This will have to be short; I only have a few minutes left of my lunch break. This weekend didn't go quite as planned, as in not at all as planned. It doesn't seem like they ever do anymore. Anyway, Saturday, we were supposed to do my dad's birthday, but some stuff came up that most of the family couldn't make it. Sunday was the first wave of open houses, so that and the normal church thing kept everyone running the entire day. We did stop by my parents after Sunday evening service for a couple hours to drop off Dad's birthday gift and chat a little. Monday, I was planning on working in the power shed all day and maybe getting a couple more loads of rocks from my parents place, but instead, we went on a cleaning and organizing binge. I'm tired of never being able to find anything, so I declared enough is enough; we spent around sixteen hours straight cleaning, sorting, filing, organizing, tossing, etc. The problem is that we are less than half-done. We could easily spend another full day before I would consider the place inhabitable by humans. I want to have some people over during June, but I wouldn't want anyone to see what we have right now.

Mark Twain's version of the Battle Hymn of the Republic is making the rounds again. It just goes to show that some conversations are a lot older than many realize:

Mine eyes have seen the orgy of the launching of the Sword;
He is searching out the hoardings where the stranger's wealth is stored;
He hath loosed his fateful lightnings, and with woe and death has scored;
His lust is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the Eastern dews and damps;
I have read his doomful mission by the dim and flaring lamps --
His night is marching on.

I have read his bandit gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my pretensions, so with you my wrath shall deal;
Let the faithless son of Freedom crush the patriot with his heel;
Lo, Greed is marching on!"

We have legalized the strumpet and are guarding her retreat;*
Greed is seeking out commercial souls before his judgment seat;
O, be swift, ye clods, to answer him! be jubilant my feet!
Our god is marching on!

In a sordid slime harmonious Greed was born in yonder ditch,
With a longing in his bosom –- and for others' goods an itch.
As Christ died to make men holy, let men die to make us rich -–
Our god is marching on.

* NOTE: In Manila the Government has placed a certain industry under the protection of our flag. (M.T.)

Anyway, nothing else really caught my eye other than a piece by P.J. O'Rourke. I know he means it sarcastically, but I'd be willing to give it a try. The U.S. was founded on the concept of the "friends of liberty everywhere, but guardians of our own," which is one of those ideals that have never really been tested, because it never has really been tried. Now is as good a time as any.

Anyway, time is up; gotta get to work.