A Bad Case of the Yeats
Posting has been very slow lately for two reasons:
- Most immediately, Central Texas has been iced up for the first time in several years and I have been housebound for most of three days. The roads aren’t too bad anymore, but I’ve almost gotten killed trying to walk (I was never very good at that in the first place – geek genes). Monday, I drove in, parked my truck, stepped onto the running board, and thought, “What a bunch of wimps; the roads aren’t bad at all…Waaaaah!” The roads weren’t bad, but my running board was slicker than a ski jump. This afternoon I drove in, parked my truck, carefully stepped over my running board onto the sidewalk, and thought, “What a bunch of wimps; the roads aren’t bad at all…Waaaaah!”
- I just haven’t had a whole lot to blog about lately. The goings-on in the Episcopal Church continue to go on their merry way, and I just can’t even work up a chuckle anymore. Christians continue to be persecuted; unborn babies continue to be slaughtered; the culture continues its slide to the bottom of the toilet bowl; I read the Epistle of Jude and figure, “Well, it’s not like they didn’t tell us this was going to happen.” Then I yawn and go to sleep. It just all seems so predictable. I think I’ve come down with a bad case of Yeats.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Bummer. Somebody pass the chips and salsa.