Povey Prattle

Bush Announces Veto of Waterboarding Ban By Dan Eggen Washington Post Staff Writer Saturday, March 8, 2008; 1:47 PM President Bush vetoed Saturday legislation meant to ban the CIA from using waterboarding and other harsh interrogation tactics, saying it "would take away one of the most valuable tools on the war on terror." "This is no time for Congress to abandon practices that have a proven track record of keeping America safe," Bush said in his weekly radio address. Congress approved an intelligence authorization bill that contains the waterboarding provision on slim majorities, far short of the two-thirds needed to override a presidential veto. Bush's long-expected veto reignites the Washington debate over the proper limits of U.S. interrogation policies and whether the CIA has engaged in torture by subjecting prisoners to severe tactics, including waterboarding, a type of simulated drowning. The issue also has potential ramifications for Sen. John McCain (Ar...

In a move designed to enhance National Security, President Bush today ordered the closure of all weather forecasting services throughout the World. In a recorded statement Pres. Bush said “my chief concern is to project the Mercun people by providing nashnal shukurty at every level”. The President went on to outline what he thinks some one once told him was the threat. “Frintstance there are tererists in Vermont, waiting for a blizzard so that they can put rice in the nations supply of maple syrup. We all know the threat from rice in. We cannot give them advance notice with weather forecasts. Throughout this great and free country there are dangerous cells of Al Colda recruits believed to be harbouring vast and mobile supplies of W.M.C’s (Weapons of Mass Cooling). In the ‘vent of a heat wave forecast they are even now preparing to plug in these W.M.C’s and thus overload the system and cause nashnul blackouts, and chaos in this Administrayshun”. The President went on to outline wha...

My maternal Uncle Harold was a cobbler. But during the later 1950’s, mending shoes became a precarious way of making a living. So Uncle Harold left his Last , and signed on to be a ‘bus conductor (ticket seller). This was not his forte. He was slow and fairly inept. As luck would have it, he “conducted” on a ‘bus route which I took to school. I could hardly ignore him. So I greeted him “hello Uncle Harold” But now that my school-mates knew his name, they teased him mercilessly as “Harold”. I would sink into my seat in embarrassment. Luckily the Bristol Omnibus Company recognised his true skills, and moved him to the Easton Road ‘bus depot where he repaired the leather straps and pouches which all conductors used. In 2004 I flew from Boston to London to visit with my brother Martyn, his wife Wendy, and their children Laura (then aged 16) and Sam (then aged 7). I took a ‘bus from London to Bristol, and even as I travelled I thought “I must take Sam to the Bristol Museum”. Arr...

Three or four years ago I was visiting a wonderful older parishioner, Maude Atchason. She’d lived as a widow for many years, and now in her late eighties, lived a very quiet and (for her) an entirely boring life. She said “I sometimes wonder why I have lived so long”. “I am glad that you did” was my reply. “Oh” she said. “Yes” I replied, “if you had not lived so long, I would not have had a the great pleasure of knowing you”. She said back in her chair, and thought for a moment. Then it came from her lips to my ears “that’s quite a line isn’t it. I bet you use that on old the old ladies”. Touché. Yesterday I was with a good friend whose beloved partner died last October. We were at a “Coffee Klatch” together, and he was ready to leave whilst I was engaged in a good conversation. By the time I was through, he was also in conversation, so not wishing to disturb him I moved outside to have a cigarette and wait. He can out three or four minutes later; asking me if I was ready to lea...

The other day I stopped into a local supermarket to buy some sliced “rotisserie turkey breast”. It’s the best available, it actually tastes like turkey. The surly clerk (shop assistant) stood before me and uttered not a word. I ordered ½ lb of the turkey. Again wordless, she moved back to the slicer. After a minute it became clear that she was slicing far more than ½ lb. I called out to her “I just need half a pound”, and she ignored me. She brought the meat to the scale. It weighed 1lb.42 ounces. I reminded her that I needed but half an pound. She glared at me as if I had said something indecent, and wordless again, she divided the turkey slices, glaring at me as she did so. My now .45 lb of turkey breast in my hand, I thanked her. And you have already guessed what I know: this particular supermarket chain is a very poor employer. Although I wished that the clerk could have been more upbeat, I think that I understand the reason for her surliness. Her bosses do not respect her or treat...

(Adapted from a story told yesterday (2nd March ’08) by the Revd. David Danner in his sermon at All Angels by the Sea, Longboat Key, FL) A Priest and his Atheist friend were playing golf. The Priest blessed himself with the sign of the Cross when putting. His putting was perfect. The Atheist fared poorly. He just did not put well. After eight holes he said to the Priest: “I know that you are a believer, and you know that I am an Atheist. But I have been watching you, and see that you make the sign of the Cross before you put. Would you be offended if I also made the sign of the Cross”. The Priest replied: “Sure, make the sign of the Cross if you wish, but it will not do you a bit of good” . Ready to be offended the Atheist asked “why?” . “Because“ , replied the Priest, “you are a lousy putter”.

I moved from England to Massachusetts in 1976. I’d been ordained Deacon in Bristol (U.K.) Cathedral on 27th June, and the then Bishop of Western Massachusetts (Alexander Doig Stewart) had asked me to become Deacon-in-Charge (later Priest-in-Charge) of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Fitchburg, MA. I’d met Bishop Stewart the year before when I did a summer internship in western Massachusetts. I came to Good Shepherd on a two year contract, which stretched into four years. Those four years morphed into thirty, and I have never served a parish in England. It was clear from day one that Good Shepherd and I were a good match. It was a blue collar parish, established in west Fitchburg in 1901 by C.T. Crocker, the beloved and beautifully paternalistic owner of many local paper mills. He was a good employer, and our sub division of west Fitchburg had its own moniker “Crockerville”. The people of Good Shepherd were loving and generous to a fault, and I bloomed under their care. I met ...