Pilate Lite.

The Christian Church is in the midst of Holy Week. Holy Week starts on Palm Sunday, and includes Maundy_Thursday (where the Disciples wouldn't give Jesus a little company on his last night as a mortal, through Jesus' crucifixion on Good_Friday, ending finally on Easter_Sunday, where Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. A tradition in the Episcopal (and other) churches, is to include an informal re-enactment of the Passion by assigning members of the parish to read the different roles found in the Gospel accounts of Holy Week. I've been been Peter, the Centurion, and even Jesus before, but the role I best understand is the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate, who, bowing to the will of the mob, reluctantly sentenced Jesus to death. I've been Pilate three or four times, and I get him. In "Peculiar Treasures", Frederick_Buechner describes Pilate as a tired bureaucrat nearing the end of his career in the backwater of the Roman Empire. He's not a bad person, really, he's just looking forward to retirement, and not strong enough to do the right thing. This year's lectionary has Luke's account of the Passion. It's okay, but John's version has the best interchange between Pilate and Jesus (check it out John 18, verses 28-40, HERE, which contains the classic nihilist line "what is truth?"). Any way, Luke's Pilate is not as interesting. Call it "Pilate Lite".

A & W Rooting.

My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, and his good and great ultra-running buddy, Woody, stopped by the Boro last night on their way to Raleigh to run a hunnerd mile race. These guys are certified lunatics (I view their registration to the Umsteadhundred mile races as certification). Andy confirms that the photo, while not especially flattering, is accurate enough. Imagine how they'll look in a couple of days.

Turtle.

I saw this little sucker catching some rays outside the Manor the other day. Neighbor Zach holds Yertle the Turtle in his hands there. I'm hoping that there'll be fauna on Otis Road as well.

The Big Unit.

I'm a public defender now, but I had a general solo private practice for seven years before this gig. I never figured out how to make a ton of money, but I had plenty of cases. Consequently, I've got lots and lots of case files. Miles and miles of files, as an old Moody Blues song had it. I've got to hang on to them for at least seven years, some of them longer than that. I've had 'em packed in a storage shed behind the Manor, but the shed is among the casualties of the pending sale of the house. So, I got to move them. I rented a big storage unit, and managed to enlist Daughter Caroline to help me out. I knew these kids'd come in handy eventually.

Ya Doesn't Have to Call Me Mr. Johnson.

James J. Brown, a/k/a Professor J.J. Brown, one of my teachers at Stetson Law School, is retiring. He taught Real Property. Stetson was Florida's first law school, and it is among the best trial practice law schools in the country. Professor Brown was part of the reason. 'Course, law school isn't a cake walk, and there was a time when its admissions policy was not as strict as its graduation policy. A lot of folks got in who didn't get out.

When I arrived at Stetson, the admissions policy had become more competitive. They told us at orientation that only about one out of ten college graduates who applied to Stetson was accepted; however, some of the professors there- including Professor Brown- continued under the old model of weeding out the weak students. JJ graded on a bell-shaped curve to get rid of the dross- not what you find in most graduate school programs. A Bell-shaped curve meant that ten percent or so of the class would get A's, maybe fifteen percent would get B's, half the class would get C's, fifteen percent or so would get D's, and ten percent of the class would fail, regardless of what percentage of the material the class as a whole had absorbed. I had a reputation in law school- largely deserved- of being a party guy. My reputation for not studying was actually not deserved, though. I studied a lot. Sadly, since my study time was private and my party time quite public, the professors didn't tag me as a very serious student. I was a former football player, and I was frequently out on the school's softball field. This probably didn't help my reputation much, particularly with JJ. He was a physically slight man, who had MS, and walked with two canes. Add to that my badly timed attempt to work at night for a little spending money, and you have one pretty awful semester.

At the end of my first (or was it my second?) semester, JJ called my into his office and announced that I'd gotten an eighty in his class. An 80 would have been a "D", except that it was the fifth worst grade in the class of 50 students. Ten percent of fifty, if my math is correct, means... well, it meant I'd failed his mandatory class and had to take it again if I wanted to finish law school. I could, of course, leave. No one who'd retaken his class- and at least ten percent of every class he'd taught up to that point had failed it- had ever gotten higher than a "C". I'm no quitter, I told him. He talked to me at length. He was convinced I was a slow learner. "You have a disability", he said, "Just like I do". I'd been Magna Cum Laude at Florida State as an undergraduate, but the couple of years I'd spent at Sewanee hadn't been a wild academic success. Maybe he was right. I'd have to work harder, is all.

I quit my job as a dishwasher at Steak and Ale, told grandma I really did need her help after all, and buckled down. I met with JJ at least every week and reviewed the material. At the end of the semester, I had a 97 average. Of the fifty people in the class, my grade was the sixth best. Which meant I got... a "B plus". No "A". The bell-shaped curve kicked my butt again; however, JJ told me no one who'd ever re-taken his class had done that well. I even used him as a reference. Wait... I didn't get that job. Looks like I'm not that smart afterall.

Still Busy.

Still in Court. With all the stuff I'm trying to get done of late, the weekend only offers a slight respite. Posting'll be spotty for a week or so, but I'll be back at it soon enough.

Been Busy, Again.

I've been in Court all week, and either busy or too tired to do anything special this week. I won't know Jack until tomorrow.

Sweeping Changes.

I'm selling the Manor. The Lads are with their momma. I'm all engaged and stuff. Lots of stuff going on. Good stuff, mostly ('specially the engaged part), but, well, that's a lot of change, and change is stressful. Got another two-week term of criminal court starting Monday. That's not different, but it is stressful. Mostly good stress, but stress, all the same. Exercise helps. Friends and church help. Shoot, I guess I'm covered (as was the floor under my bed. That was nasty).

Tyler's Big Adventure.

Last post I mentioned home improvement stores. That reminds me of a tale from the past. I got four kids. I've mentioned that a time or two. The youngest two, my identical twin boys, Taylor and Tyler, are 14 years old and getting kind of big. They were mighty cute when they were young, but they always had a propensity for mischief. When the Lads were three of four years old, I took them with me to a home improvement store in another county. I was discussing appliances or countertops or something of that sort with one of the experts there, when Tyler mentioned an urgent need to "go number 1". "Hold on just a minute, Son, and I'll take you to the bathroom". As I continued to discuss the finer points of countertops with the sales dude, I noticed that the Twins had disappeared. I was mildly distressed, and started looking about for the boys. They strode from the front of the store, smiling. "All right, Tyler, let's go to the bathroom", I offered. "No, Daddy. I already went". Hmmm. The bathrooms are to the back, they had emerged from the front. This didn't bode well. "Uh, Son, could you show me where you went?" "Sure, Dad". Well, no plumbing for the floor models, but it was, technically, a toilet. I wonder if they sold it.

Roadtrip: Summerville

Lady Di and I traveled about 45 minutes Northeast of the Boro to the growing hamlet of Summerville. Walterboro has its annual Rice Festival; Summerville, a/k/a Flowertown, has the Azalea Festival. Summerville is a mish-mash of old and new. There are plenty of chain restaurants and stores, and newish subdivisions with nice houses at relatively cheap prices for people who want to live near Charleston without paying Charleston prices. There are also old-time Dorchester County politics and lots of ramshackle areas that need a good scrubbing. We were headed to one of the chain stores, Lowe's, to hunt a new convection oven for Lady Di.

Summerville and Lowe's are both excellent places to hunt "Bubbas". Look! There's one now.

We talked with Xavier. Xavier gave us a good price on a convection oven and matching microwave set. 'Course, they couldn't deliver it to Diane until Saturday.

There's the oven.
We checked out Carol, as she checked us out. Diane can't wait until Saturday.