village idiot, as “all day long I'd biddy biddy bum.”
(The above, with some adjustments, is a reprint of a work first published in December 2009.)
Hey, remember these guys? Well, there's more where that came from, but it won't stop us anyway.
Li’l Fred is a nine-year-old boy whose eighteen-year-old brother Justin films and edits short comedy skits, when they're not doing any real work. Now a boy this age is not too young to do light farm chores at the break of dawn, and he'll get a "farm permit" to drive a tractor before long, if he isn't already. And he and his family have even been on the Today show. But if you can ignore his challenge at carrying a tune, he's the feature for this week's Friday Afternoon Moment of Whimsy.
Just when yours truly thought his day job wasn't busy enough this week, along come The Peterson Farm Brothers from Kansas. We sure know all about life on the farm in this writer's family, enough to know that the guy who gets up at seven is at least two hours behind his neighbors. He'd better work on that. Meanwhile, check out their Facebook page, buy the damn tee-shirt, and keep on rockin' with this week's Friday Afternoon Moment of Whimsy.
I'm in post-production and I know it. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
