The incomparable gift of Christmas

Christmas at the Casebeer's

This time of year, I almost always feel a sense of urgency to pen a Christmas letter that captures like never before the essence of the season.  The written word has been around a long time.  The likelihood of mixing and matching words sufficiently as to arrive at something entirely new, innovative, and never before achieved in the long, celebrated history of the medium, is about as likely as discovering the one true Santa emerging from your hearth on Christmas morning. For most of us, our most enchanting Christmas memories are from our youth.  To fully experience the magic and majesty of Christmas, it’s almost essential to approach it with a childlike faith.  The older we get, the more difficult that becomes.  In order to recapture the true essence of Christmas, one must do it with a minimum of words, from the purest and most youthful depths of our heart.  That’s my hope for each and every one of us this season, that the spirit of Christmas can purify, cleanse and relieve us of our years of apprehension, disillusionment and animosity, and allow us once more to experience the magical Christmas of our earliest memories; pure, simple and unadulterated; a Christmas awash in the warmth, joy and unconditional fellowship that comes of an innocent heart and a childlike faith. Dear God, help us once more to approach, Christ, Christmas and each other, with open arms, forgiving hearts, and the incorruptible innocence of our youth. In this age of cynicism, apathy and doubt, we hear many disparaging comments about Christmas.  People despair over its commercialism, the financial strain it tends to create for some, and the anxiety and depression it causes in others. We’re told of its origins in pagan tradition and how Christmas trees and Christmas gifts and all the traditional trappings of Christmas were swiped from various archaic cultures down through the ages. We’re told by wise and learned experts that it can be conclusively determined that Christ wasn’t even born in December.  What are we to think?  I’ll tell you what I think.  I think that for myself and many others, our memories of Christmas past and our hopes for Christmas future may well be the very essence of what makes our lives worth living. For us, the spirit of Christmas and everything that the true meaning of Christmas embodies is a fundamental element in our faith, our happiness, our very existence, and everything we treasure in our lives. It’s our memories of Christmas past that strengthen our resolve to keep Christmas vital and alive, and see to it that children for generations to come can experience the joy we knew on those cherished mornings long ago, when we gathered together with precious souls we miss with all our hearts, and shared the precious, incomparable gift of Christmas. SC

Plinks, Plops & Piddles

On the afternoon of the fifth day, a bitter north wind whipped down from the high country. The storm returned with a vengeance and the temperature dropped to around thirty degrees.  I pulled my chair closer to the potbellied stove and poured myself some coffee from the gray granite pot. As twilight approached, I sat staring out the window and listening to the moan of the howling wind as it tore at the shingles and rattled the chimney cap.  I could hear the hiss of sleet as it began filling the ruts and hoof prints in the muddy street, and icicles began to form and hung in profusion from the eaves. The sleet came down fitfully against the window, and periodically a gust of wind would find its way down the stovepipe and the old cast iron heater would belch smoke from around its dampers and red hot lid.  After a while, the rough plank roof began dripping and leaking like a sieve, and one by one a strategically placed company of pots and kettles joined in a chorus of plinks, plops and piddles, as they filled quickly with their captured leakage and began splashing rhythmically on the floor.  Clearing a spot on the frosted windowpane, I squinted and peered outside. The snow was coming down in earnest now, and the street was entirely abandoned, with the exception of a few hardy souls on the boardwalk by the bell tower. I warmed a blanket for myself, kicked back in my chair, and leaned against the wall.  The stove dampers were wide open, and I remember watching the firelight dancing on the wall, then the cobwebs came and darkness took me in. SC

All cleaned up and nowhere to go! ;)

SC

You’ll laugh and think I’m crazy, but it seemed as though I could almost hear the stars.

Placerville, California aka Hangtown

Winter of 1890

Twilight arrived early that evening. The storm abated, and despite occasional flurries, the moon shone down at intervals through a partly cloudy sky, lending an eerie translucence to the scene and casting curious shadows on the glimmering snow. The breathtaking beauty of the mountains once more overcame me.  The magnificent ponderosa pines leaned and swayed precariously, each bow hanging heavy, laden with a mantel of white.  The air was still and silent, with only the occasional pop of an overburdened limb disturbing the quiet as it echoed from the canyon beyond.  I stood for a long time, shivering and staring awestruck across the snow-covered Sierras.  I’ve never experienced air fresher, shadows deeper, or a scene so extraordinarily quiet and pristine.  You’ll laugh and think I’m crazy, but it seemed as though I could almost hear the stars. 

“OBIE”S QUEST”  

WHEN THE IVY HOUSE STILL STOOD

Old Hangtown, CA

Sometimes in the evening,

When the sun is sinking low,

And the pines are silhouetted

And I’ve nowhere else to go,

I remember good ol’ Placerville,

In the distant days of yore,

And I’d very nearly sell my soul

To walk its streets once more.

When its avenues were dusty

And its storefronts weathered wood,

When the girls were thin and lusty,

And the Ivy House still stood;

When Main Street ran a rutted course

And blooms were yet a bud,

The only ride to town, a horse,

And gold was in our blood;

When the Hangman’s Tree served nickel beer,

The Cary House was new,

Lamp-lit saloons exuded cheer

And frosty mugs of brew,

The three mile house was always full,

Lake Tahoe, days away,

And folks who stopped at Hangtown

Almost always came to stay.

Father in Heaven, hear my prayer.

Dear God, please grant my plea.

If I could just awaken there,

If time could set me free,

If once more I could stroll its streets,

And once more breathe its air,

I know there’s soul’s aplenty Lord,

That could benefit from prayer. ;)

SC

The greatest thing about being an American is having roots from all over the world, and living in a society that recognizes, promotes, and celebrates that diversity.

{From the Preamble of the Constitution of the United States of America, 1787}

“We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

The greatest thing about being an American is having roots from all over the world, and living in a society that recognizes, promotes, and celebrates that diversity. My ancestors arrived in the Colonies prior to the Revolutionary War. My Casebeer ancestor, Johan Kasebier, arrived from Germany in 1724, and my Camp and Daniels ancestors arrived in the Colonies from England in the 1630s.  My great grandfather, Henry Stancil, was French Canadian, and Scotch Irish roots run deep in my family tree. Each branch of the family sent sons to war to provide the freedoms we Americans enjoy today. Other family members, such as my great grandfather, Calvin Casebeer, fought to preserve the Union during the Civil War, and my father, Leo Don Casebeer served on the Battleship New Jersey during World War II. 

Freedom is every heart’s desire and every just government’s goal, but prior to our Constitution, liberty was a mighty illusive concept. My ancestors risked all they had in their quests for freedom, because in case after case, their homelands had very little appetite for religious freedoms.  In far too many cases, Kings, Queens, and yes, far too often, powerful religious institutions, dictated religious beliefs. Bigotry, intolerance and bondage were generally the result, and the freedom we enjoy today was little more than a dream.

Our Constitution and America’s other historical documents demonstrate very clearly that America’s collective conscience, as reflected by our chosen leaders, requires constant scrutiny and surveillance.  Even in a democracy of, by, and for the people, justice and equality are only as perfect as the conscience of that people.  Even America’s grand and glorious democracy reflects not only our goodness but also our greed.  Freedom is not a privilege to be taken lightly.  Freedom is a right and a responsibility, a perishable torch to be diligently tended and faithfully passed along.  Freedom burns within our hearts, ignited by the founding fathers, and it falls to us to keep that flame alive. America’s most trusted and time-honored institutions are only as righteous as the hearts of our citizens, our most godly leaders only as just as the collective conscience of their constituents and the most telling measure of a nation’s heart is the compassion of its people.

As a people, we have much to be thankful for this holiday season. As a nation, we benefit from the efforts of all the dedicated people who have secured the freedom we enjoy today, and from a wealth of historical documents like the following extraordinarily relevant proclamation.  SC

A Proclamation.

By the President of the United States of America.

Washington,D.C.

October 3, 1863

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three.

By the President: Abraham Lincoln

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

The Bounty and Blessings of God’s original Creation

I’m frequently bewildered by the attitude of some Christians who will insist passionately on one hand that the Lord created this planet, saw that it was good, and then created mankind as its caretakers, to dress and keep it. And then, in the next breath tell you they feel absolutely no responsibility to act as good stewards of the earth, because it’s all going to burn up anyway. Christians have anticipated the second coming of Christ for over two thousand years.  We may well continue doing so for two thousand more.  To me, it seems reasonable to believe that anyone professing to follow the teachings of Christ, doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with their God, would have compassion and empathy for the generations of mankind, and all creatures great and small, who will inherit an earth reflecting, dependant largely on our stewardship, either the bounty and blessings of God’s original creation, or an infested and withered shell. God expects us to be faithful stewards of everything with which He has entrusted us.  And, according to my Bible, there will come a day when we’ll each be held accountable. SC

Thank you Lord for grandma's and for memories of our youth

When I was very young, I was occasionally blessed to spend time with my great grandmother at her home on Reservoir Hill.  My favorite room was the kitchen.  Even now, I can close my eyes and picture it in every detail; just as it looked those long years ago. I can see the old wood range in the corner of the cozy kitchen, and hear the clanking of its lids as great Grandma painstakingly brought the range to life. I remember how the nickel handles and black cast iron stovetop shone in the flickering light of the coal oil lamp as she polished them with a wax covered bread wrapper. I smell the sulfur and see the flash and flutter of the wooden match as she lit the crumpled newspaper, the sound of the dampers being opened, and the crackling of the fire as Grandma carefully fed kindling to the growing flame. I remember peeking in through the open dampers at the glowing embers on the grate, watching their light dancing on the wall, and gazing up at the warming oven in expectation of the golden brown treasures that would soon be steaming inside. And my mouth literally waters at the memory of aromas as Grandma began to cook; the sizzling of the bacon, the fragrance of frying eggs, and the enticing aroma of coffee in the graniteware pot. Thank you Lord for grandmas and for memories of our youth, and the joy it brings to share them with our friends.  SC

Enlightenment and Justice

The eclectic, dynamic, philosophical populace which comprises the vast middle and virtual heart of this incomparable republic knows well where we’ve been, appreciates where we’re at, and anticipates with great hope where we are going.  It’s sad that some won’t follow, but it’s time to let them go, and strive onward ever onward toward our goal. Our goal, much like that of our nation’s founding fathers, is quite simple: a more perfect union, and the greatest degree of liberty achievable within a framework of just laws, assistance for those who require assistance, and fundamental environmental safeguards. Despite their obstructionism, those who oppose our goals must be held blameless. Some are led by their better angels to rise above their ignorance and base, primordial natures and strive for high ideals, while others, by their natures, are unable. It’s not their fault, and we must feel pity rather than petulance for them, but we must under no circumstances allow them to hinder us from our cause or rob us of our joy in its pursuit. 

   Since its inception, our Republic has emerged slowly but steadily from the world’s history of bigotry, racism and intolerance, toward a more just, merciful and compassionate society. At this moment in time, our country is more polarized than at any time since our Civil War, but this is one moment in time. We survived our Civil War and we will survive this. Martin Luther king Jr. said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” Despite the greed and corruption that will always be a threat to the greater good and the common man, more than ever in the history of the world, our society as a whole seeks enlightenment and justice. And today more than ever, those things are attainable if we rein in our petty, partisan differences and work together for truth, justice and the American way. SC  

Some time ago I posted the first 18 chapters of my historical novel to my blog. 

Go to my website: www.shannoncasebeer.com 

 I've provided a link to take you directly to

OBIE'S QUEST

If you pray that God will bless others for you, you may well be disappointed. But pray that God bless others through you, and prepare to be a blessing for the Lord. SC

SC

• I realize there are many who prefer to believe that if they prayerfully point out a problem, the Lord will fix it. I'm no theologian, but in my experience, your prayers are likely to be more effective if you step out in faith and ask the Lord to help you fix the problem.

THE PROUD RESULT OF LIBERTY

My dad, Leo D. Casebeer 

Served aboard the Battleship New Jersey during WWII

VETERAN’S DAY 2014

Lost and fallen we may be:

The dreadful price of liberty.

Counted now among the lost;

Our souls applied toward freedom’s cost.

But do not think us lost in vain.

Despite the grief, despite the pain,

Our sacrifice was gladly paid,

That freedom’s banner never fade.

If you would honor what we’ve done,

Hold high the torch from sun to sun.

Lift up the flag that all may see

The proud result of liberty.

SC

November 11th, 2014

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SC

Радость - это святое. Я хотел бы пожелать вам радость.

I wish you joy.

JOY
Happiness is transient:
Fleeting pleasures many find;
Passing quickly like lost youth or morning mists.
Joy is everlasting. Joy soothes a weary mind.
Joy discreetly fills our heart;
Then joy persists.
SC

LITTLETHICKET

Littlethicket

A Halloween Tale

Late one autumn evening,

All the leaves was orange and brown,

And the pines was mighty perty

With the moon a beamin’ down.

There was barely just a breath of breeze.

The woods were cool and still,

And I was out a listening

For the falls last whippoorwill.

I sauntered around the corner

Of the house, out by the deck,

And I couldn’t help but grinning

As I stopped and craned my neck.

I peeked in through the window,

Where the Misses was at work,

And I recognized the duty

That no man could ever shirk.

She had finished baking goodies,

And was standing at the sink.

She was reaching for the dipper,

Just to get herself a drink.

When without a bit of warning,

Not inkling or a trace,

I sprang up at the window

To confront her face to face!

Well it must have been horrendous

When she saw me glaring in,

With the darkness all around me

And the moonlight on my grin.

Cause it wasn’t but a second

Till her color went real poor,

And her knees collapsed beneath her,

And I heard her hit the floor!

Our Scotty looked real nervous

As he lit out for the shed,

And I figured it was likely

That was where I’d make my bed.

Well you can’t even imagine

How I felt there all alone.

Just the thought of going in the house

Struck terror to the bone.

I figured she’d be coming to,

And I figured she’d be hacked!

I wouldn’t get no goodies.

I knew that for a fact.

When at last I peeked in through the door,

She grabbed me by an ear!

I took an awful beating.

The price I paid was dear!

I was quick to holler uncle,

Or it’s likely I’d be dead.

I was right about the goodies.

And it’s cold as penguin poop out in the shed!

SC

        

ETERNITY

Seeing no one, I reached out anyway.

Velvet black silence consuming me,

Motionless, oppressive and uninterrupted.

The only sound, the last labored beating of my own feeble heart.

And then, from beyond the desolate void which enveloped me,

A firm hand joined unexpectedly with mine.

My pulse no longer relevant, my last breath expelled,

A rush of reassurance filled my soul,

A warm embrace, and eternity took me in.

SC

We scattered Dad's ashes here on the hill a few years ago. It's a special place.

UP ON THE HILL

Up on the hill where the pines grow dense

Where the fields are green and the sky immense

Scatter one day my last remains

To be drawn in the earth by the gentle rains.

Gladly did I tread this place

With the gentle breeze upon my face,

A faithful dog for company,

And benevolent sun beaming down on me.

Thank the Lord for the time we had

When rest was blessed and toil was glad,

When joyous hearts rejoiced in truth,

And we shared our hopes and dreams and youth.

Look to the heavens bright and blessed;

See me satisfied, caressed;

Know at last I’m free from care,

My dust is here, but my spirit there.

 

10/18/13

SC

OZARK AUTUMN at LITTLETHICKET

SC

AUTUMN IN THE OZARKS

SC

“Raccoon up the ‘simmon tree, ‘possum on the ground.  ‘Possum says to the ol’ raccoon, shake them ‘simmons down!”  Like the opossum, I generally have to wait until some more industrious critter knocks some persimmons down.  I just returned from Littlethicket, where I enjoyed several handfuls which I collected off the ground.  While folks will insist that persimmons are best enjoyed after the first frost, if I hold off until then, the ol’ raccoons are fat and sassy, and the persimmons are only a memory. Having returned to the house, I’ll now wash the bitter aftertaste away with a bit of gin & tonic, and then settle in and determine whether or not I’m sufficiently fortified to subject myself to the national news. Have a good evening.  SC

Your best hope for contentment in the autumn of your life is the celebration of seasons that you’ve shared.

1982

Years ago I was a member of a little country church. On numerous occasions our preacher would descend from the pulpit and announce; “Now I’m going to talk to you like I love you.”  That’s what I intend to do now.   Each of us begins our lives with high hopes and lofty expectations. In order to fulfill those expectations, most of us marry.  Fully aware that many marriages fail, we press onward, confident that our relationship will beat the odds and flourish forever.  Years pass, life happens; hardships bring disillusionment and despair.  Our marriages become tedious and we struggle with the prospect of living the rest of our lives and never again enjoying a mutually fulfilling relationship. Eventually we despair and consider other options.  Don’t do it.  You’ll never replace those early years of a mutually fulfilling marriage.  Relationships with those with whom we share a history can’t be reproduced or replaced. Don’t try.  During difficult times, immerse yourself in memories of better days.  Devote yourself to mutual goals.   Deepen your appreciation for shared experience and achievements.  Celebrate family and its many rewards. Reconcile yourself to the fact that, while you can’t go back, happiness can be found by moving forward and recommitting yourself to the life you’ve built together.  Your best hope for contentment in the autumn of your life is the celebration of seasons that you’ve shared. Shower your spouse with unconditional love and make certain everyday you’re worthy of theirs.  SC

www.ShannonCasebeer.com

If you're looking for a diversion, check out my website at:
www.shannoncasebeer.com.

A Whisper yet Unheard

A poem is like an early rose

Before the bloom has come,

Or the crawling caterpillar

That the butterfly is from.

A poem is like new sherry

Before ageing makes it sweet,

Or the passion of two lovers

Yet to meet.

When a poet writes a poem

He creates it word by word,

But until its read by one who cares

It’s but a whisper yet unheard.

And though a poem can live forever,

A book may be its tomb,

For though the poet plants the seed,

Only you can make it bloom.

SC

And joyously remove one candle from our cake.

Looking back, our lives whiz by before we know what hit us.  We spend our first thirty years thinking about our future, the second thirty thinking about our past, and our last year’s wondering what the hell we were thinking!  The older I get, the more adamant I become in my belief that we should start out old and grow younger every year.  On each successive anniversary of our birth, we could assemble all our friends and family for a truly heartfelt celebration, and joyously remove one candle from our cake.  What could be better than to spend the first fifty years of our life, looking forward to becoming a little boy, and tormenting little girls! SC  

Note:  In my current efforts to be the very best I can be (or at least look a little younger) I've shaved off the mustache and done away with the gray.  What do ya think?

“Behind every great man is a great woman”, and behind every homeless drunk are two. SC

This little post will not be well received.  So be it. Down through the eons of time, empires, dynasties and eminent civilizations, have achieved great heights, and then come down like the salmon leaves of autumn, brought low by the same troublesome human nature that has hobbled mankind since Cain cudgeled Abel. Learned philosophers and renowned historians have devoted their lives to the study of these events, producing ponderous, voluminous anthologies, which grace the shelves of celebrated centers of higher learning all over the world.  And today, when similar behavior threatens our own aspiring metropolis, we scratch our heads and wring our hands and wonder what the hell happened.  I feel tremendous empathy for people as individuals. As a species, I think we’re highly overrated. Some of you are aware of the French Revolution, the Russian Revolution, and all variety of other revolutions, huge revolutions, small revolutions and tiny little revolutions which were never even recorded, because nobody survived to tell the tale. What caused all these catastrophes?  The answer is simple: greed. It’s a common and too often repeated cycle.  A small percentage of people accumulate unimaginable wealth, and this allows them to make the rules. Not surprisingly, they make more rules which allow them to accumulate more wealth. Eventually these people have accumulated most of the wealth and as a result they make most of the rules.  This cycle reaches a point where these people are so embarrassed by their wealth that they support social programs in order to keep other less fortunate people from starving. This downward spiral continues and eventually the wealthy and privileged classes reconcile themselves to their inexcusable wealth, and begin doing away with social programs in order to reduce their own taxes. This cycle continues to spiral out of control until eventually the impoverished masses take desperate steps in order to feed their starving children, heads roll and rivers of blood run through the streets. In our society today, we hold elections.  During these elections people have a choice.  They can vote for people who are aware of these devastating cycles and thus strive to prevent them, or they can vote for others whose campaigns are funded by the privileged class, who sit behind their mahogany desks, on their ever expanding posteriors, and lay others off, in order to cushion their own luxurious retirement.  Soon you will have your opportunity to vote.  Give this cycle some thought and vote accordingly.  SC     

                                                                                                       

                                                                                                       

Autumn

October passes quietly in a flourish of pastels.

Its brightest days are as special as they are brief.

Its touch is deep and long-lasting,

And its passing leaves us, as it does all of nature,

Grey, exposed and vulnerable.

When November comes the trees have dropped their leaves;

The sun is sluggish with the cold and rides atop a sullen mist,

Just above the oak tops, to the south.

The breezes, like rowdy children, toss the leaves in each other’s faces.

The rustling and the rattling is their laughter,

And the memory of their laughter is our joy.  

SC

This is almost certain to get me in trouble. So be it.

This is almost certain to get me in trouble.  So be it. In a few months, Lord willing, I’m going to turn 63. I’m going to share with you one of the most important things I’ve learned over the last 63 years.  If you love someone, tell them.  I’m not talking about being promiscuous, and I’m not suggesting you be unfaithful to your spouse. I’m just talking about good, wholesome, Christian compassion.  I’m talking about being demonstratively compassionate, just like Christ suggests.  In JOHN, chapter 15, Christ says, “9“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. 10If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. 11I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. 12 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.”  I suggest you highlight this scripture and practice it always, regardless of the consequences.  And if you love someone, tell them.  They deserve to know.  SC    

Enjoy the incomprehensible feast of life

SC

Once again the dogwoods are the early harbingers of approaching autumn.  Soon the sassafras and sumac will contribute their pastel hues of orange and scarlet. Once again we anticipate the taste of ripe persimmons, the appearance of the ubiquitous pumpkin, the plaintive calls of southbound geese, and all the traditional trappings of harvest. Despite all these pleasant expectations, the close of summer and approach of fall invariably result in a feeling of melancholy for me.  As a young man I tended to envision time as a vast, unlimited resource; time it seemed was an inexhaustible sea.  Now in the autumn of my life, each hour is increasingly precious, and I thirst for each minute as it drips away from an alarmingly finite pool.  It seems now a natural tendency to weigh the substantial pile of spent autumns which I find behind me, against the increasingly dwindling weight of those that I might reasonably expect to find ahead. Still, fall is traditionally and unquestionably a time of thanksgiving and celebration.  We take stock of a year rapidly waning; brace ourselves against winter’s icy chill, thank God for our many blessings during the innocuous months now behind, and pray with some trepidation that our careful preparations thus far will prove sufficient to see us through to spring. In the meantime, prepare the table, cherish friends, and enjoy the incomprehensible feast of life.  SC