Tags Again

I have moved heaven and earth. I have tirelessly stalked the wild goose of Mound City. I have beared (sic) the line (sic) in its den, and gotten its number (on a small slip of paper torn off a roll of tickets). I have crossed all the teas in China, dotted Irish eyes when they weren't smiling, and wrestled with the angel of red tape until it said "Uncle." And when I was done doing all that, I sprayed my automobile plates with WD-40, scraped the '06 and '08 stickers off with the flat blade of a screwdriver, and triumphantly applied the '10 tags that I brought home as a trophy.

I may have mentioned before that the process of getting vehicle tags in the great State of Missouri is an ingenious plan to expose the criminal tendencies that lie within the meekest bosom. For if one is never tempted to get one's tags illegally, one must be virtuous indeed. My fourth time around was no exception to this rule.

First, my car failed both inspections (safety and emissions), requiring me to buy a new part to pass each (a light bulb and a mass air flow sensor). I had to wait for the M.A.F.S. to come into the shop on back-order, sweating over my apartment complex's threat to tow cars with expired tags; I then failed to complete all the tests needed to pass the inspection even after driving two and a half hours, city and highway, and had to spend half a day in the shop's waiting room while the techs drove my car around trying to get the sensor to complete the remaining tests. Not a bad day's work - and I mean "day's work," since in three visits I believe I spent over 8 hours in that waiting room, reading Patrick O'Brian novels and sucking on Dum-Dums (a perk of having Dobbs as your primary-care mechanic).

Second - speaking rhetorically, not sequentially - I had to make two visits to City Hall, a charming building modeled on some German Rathaus or other. The first visit, two weeks ago, was to get a copy of my 2006 and 2007 personal property tax receipts, which I couldn't find anywhere. Getting the 2007 receipt was a simple matter of visiting the collector's office and paying $1 for a duplicate copy of my tax bill, showing that I had paid in full. 2006 was another matter; no record of my having paid 2006 personal property could be found in the city's records. After being directed from the Collector's office to the License office to the Assessor's office & back around in varying order by people who gave meaning to the saying about the right hand not knowing what the left hand was doing (e.g., they could see each other's doors along the same hallway, but they didn't know each other's fax or phone numbers), I finally met a truly friendly, cheerful, helpful person in the Assessor's office, who prevented me from going postal and told me what I had to do.

What did I have to do? I had (second-and-a-halfth) to obtain a 2006 personal property tax bill from a county I haven't lived in since late January 2006, after a protracted argument with a county collector who seemed to believe I should drive down to Union, Missouri, to pay it. (Thanks, lady, I needed the laugh.) I am still mystified as to how I was ever allowed to renew my tags in St. Louis City in 2006, or even get a 2007 tax bill from the city assessor (the one I had paid) without showing evidence of paying 2006 personal property. I took great pleasure in infuriating the Franklin County Collector by telling her I believed I must have paid my 2006 personal property to Yuma County, Arizona, by mistake - and if I could prove it, Franklin County, Missouri, could go soak its head - but by that time she had already cut a bill (with "Delinquent" stamped all over it in red ink) and mailed it to my new address.

Then (second-and-three-quarterth) I made my second trip to City Hall and, in spite of another truly helpful human being in the Collector's office, had to run up and down between the first floor and the fourth floor several times. All right, I took the elevator; and the elevator gods must have been smiling upon me, because the door always seemed to be opening just as I walked up to it. There was some controversy, at first, about whether I could pay my Franklin Co. bill in St. Louis city, a controversy which finally came out in my favor (eat your heart out, Franklin Co. Collector lady!). Then it was a simple matter of running up to Room 410 to buy a money order - then running back down to Room 109 to use the ATM because Room 410 only accepted cash or checks - then running back up to Room 410 to complete my purchase - then running back down to Room 109 to turn over the money order so they could send it to Union - then taking a number (aargh) in the License Office so I could finally present all my paper work - renewal application, insurance card, both inspections, both tax receipts, and a partridge in a pear tree - then running back to the ATM to get more cash to pay for the tags - then waiting in line again (briefly) to finish the renewal process - and then I was ready for WD-40 and the blade of a screwdriver!

P.S. A funny thing happened this morning, which I didn't mention to anybody at City Hall. I got a ticket for parking along the curb in my apartment complex. Not that I had any choice; the parking lot was overflowing by the time I got home last night. This place has a chronic parking problem; there are more apartments than spaces to park in. What really stung was that my ticket accuses me of parking where the curb was painted yellow, though in fact, there wasn't so much as a flake of yellow paint anywhere near my car. A few feet further on the curb turned yellow. The injustice rankled until I realized that I had gotten away with parking hard by a "No Parking" sign during last night's Symphony concert, and an hour past the expiration of my parking meter on my first visit to City Hall. Well might one talk of bearding the lion in his den! So what if the lion comes around by one's den to do a little shaving of his own?

Tight Week

My hours, minutes, and seconds this week are packed so tight they squeak. Sorry no updates since Monday. This has been "one of those weeks," and you'll hear about it when I have a spare moment that isn't earmarked for sleeping and eating. For now, expect to hear about some musical joy, some automotive pain, and my ongoing (and somewhat feeble) efforts to live as lean as the times. The picture is a slight hint.

Signing the Cross

From "In the Divine Service"...

Sometimes Christians make the sign of the cross on themselves. What does it mean?

The sign of the cross is a symbol to remind you of the price Jesus paid for you. It is a humble confession that you are a sinner who deserves the death Jesus died for you. It is also a joyful confession that you have been redeemed and forgiven through the bloody sacrifice of God's Son.

The sign of the cross is the symbol that was traced on your forehead (mind) and breast (heart) when you were baptized. In baptism, God buried your old sinful nature in the tomb with Christ, and joined you to His resurrection as His newborn child. So you are God's baptized child. You belong to Him by His grace. You can be sure He loves you, forgives you, and gives you eternal life.

When should we make the sign of the cross? You don't have to make the sign of the cross. But you can do so, as often as you need the reminder about God's grace to you. Do it whenever you want to remember, "Jesus died for me," or "I am baptized!"

Isn't this Roman Catholic? Roman Catholics do make the sign of the cross, perhaps for other reasons. But it is a Christian gesture, and you don't have to be a Catholic to make it. Surely it is good for all Christians to remember that we are baptized and redeemed. If something is good and healthful, should we avoid it simply because others use it wrongly? Should we stop eating fish because Catholics eat fish on Friday? Should we stop baptizing because Catholics do it too? It is enough to understand the symbol and benefit from it. Martin Luther, in his Small Catechism, instructs us to make the sign of the cross every morning and night when we call on our Father in prayer.

When would you suggest using the sign of the cross? At the opening of worship or prayer, the cross can be made while calling on God "in the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Ghost," because Jesus' death on the cross opened the veil and gave us access to God. At Matins and Vespers, you could do the same at the words "Make haste to help me, O Lord," because our help is in the cross of Christ. The conclusion of the Creed, the benediction (blessing) at the end of the service, and after receiving Jesus' body and blood are other good times to remember the cross and baptism. Why? Because the faith we confess in the creed is centered on the cross. The peace the blessing promises us flows from the cross. And the Lord's Supper applies Jesus' sacrifice on the cross to you in a very personal, concrete way.

Is there a wrong way to use the sign of the cross? God's Word does not require us to sign ourselves with the cross. There is no biblical command to do it at certain times, or with particular frequency. Nor does God promise miraculous signs or material blessings through signing the cross. We should not use the cross as a good-luck charm. Nor should we feel burdened by obligation to sign the cross.

Make use of the sign of the cross as often or as seldom as you see fit. There is no need to be concerned if your neighbor uses it more or less often than you do. This doesn't mean he or she is a better or worse Christian than you. Assume that your neighbor feels a need for encouragement from the simplest sign that tells the Gospel story. Perhaps you will be encouraged as well!

Laws of Felinity

This is hardly an original statement, but I don't own two cats. We just happen to live together. They have their rules, I have mine, and to the extent that we can make each other understand our rules, we get along quite well.

Sinead's Rules

• Never pick me up unless you want to be clawed. When I feel like being held, I will climb onto your chest while you read on the couch or in bed. Get grabby at your own risk.
• Don't disturb me when I am minding my own business, e.g. lying in a patch of sunlight. The consequences will not be severe (a painless warning nip, at most). But if I want attention, I will meow at you or roll flirtatiously on the floor in front of you.
• So watch where you're walking, fatso.
• Don't push me off the desk, bed, etc. against my will. You can tell by the peeved sound I make that I hate this.
• Keep a close eye on the contents of the food and water dish. I have a big appetite for such a petit kitty. Plus, I've been experimenting with scooping water with my forepaw; there have been some messy accidents.
• Be advised: any loose paper or plastic is mine to chew on or shred with my claws.
• I can tell when you're calling me in that pretend-friendly way, when you really want to catch me and stuff me in the pet taxi to go to the vet. Please don't insult my intelligence.
• Since you are so insistent about it (and particularly since you situated an ottoman next to your desk chair), I will stay off the desk while you are working - but only as long as you reach down and rub me between the ears every minute or so.
• Excuse me, but the fastest route from one end of the apartment to the other is through the tangle of computer cables next to your desk. You will just have to put up with the fact that, quite by accident, I will turn off the master power switch to everything on your desk about every 50th time I make the trip. Which, when Tyrone and I are playing, may be daily.
• Obey the meow. It means I need loving.

Tyrone's Rules

• Obey my meow, too. It means "treat time."
• I will let you pick me up and cradle me in your arms for a minute or so, but when I signal that I want down, kindly respect my wishes.
• Any time the apartment door is open will be considered a legal round of the "run out in the hallway" game. You win if you can squeeze through the door without letting me out. If I win, I get to roll on the hall rug and laugh at you. For extra points, I may run upstairs and roll on the carpet there. Grabbing me or slamming the door on me is a foul.
• If I am able to open a cupboard or closet door, I will do so in order to teach you a lesson in being more careful with your belongings.
• I expect to be allowed to help any time you change the bedclothes, sort the laundry, or write checks to pay bills.
• I want to be greeted when you come home from work. Most days, I will be waiting on the piano. Know when to expect me to put my forepaws on your chest, touch my nose to your lips, and sniff your breath. What you had for lunch is my business.
• I may also wake you up at 3 a.m. by shoving your chin with my forehead. This means I want loving. You might as well wake up and give it, because I'm not going to quit.
• If, however, I lie on the bed or couch with you - or, less often, on you - leave me alone. If you interfere with my relaxation, I will take it somewhere else.
• Thank you for letting the bathtub faucet drip. Nothing makes me happier than playing with dripping tapwater and licking the dampness around the drain.
• I am personally entitled to all water drained from tuna cans.

Robbie's Amendments

• We'll see if this carefully-positioned book-end spares the master-power switch from being randomly switched off. For goodness sake, I turned the power-strip sideways to keep it out of your way! I have trouble finding the switch when I need it!
• Cross me too many times on the closets and cupboards, and I'll get the duct-tape out again.
• When I tell you to get down off the table, desk, kitchen counter, etc., don't give me a dumb look. You know exactly what I mean.
• If you're going to lie down in my path at 3 a.m., prepare for pain. In the darkness, without my glasses, with my eyes glued shut from sleep, I won't see you lying there.
• Your cuddly behavior - particularly Tyrone's head-butts and Sinead's purring - will be deemed adequate compensation for all the other trouble, including poop-scooping and picking cat hair out of the vacuum filter. So keep it up.
• You should also recognize the times when I need comforting the most. Your concern is appreciated.
• Your help making the bed is always appreciated.

Marvelous Nonsense

Here is one of my favorite pieces of nonsense. It was allegedly written by English humorist and playwright Samuel Foote in 1754, to test the memory of an actor (Charles Macklin) who claimed to be able to recite anything he had read once. There are variants of this story, however, as there are variants of the text itself, and as no version has any support in the memoirs of the persons supposedly involved, we can safely consign it to the realm of folklore. Nevertheless, it is important nonsense. It introduced the word "Panjandrum" to the world, it was popularized a century later in a children's book illustrated by Randolph Caldecott, and within living memory it has continued to be passed down by parents and teachers as a whimsical exercise in rote recitation. It provokes thought and discussion about the relationship between imagery and memory, and between grammar and meaning. It is part of a tradition that includes Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky" and Noam Chomsky's famous sentence "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously." It is neither a poem nor a story, but merely a brilliant piece of nonsense that has become part of the literary treasure of the English language. I give you

The Great Panjandrum

So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make an apple-pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop. "What! No soap?" So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyulies, and the great Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all fell to playing the game of catch-as-catch-can till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.

Puzzlers

A friend of mine passed along some puzzlers, and now I pass them on to you. The answers will be in the comments, so you needn't spoil yourself by accident.

1. You're on the old TV game show "Let's Make a Deal." Monty Hall presents you with a choice of three doors. Behind one of the doors is a shiny new car. Behind each of the other doors is a goat. You choose Door Number One. Monty Hall, knowing which door conceals the car, opens Door Number Three and reveals one of the goats. Then he asks if you would like to switch your choice to Door Number Two. If you changed your choice, would you be more likely or less likely to win the new car, or would your chances stay the same?

2. There is three things wrong with this sentance. What are they?

3. You're sailing on a small, closed lake when you throw a 50-pound anchor over the side, and it sinks right to the bottom. Does the water level rise, go down, or stay the same?

4. You're driving over a steep hill. The uphill side is one mile long, and the downhill side is one mile long. Going uphill, your average speed is 30 miles per hour. What speed must you average on the downhill side to have an average speed of 60 miles an hour going up and down?

Imprecise Tackiness

This week's message on the lighted ELCA church sign:

WORRY OFTEN GIVES SMALL THINGS A BIG SHADOW

And here I thought that was a trick of the light!

I know I shouldn't bother, but I keep trying to parse this logically. Is worry a source of light? If not, how can it give things a shadow? Might not shadows contribute to worry rather than vice versa?

I give up. I don't have time to puzzle this out, especially since I'm still stuck on Level 15 of Weffriddles.