ST. HOLIDAY STAYS MUM ON ACTUAL NUMBER OF PROGENY

Recent rumors that St. Holiday may have sired more than his acknowledged nine children have set off a firestorm of speculation and intrigue, not only on this continent but across the Pacific as well. Currently in an undisclosed rehabilitation facility for treatment of a serious chocolate addiction, the saintly one has refused to either confirm or deny the rumors, stating through his spokesman, "I can not discuss this sensitive subject, especially without the permission of my secret children, and especially at this trying time when I am dealing with an affliction that threatens my marriage, health, life and even my very credit rating." Pressed for further information concerning the Colonel of Truth, St. Holiday's publicity manager reminded the restless crowd of media representatives gathered outside the poet's Show Low home that on this day in 430 AD, St. Augustine of Hippo died. St. Holiday can be expected to spend this significant day of remembrance as is his holy custom, by searching for some modern Pelagian heresy to oppose in word and deed. His publicist said that St. Holiday has also been preoccupied with perfecting his signature look, though he has been having some difficulty getting his eyebrows just right, and the clamoring public may have to settle for mere profiles in the future. Furthermore, he has been wrestling with whether to use the word "insouciant" in future blog posts. A confidential source has leaked that St. Holiday is also considering offers from the Federal Witness Protection Program. He may need it if rumors concerning his so-called unacknowledged children are born out.

AMAZING GRACE - ST. HOLIDAY FOUND!

Authorities called off the search for St. Holiday earlier this morning, when he was discovered in the Chicken Catchatorium in his own backyard, huddled next to his hens, shivering and pale. Witnesses report that he looked barned beyond recognition. When he was found, he was conscious, and none of his vital signs seemed impaired. According to one officer, there was a distinct odor of chocolate on his breath. Later, his spokesman released a statement from the father of at least nine, which reads in part: "Of my own free will, I have voluntarily agreed to enter a facility for the treatment of chocolate addiction. Otherwise, the Lovely One won't let me back in my house. I ask for respect and privacy for myself and my children, as we deal with this situation as a family." His wife said, "I'm glad he's alive, but he owes me a couple bags of Hershey's." The name of the rehabilitation facility is a closely-guarded secret, a move designed to thwart the paparazzi. It appears that St. Holiday has hit rock bottom. This stunning development came as a shock to his closest associate, who said, "I saw him just yesterday. He seemed so totally normal. Sure, he staggered some, slurred his speech and collapsed from weakness off and on, but that's just the way he is."

St. Holiday's mother, Gloria Van Sciver, was contacted at her South Jersey residence for a comment. She was busy with her sister, Margie, dipping the last few hundred pounds of chocolates for this season's customers, as she has done for many years. "I don't understand how this could have happened," she said. I warned him about those dark chocolates. If he'd stick with the milk chocolates, he'd be OK. I tell him, no more than a pound a day, like when he was young. He's tall; he can handle it. But will he listen to his mother? No! He never would, not that boy. He's got a mind of his own. Well, now he'll have to pay the price, speaking of which, he better not ask me to pay for his rehab. He got himself into this fix." As she spoke with our source, she began to put together a two-pound box of her mixed milk chocolates with nuts, saying, "I've got to find a way to get this into the rehab facility to him. It will help with the withdrawal."

St. Holiday's latest trouble suggests that he has demons at war with his angel-may-care affability. We can only look upon his willingness to obtain treatment for his chocolate addiction as a positive and courageous act, which will help him move on with his life at last. We will attempt to keep the public informed of his progress as new details are released by the family.

NEWS FLASH - ST. HOLIDAY MISSING!

This just in from our correspondent on the scene. St. Holiday, sometimes referred to as the Dalai Lion of Show Low, has turned up missing. Nationally-known for his absolute obscurity, the quirky, aging hippie was last seen just before neighbors heard his wife scream, "Holiday, did you eat my chocolate?!" According to investigators, the so-called Lovely One discovered incriminating wrappers in the wastebasket of St. Holiday's Throne Room. These wrappers were for Hershey's Nuggets, the special dark chocolate with almonds. Since it is well-known that St. Holiday prefers the milk chocolate variety, police are wondering if perhaps someone else may have deposited those wrappers in the trash. However, the Lovely One has repeatedly employed wild and emphatic gesticulations to assure investigators that no one else would think to enter the Throne Room, unless he was either dressed in full bio-hazard apparel, completely insane, or under the influence of mind-altering drugs. The door is kept safely shut, she stated, and no one, except the Past Master himself, is permitted entrance into his "sanctuary," as he calls it. The family is rattled by this latest development. Some are already tacking missing posters to telephone poles and yellow ribbons to neighborhood trees. Authorities are combing the area with cadaver dogs. There is early suspicion that the Lovely One may have something to do with his disappearance, and it is expected that she will be hauled in for more thorough questioning later this evening. There was mention made by one confidential source of a life insurance policy, but details are sketchy at this time.

Recently, there has been mounting speculation over St. Holiday's health. It was revealed only a few days ago that he is losing his battle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and that he had suffered a relapse into a weekend of shallow thought. The pre-Apocalyptic visionary and Pop of Kings has managed to elude commercial success with his recently-released, shocking expose of the widespread popular discontent with material insecurity, and it is thought that this new failure may have been the proverbial straw that led to present events. Or, he may just be hiding from his enraged wife, who is quite protective of her chocolates. Sweet talk, personal charm, clean jokes and reverent wit may only go so far with the Lovely One.

St. Holiday has never been known for merely flirting with disaster. No, he has a way of embracing it like a lover, kissing it full on the lips, taking it home and feeding it like a poor stray. He is the most self-unmade man to be found among anatomically-correct specimens of mankind. Over the past few months, his agent has been engaged in serious discussions with the Acquisitions Department of the Museum of Natural History concerning the eventual donation of St. Holiday's brain for scientific research and public display. Negotiations have reached an impasse over the color of the jar in which it is to be preserved. The donor has insisted upon a tinted jar, preferably in rose or chromium blue, to mask the depressing gray of his whorly organ. If St. Holiday has finally met his fate, as many hope and some few fear, this issue of tissue may be resolved rather soon.

A PRESSING RELEASE

Early today, sources close to St. Holiday announced a significant symbolic achievement by the trippy quipster so few have come to know and love. Fresh on the behind of his convincing victory in Monday's extreme breakfast competition, the man now known in private circles as Sir Real, is ending speculation by pulling himself out of the running as the Republican vice-presidential candidate. This was entirely unexpected, since he is a registered Independent. Since being passed over by Obama just as Moses was passed over by the Angel of Death, St. Holiday has been inconsolable and almost unavailable for comment. He is a victim of his own non-existant approval ratings, oddly philosophical theatrics and a botox procedure that went horribly wrong. His ragbin style has not helped him either. We hear that recovery efforts are underway. Over the weekend, our subject was spotted on one occasion, clothed in bubblewrap, hollow-eyed and unshaven, muttering, "I hate them; they killed my son." Yet, only hours later, he stood in the doorway of his humble chateau, dressed in his trademark shiny vinyl raincoat, with his palm on the very forefront of his well-informed mind, preparing, as he declared, to rush into a phone booth to change. We believe he meant, to find change, an activity he pursues on weekends to supplement his family budget. Our readers will appreciate that St. Holiday is always unpredictable, except after sunrise.

It probably has not helped his cause that he has long been under surveillance, wanted for questioning, and awaiting amnesty as the most notorious member of Show Low's fashionable underground. How he has eluded the justice system after so many years is a wonderment to all who hate him. Some might think of St. Holiday as just another shot at the buzzer that did not go in, but many recognize that at least the shot bounced around the rim a few times. However, what should we expect from one who grew up during the Great Depression, his own? The few who care for him applaud him as one who is occasionally capable of emotional depth and nuance, who keeps his phaser set on stun, his triglicerides at optimal levels, and his hands from clutching his own throat.

An anonymous source has informed this writer that St. Holiday intends to make a dramatic comeback through a computer-generated replica of himself in high resolution. This is news indeed, since he has never been known to have any resolution at all. We hear that St. Holiday has been working on this project for many years and that he has finally succeeded in constructing a completely-convincing digital doppelganger with realistic facial animation. This he intends to send to assume his new employment as Show Low's grantwriter/housing coordinator, having programmed it for high definition output. Having freed up his time, St. Holiday will download his aging corpus, made of the finest molecules known to man, onto his livingroom couch, where he will devote considerable time to the issue of how to complete the final two things he must accomplish before his own death. It is to be hoped that his digital clone will not fall into the wrong hands.

St. Holiday's name may not be widely known, but the letters of his name, every single one, are known wherever the English alphabet is acknowledged and employed. Therefore, it can be truly stated that much of the world is acquainted with him in a particular manner. Though disappointment and failure are his nightly lullaby, he has at least achieved this measure of global celebrity. One might hope that someday the world will put the pieces together and come to know the entire puzzle which is St. Holiday.

ODES OF SOLOMON, Part 3

The 42nd Ode, which we quoted in a previous post, belongs in substance to a large and greatly neglected body of ancient literature dealing with Christ's descent into Sheol, or the world of the dead, after His crucifixion. The early Christians had an answer to the question of whether the blessings of salvation in Christ are available to the billions of Father's children, who have died not having heard or known of the Gospel plan, its principles and ordinances. Blessed be the name of the Lord, the answer is affirmative.

The fundamental principles of the Gospel are faith in Jesus Christ, repentance, baptism for the remission of sins and confirmation for the reception of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands. Jesus taught Nicodemus that "Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God." (John 3:5). That teaching raises the question, what of that super-majority of the descendants of Adam and Eve who have passed through mortality without an opportunity to receive the ordinances of baptism and confirmation, which Christ taught are a necessary precondition to one being able to enter the kingdom of God? Most who have lived upon the earth have never been acquainted with the doctrines of Christ. How does that square with our notions of the justice of God?

The early Christians believed and taught that Jesus, between the time of His death and resurrection, entered the vast world of spirits and inaugurated a great work of redemption there, preaching the good news to our ancestors and opening the way for their salvation.

The Chief Apostle Peter referred to Christ's work among the dead:

For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the Spirit:
By which also he went and preached unto the spirits in prison;
Which sometime were disobedient, when once the longsuffering of God waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing, wherein few, that is, eight souls were saved by water. (1 Peter 3:18-20)

For for this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit. (1 Peter 4:6)

To quote from the 42nd Ode, "And I made a congregation of living men amongst his dead men, and I spake with them by living lips, because my word shall not be void." What word of Christ would not be void? The promise contained in John 5:25 and elsewhere, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live." This is such an essential and hopeful teaching! Sadly, it has been forgotten or ignored through the ages, leading to many errors in doctrine. The Gospel of Jesus Christ reaches every generation and every nation, if not in mortality then in the realm of spirits. No one of Father's children is denied the blessings of Christ's redemption because of the time and place of their mortal lives. The Lord has and will save all who will adhere to His word, whether in this life or the next.

In a post to come, I will quote from other ancient writers on this important subject.

THE DRAMA & TRAUMA CONTINUE

Well, there's nothing like a polite conversation with a nurse around a cup of your own urine. One look, and she knew immediately that I take vitamins. Totally embarrassing! I had to wait forever for the procedure to take place. I said, "Come on; hurry up; my drugs are wearing off!" The Lovely One was doing her best to shush me up. Finally, after jumping up and down in a public and suggestive way, the nurse came running. The City is invading my privacy as a condition of employment with them. I've always tried to avoid drug testing. Well, let's put it this way: I've always tried to avoid urinalysis.

Tonight is a big night. I am performing another of my scientific experiments in the interest of expanding the knowledge of all mankind. I will be feeding baked beans to my skunks. Wish me luck.

ST. HOLIDAY SLASHES DEPENDENCE ON FOREIGN OIL!

In an act of patriotic sacrifice, after which his name should at least appear in the footnotes of the Annals of Nobility, Holiday quit his job. By so doing, this paragon of the genus hetero sapiens has reduced his personal fuel consumption by an astounding 80%. Of course, now he may not be able to pay for the other 20%, but that's besides the point. This correspondent can almost hear the shrieks of the sheiks when they learn of this startling development, which is sure to inspire imitators across the nation and is already earning the admiration of the Powers that Bedevil. Who would be surprised if St. Holiday is tapped to become our next Energy Czar? He has always been slightly ahead of our time, setting a pace for the rest of the nation. Experts predict an increase of unemployment throughout the country on the heels of Holiday's heroic act.

Reached at his footquarters in the newly-renovated Off Center, the saintly one said, "Now, I recognize how wrung I've been." Pressed for further comment, he said, "What do you expect from someone tortured at Gitmo? I don't know nothing. I'm innocent." He declined to elaborate.
The Lovely One was heard to say, "Holiday, you need adult supervision," to which he responded, "You mean like Superman?"

Fans of the cyber-hunk might well wonder what is in store for him. According to his publicist, St. Holiday hopes to exploit the rich mineral deposits in his own backyard. Moreover, he is currently trying to obtain funding from his mortgage company and other creditors for his next mammoth project, the complete and utter construction of a colossal Statue of Slavery to be erected at the mouth of the Delaware River on the soil of the People's Republic of New Jersey. This he intends to donate to the American people in a gesture inspired by the French. What's more, our New Wage Guru (No Wage?) seems to be infected with a sort of joie de livre, as he pours himself into his latest literary venture, an expose to be entitled "Colonoscopy of the American Government, A Deeper Look at Our Political Polyps." His representative asserts that competition among prospective publishers is sure to be hot, and a seven-figure advance can be expected.

Contacted at her infamous retreat in the suburbs of New Jersey in the middle of her bridge match, Gloria Van Sciver, mother of our hero, said, "I'm glad he's finally using his talents in a productive way. I can't take credit for his success." Her last statement raised a general chorus of cackles among participants in the tournament and onlooking family members. One was heard to say, "That's because he hasn't had any success!"

To the blind, St. Holiday is still exhibiting remarkable immunity from the visible signs of aging. This he attributes to secrets he derived from his meticulous studies of Egyptian mummification techniques, in addition to regular topical applications of fruit preservatives in his nightly "jam sessions," as he calls them. Moreover, he is eating lots of fiber to add volume and vigor to his morning routine. While others all around are dying of meat, St. Holiday is beating the medical odds, still disease-free after nearly 3,000 weeks of mortality. His example and innovative spirit are certain to have a salutary effect upon... Well, that remains to be seen.

MY FANTASY

Welcome back to the seventh and deciding game of the World Series. Here we are in the bottom of the ninth inning, Yankees leading 7 to 4, but the Phillies have the bases loaded. There's been a pitching change, the Yanks bringing future Hall of Famer, Mariano Rivera to the mound. He only needs one out to wrap up the Series for the Yankees. The batter is St. Holiday, and he's had another great season, but an unproductive day at the plate today, going 0 for 3 with three shallow pop flies, hardly what we've come to expect from the slugger. Now all of the hopes of the Phillies and fans up and down the Delaware Valley rest on his broad shoulders.

Rivera winds and pitches, strike one, fast ball, right down the center of the plate. He really challenged St. Holiday with that pitch. 0 and 1 on the batter. Holiday steps out of the box, adjusts his gloves, takes a practice swing, and steps back in, set for the next pitch.

Rivera gets the signal from Posada, nods, checks the runner at third, winds up and delivers .... Strike two! Oh that was a doozy! A slider that caught the outside corner of the plate. Impossible to hit. 0 and 2 on St. Holiday.

And now the Yankee fans are on their feet. Listen to the roar! Only one strike away from another World Series victory. I should have brought ear plugs. Rivera steps off the mound and motions to the crowd to settle down. The place is shaking from the noise. Everyone is standing and screaming. And, look at that! Holiday is laughing! He's laughing! That bespeaks confidence. How can he be laughing in a situation like this, two outs in the ninth, with his team losing 7 to 4, and with him in the hole 0 and 2. Amazing.

Mariano Rivera doesn't like it. He throws the rosin bag to the ground. He sets, takes the sign, shakes it off, takes another, shakes it off, takes a third, nods, goes into the stretch, looks at the runner on third and fires the pitch.

Oh! He brushed him back! Holiday dives to avoid the pitch. That pitch nearly hit him on the side of the head. He got out of the way just in time. Holiday gets up and brushes himself off. He's still smiling. The umpire is going out to the mound to admonish the pitcher before this turns ugly. The Phillies are yelling obscenities from the dugout. Holiday is signaling to them to calm down.

OK, here we go. Order has been restored. Everyone is still standing. There's chanting and cheering from fans of both teams. What a game! Holiday steps into the batter's box, taps the plate three times, and lifts his lumber. Rivera takes his sign from Posada, sets, begins his wind-up ...Wait! Holiday calls time and steps out of the box. What's he doing? He's pointing to center field! He's pointing to the upper deck in center field! O baby! That takes a lot of nerve. Listen to the boos from the Yankee fans. But the Phillie fans are drowning them out! Oh, Jove, help me! This is unbelievable!

Rivera is really upset now. I wouldn't be surprised to see another pitch high and inside after that display from St. Holiday. Here comes the Yankees pitching coach to the mound, no doubt to try to calm the seasoned closer. I can't tell what the coach is saying, but Rivera is nodding. He only needs one more strike. The coach is probably telling him to focus and not let Holiday's antics at the plate distract him from the business at hand.

Alright, Rivera is ready. Holiday is in the box, set for the pitch. Runners will be going. Rivera takes the sign, winds and throws ..

Holiday swings, and Oh, Brother! It's a long drive to deep left center! Look at that baby go, back, back, outa here, home run, grand slam! The Phillies win the Series! The Phillies win the Series! Oh, he smoked that pitch! What a mammoth drive, deep into the upper deck of left center field. Rivera threw a blazing fastball, and St. Holiday got all of it. What a shot! Holy macaroni! An upper decker; one for the books. There is pandemonium in the stands! 8 to 7, Phillies win the series. Un-believable!

HUMMER!

No, we have not suddenly acquired an expensive SUV. Rather, our beautiful Rufous Hummingbirds have returned from Mexico to perpetuate their species here in the White Mountains of Arizona. They arrive every year around July 15th. As can be seen in the photos posted here (taken by Raelene), the Rufous possesses exceptional physical charm. The male is distinguished by his holographic gorget, pronounced "gorjit." This is a bright patch of metallic color on his throat. It seems to change color from a fiery orange to a stunning green, depending on the angle of perception. The female Rufous lacks a gorget, but they have a sweeter, non-aggressive personality. The male is the most territorial bird I've ever seen. Though we hang four nectar feeders, it will claim possession of all of them, allowing none but their mate to have access to the sweet drink. It does not appreciate the concept of sharing. I take delight in watching their aerial dogfights with other males and with other varieties of hummingbirds. The male Rufous will dominate over every other species. He is quite selfish. He'll even buzz my head when I'm changing the nectar in the feeders. He will take a perch above the feeders and exercise the greatest vigilance, ever ready to swoop down on any trespasser. Other hummingbirds employ the strategy of distraction, sending one to the feeders to draw off the dominant male Rufous, and then flying in for a drink while he is chasing the decoy. It's a constant game.