Is the Easter Bunny real?

Beatrix Potter must have thought so. She wrote “The Tale of Peter Rabbit” to a sick child in 1893. Illustrated by her own hand, Beatrix published the story in 1901. Since then, over 45 million copies of Peter have sold, making the small book one of the most popular of all time.

My copy of the tale — with the orginal colored drawings by Bea — dates to 1978, with an inscription that it was purchased on my second son’s first shopping trip to the mall in 1981 — when he was a little over a month old. So, his copy is 32 years old, as I imagine he is, too; and the story is still a rousing good tale of gardening adventure by a little rascally bunnie in a blue jacket and black shoes. As his mother notes on Peter’s return home, “It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter has lost in a fortnight!”

Peter was “very naughty.” He did not listen to his mother, Mrs. Rabbit, but left his sisters to do the work of gathering blackberries while he crept into Mr. McGregor’s garden for a snack. Stuffed and too fat to run, he was chased by Mr. McGregor, who would have certainly baked Peter into a pie – as he had with Peter’s father – if he had caught Peter. Our wayward bunny managed to escape, but at the loss of his jacket and shoes. Peter reached home exhausted and collapsed in a flop “on the floor of their rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes.” Poorly Peter Rabbit was put to bed with a dose of chamomile tea, while his sisters “had bread and milk and blackberries, for supper.”

As I write, I am looking at a porcelain figurine of “Poorly Peter Rabbit.” Next to Peter is a happy threesome of little girl bunnies. Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail got the berries and not the cold, and enjoyed a nice dessert rather than an early-to-bed with nasty medicine.

If you look closely at my trio, you can see that Flopsy’s left ear has been glued back onto her head. She seems quite fine, and she pops up again on the bureau with her sisters each Easter to lead the chase into the woods while Peter gets into trouble again.

The three sisters and Peter are Easter bunnies, because they have been in our house for Easter for as long as many can remember . . . and as long as the happy thoughts I hold so dear.

Easter bunnies are like that – here, there and everywhere. They come in a grand variety of different sizes, shapes and colors, hiding in their bunny holes until Easter arrives. Then, they, one and all, pop out into baskets, under beds, inside plastic eggs, just outside the door in the early morning, or wrapped in pastel papers for a special surprise. Some are hard, some are soft, and some are quite edible and composed of chocolate, marshmallow and assorted candies for girls and boys everywhere to enjoy.

The life of the Easter bunny is one of frolicsome fun, even if it is for only the one holiday each year. When that has passed, off they hop, back into their snug little rabbit holes, to hide and rest until they arrive back again for another Easter time.

When they get old and retire, Easter bunnies paint.

When they get older still and are like Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny, they teach the little bunnies how to paint . . . and not just Easter eggs.

I know this because I have the book, the “Bunny Book,” published by Walt Diney in 1951. My copy was purchased in about 1972 for my first son, who would have been about 2 at the time. The book has been in the house and on the shelves for some 41 years, and it is, as they say, “coming apart at the seams.” They have been very good seams indeed, and it seems to me one of the most favorite of my remembered Easter tales.

When all the little bunnies had graduated from Bunny Painting 101, Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny scratched his tummy and thought of other things to paint. That was when he started to teach those bright-eared rabbit youngsters how to paint the flowers, ferns and mosses, and then the autumn leaves, and the winter shadows and frosty windowpanes, the first tiny buds of spring, the wings of new butterflies, and the whole wildwood in its different seasons and many colors.

One day, Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny told the bunny boys and girls that he was going away, and he told them a secret about the next thing he would paint. The rabbit children were sad and they missed their friend, but they had the secret and they waited patiently.

Not soon after, a great storm shook the woods and the bunnies scurried into the safety of their warm and dry rabbit homes.

Across Bunnyville, Mommy and Daddy rabbits wondered why their children didn’t seem scared, waited patiently by the doors of their burrows and rushed out as soon as the rain stopped.

The little rabbits hopped to the top of the hill and waited there.

Of course, the rest of the residents of Bunnyville followed and stood with their families.

In the west, it started and started, and grew and grew and grew.

In the history of Bunnyville and in the colors of all the seasons of the wildwood, such a sunset had never been seen before. It was the most fantastically colored sunset ever.

The parents watched the sky and watched their children and wondered why the little bunnies smiled and nodded at each other as if they knew something only they knew and it was with them there on that hill and in that sky.

After the last brushes of color dipped and were gone, the children pulled the big bunnies down and whispered into every adult ear, “Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny.”

The bunny parents smiled and nodded back to their little bunnies.

They knew, as we do, that the Easter Bunny is real indeed and just waiting to be seen.

Have a most wondrous and bright Easter with family, friends, Peter and his sisters, and, of course, Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny,

Grandpa Jim

The new Uncle Joe story is here and posted on the Home page!!!!!!!!

This is the eighth Uncle Joe story in the series, and it is a doozy of a tale with a mix of critters you only see on the farm.

Hold on to your hat or it may be blown off in the rush of this new adventure.

I wish you each one and all a very Happy, Fun and Surprising Easter Sunday.

And, if you’re barbecuing, please consider some chicken.

I am sure it would very much please Uncle Joe.

A surprise is in the shop for you.

Happy Easter,

Grandpa Jim

Is the Easter Bunny real?

Beatrix Potter must have thought so. She wrote “The Tale of Peter Rabbit” to a sick child in 1893. Illustrated by her own hand, Beatrix published the story in 1901. Since then, over 45 million copies of Peter have sold, making the small book one of the most popular of all time.

Peter was “very naughty.” He did not listen to his mother, Mrs. Rabbit, but left his sisters to do the work of gathering blackberries while he crept into Mr. McGregor’s garden for a snack. Stuffed and too fat to run, he was chased by Mr. McGregor, who would have certainly baked Peter into a pie – as he had with Peter’s father – if he had caught Peter. Our wayward bunny managed to escape, but at the loss of his little blue jacket and shoes. Peter reached home exhausted and collapsed in a flop “on the floor of their rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes.” Poorly Peter Rabbit was put to bed with a dose of chamomile tea, while his sisters “had bread and milk and blackberries, for supper.”

As I write, I am looking at a porcelain figurine of “Poorly Peter Rabbit.” Next to Peter is a happy threesome of little girl bunnies. Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail got the berries and not the cold, and enjoyed a nice dessert rather than an early-to-bed with nasty medicine.

If you look closely at my trio, you can see that Flopsy’s left ear has been glued back on. She seems quite fine, and she pops up again on the bureau with her sisters each Easter to lead the chase into the woods while Peter gets into trouble again.

The three sisters and Peter are Easter bunnies, because they have been in our house for Easter for as long as many can remember . . . and as long as the happy thoughts I hold so dear.

Easter bunnies are like that – here, there and everywhere. They come in a grand variety of different sizes, shapes and colors, hiding in their bunny holes until Easter arrives. Then, they, one and all, pop out into baskets, under beds, inside plastic eggs, just outside the door in the early morning, or wrapped in pastel papers for a special surprise. Some are hard, some are soft, and some are quite edible and composed of chocolate, marshmallow and assorted candies for girls and boys everywhere to enjoy.

The life of the Easter bunny is one of frolicsome fun, even if it is for only the one holiday each year. When that has passed, off they hop, back into their snug little rabbit holes, to hide and rest until they arrive back again for another Easter time.

When they get old and retire, Easter bunnies paint.

When they get older still and are like Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny, they teach the little bunnies how to paint . . . and not just Easter eggs.

Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny taught the bright-eared rabbit youngsters how to paint the flowers, ferns and mosses, and then the autumn leaves, and the winter shadows and frosty windowpanes, the first tiny buds of spring, the wings of new butterflies, and the whole wildwood in its different seasons and many colors.

One day, Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny told the bunny boys and girls that he was going away, and he told them a secret about the next thing he would paint. The rabbit children were sad, and they missed their friend, but they had the secret and they waited patiently.

Not soon after, a great storm shook the woods and the bunnies scurried into the safety of their warm and dry rabbit homes.

Across Bunnyville, Mommy and Daddy rabbits wondered why their children didn’t seem scared, waited patiently by the doors of their burrows and rushed out as soon as the rain stopped.

The little rabbits hopped to the top of the hill and waited there.

Of course, the rest of the residents of Bunnyville followed and stood with their families.

In the west, it started and started, and grew and grew and grew.

In the history of Bunnyville and in the colors of all the seasons of the wildwood, such a sunset had never been seen before. It was the most fantastically colored sunset ever.

The parents watched the sky and watched their children and wondered why the little bunnies smiled and nodded at each other as if they knew something only they knew and it was with them there on that hill and in that sky.

After the last brushes of color dipped and were gone, the children pulled the big bunnies down and whispered into every adult ear, “Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny.”

The bunny parents smiled and nodded back to their little bunnies.

They knew, as we do, that the Easter Bunny is real indeed and just waiting to be seen.

Have a most wondrous and bright Easter with family, friends, Peter and his sisters, and, of course, Great Grandpa Bunny Bunny,

Grandpa Jim

It was a cold rainy winter December day in Springfield, Massachusetts. The year was 1891. Dr. James Naismith was instructing the gym class at the local Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA). He needed something to keep the students occupied and moving.

What to do? He thought, as the guys joked, hit it each other in the arm and passed the soccer ball around. Got to get this class under control. How about Duck on a Rock? That was an old game with running and throwing. No, can’t have rock throwing inside a building. Someone is going to get hurt. Can’t go outside in this weather. He kicked a peach basket on the floor. Where’d that come from? Soccer needs more space than inside this gymnasium. What can we do with that soccer ball? Dr. Naismith stopped and looked down at the peach basket. Why not? It might just work.

“Hey, Wilt,” he yelled at his tallest student, “go get a ladder, some nails and a hammer. Nail this peach basket onto that elevated track up there.”

Basket will be about 10 feet up. Dr. Naismith gauged the distance in his head. That should work.

“What are we doing, Coach?” Wilt asked.

“Playing a new game,” Dr. Naismith answered. “We’ll form teams and see who can get that soccer ball into the basket.”

“Sure, Coach. It’s your idea.”

It was his idea. Dr. Naismith had just invented a new game.

One Hundred and Fifteen years later, in 2006, Dr. Naismith’s granddaughter discovered her grandfather’s handwritten diaries. In there, she found. Dr. Naismith’s name for the new game: “Basket Ball.”

Today, One Hundred and Twenty-Two years later, the final sixteen teams in the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) Basketball Tournament have been decided. The tournament itself is lovingly referred to by fans of college basketball (and who isn’t a fan of college basketball?) as the “Big Dance.” It is just that – a wonderful display of running, dribbling, passing, jumping, gliding, flying and dunking by the some of the most outstanding basketball players from across the country.

To begin, the best 68 college basketball teams in the US are selected for what is perhaps the only truly national sports competition in the USA.

The First Round winnows 8 teams to 4 teams, who join the others in the Second Round of 64.

The Second Round of 64 is what I think of as the “real first round,” because that first play of eight squads was added later in 2011 to allow a few more schools to play in the tournament. I grew up with the starting round of 64.

Next, these 64 teams are divided into groups of 16 teams which begin play at different cities assigned to different national regions. The regions are fitting referred to as the Midwest, South, West and East. Of the 16 teams within a region, each team is assigned a rank from #1 to #16, based on past performance and forecast ability to prevail. #1 is arguably the best of that region, and #16 certainly the most determined, but if one thing is certain in the NCAA Basketball Tournament, the unexpected is that. Anything can and does happen, and upsets are the rule and not the exception – which makes this, in my opinion and from a fan’s perspective, one of the most entertaining of collegiate athletic events.

With 64, the competition really begins. 64 teams go to 32 teams, and then 32 teams go to 16 teams — which is what ended last night. These 16 teams are referred to as the “Sweet Sixteen,” because a team that makes it this far has passed a very real milestone, has come of age, and has earned national recognition for the prowess of its players and the quality of its athletic program. Whatever happens next, the Sweet Sixteen are all winners. This is one on my favorite points in the tournament and a moment to be savored.

This year is a first, because in the 2013 Sweet Sixteen, there is one team that was seeded #15 in its opening bracket of 16 teams. Remember #15 means right at the bottom of the heap with little forecast chance of winning and advancing. No #15 team has advanced to the Sweet Sixteen — until this year.

Florida Gulf Coast University (Fla. GC) beat #7 seed San Diego State in the round of 32 to advance to the Sweet Sixteen. Before that, they beat #2 Georgetown in the round of 64. Florida Gulf Coast University has only held classes for sixteen years, and this is only the second year their basketball team has been eligible for the national tournament. Congratulations, Fla. GC. Now, they move to Arlington, Texas (which is part of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex where I sit writing this blog) for the next game. If they win, they will advance to the Elite Eight and another first in basketball history. Underdog teams like Florida Gulf States are what make the Big Dance so unpredictably exciting.

For each Region, the next rounds of the Sweet Sixteen and the Elite Eight move to a new city. As noted, Arlington is one of those cities. Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, Texas is hosting the South Region for its 4 of the 16, that will go to its 2 of the 8, that will go to its 1 of the Final Four to advance to the next location.

The Final Four moves to the Georgia Dome in Atlanta, Georgia, where the best 4 of 2013 will dribble, pass and shoot it out, with the two prevailing teams playing for the National Championship and the victor’s crown.

For a college basketball fan, it does not get any better than this.

The only thing better would be if Dr. Naismith could be watching, too.

What am I saying — I bet he is watching, and I bet he’s cheering every time one of those soccer balls falls through that peach basket.

Some things don’t change, they just get better.

Pass the popcorn, I gotta’ game to watch.

Grandpa Jim

World’s Largest Butterfly: Queen Alexandra’s birdwing butterflies have consistently been recognized as the world’s largest butterflies, with wingspans reaching 1 foot (12 inches or 30 centimeters). The birdwings fly so fast and so high in their rainforest canopied home that Albert Meek, the English naturalist credited with first recording the species, blasted the first specimens to the ground with a shotgun. Albert was no meek collector leaping languidly through the grass with a butterfly net. His buckshot-peppered birdwings are still preserved as museum trophies — a sobering comment perhaps on how difficult it can be for a large butterfly to stay off the endangered species list when gun-toting scientists are in the neighborhood.

World’s Shortest-Reigning Pope: Pope John Paul I died on September 28, 1978 after reigning only 34 days. It should be noted, however, that ten other popes spent even less time in office. The shortest pontificate is that of Pope Urban VII, who reigned for only 13 days. Pope Urban died of malaria.

World’s First Public Smoking Ban: We must be reading from the same page. Yes, it was instituted by Pope Urban VII. During his very short time in office, Pope Urban stated unequivocally that he would excommunicate anyone who “took tobacco in the porchway of or inside a church, whether it be by chewing it, smoking it with a pipe or sniffing it in a powdered form through the nose.” I’m afraid that first no-chew-smoke-sniff-it ban was as short in effect as the pope’s reign was in length. I guess some people are just ahead of their times.

World’s Loudest Sound: In 1883, in the Sunda Strait, between the islands of Java and Sumatra, in Indonesia, the Krakatao volcanoes erupted and exploded with a gigantic KRRAAAKKK!!!! The sound was so loud and so long and so big that there are reports of the cracking from 3,000 miles away, and the shock waves were recorded on barographs around the world. That was truly a “shot heard ‘round the world,” but it was not the first. The first “shot heard ‘round the world” is the one that echoes in the opening stanza of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 1837 poem “Concord Hymn” memorializing the beginning of American Revolutionary War in the 1775 battles of Lexington and Concord:

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

I’m sure that shot in Concord wasn’t as loud on the sound scale as the explosion of Krakatao that rocked the world, but sometimes the strength of a sound is not in how loud the report but how many people are affected by the repercussion.

World’s Most Famous Line in English Literature: There are so many wonderful and memorable lines from the literature of so many countries, lands and cultures that many can and should be singled out. They all and each are to be enjoyed by those who read and appreciate those lines in their own settings and times. In English literature, however, perhaps the wordiest of authors was Charles Dickens. Of all those word on all those pages, there is one short novel and one short boy with a limp and a sad-happy smile that brings a tear to my eye and hope in the future for us all. Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol shared a child’s innocent and giving view – one that included each of us without any expectation of gain on his small part – when all eyes turned to the end of the table where Tim sat on his small stool where he pushed up on his crutch, looked us each in the eye and said simply,

“God bless us, everyone”

Thank you, for reading,

Grandpa Jim

At 6:01 am this morning, traveling Cousin Eddie arrived in his beat-up RV for a 6-month visit.

You remember Eddie (Randy Quaid) from the 1989 movie “Christmas Vacation” with light-bulb-happy Clark “Sparky” Griswold (Chevy Chase). Now, that was a movie with some electricity – very illuminating.

On March 20, 2013, at 6:01 am Dallas time, the vernal equinox arrived with Cousin Eddie to light up our world. (Of course, Cousin Eddie is a made-up movie character, but the vernal equinox is not made up – it is high up and right on time.)

“Vernal” means “spring,” and “equinox” means “equal night.” This is one of the two days in the year when the sun stands directly over the equator (that big cowboy belt around the center of the earth). Because the sun over the equator on the equinox is looking right down at the equator, its rays are distributed equally to the northern and southern hemispheres. The equinox day itself is as close to equal in light and dark as any day can be. As such, the day is one of great equality for those residing on the surface of our planet.

So, go out and bask in the uniform warmth of our star and share its encouraging rays with a friend.

And, while you’re there, recite this equinox couplet, as you wander hatless through the fields of spring blooms:

Our sun plays no favorites in its sway

But favors us all, equally this day.

In the fall, you can hum this same two-some of lines, because the other day-equal-night day in the year is the autumnal equinox, which occurs in the fall.

This year the autumnal equinox will fall on September 22^nd. Again, we can bask with perfect equity in the same amount of “golden bennies from the sky.”

“Golden bennies from the sky” is a happily remembered college phrase for that welcome first day of the early northern spring when the golden beams (bennies) of the sun finally shone through the gray clouds of winter, melting our frigid dispositions and exciting us to run onto the university lawns, throw Frisbees and generally act a little crazed.

Spring had sprung and I guess we had sprung with it.

Which isn’t a bad thing — to have a little fun in the warm sunshine of spring, to let our hearts be warmed by nature, and to be bighearted to those around us. Cousin Eddie was bighearted. He had a springtime smile in the icy snows of winter, because I think he’d learned the lesson of the vernal equinox:

Sun equinox high brings an easy smile

That shines as bright inside for winter’s child.

However it is said, perhaps the lesson to be learned from the joys of nature on this first day of spring is to remember and share those joys when nature has turned dreary and drab and is looking for us to play the sun.

Enjoy the bright days of equinox high,

Remember in turn your days in the sun.

And share the light shining there within you,

To brighten a child’s winter Sunday run.

I like Cousin Eddie.

He may not have much.

But he sure seems to have fun and such.

Winter, spring, summer or fall, don’t seem to matter at all.

When Cousin Eddie smiles out that beat-up RV, looking for a stall.

Maybe I should learn from that high-up sun’s equinox arc.

And always leave a place for him to park.

Thanks, Cousin Eddie.

Keep an eye up to the sky,

a smile for a greeting,

and the door open –

for a friend.

Thanks, Sun,

Grandpa Jim

I just checked in the backyard.

Francis is a 2-foot high statue of a guy with a funny hair-do, dressed in a long robe, holding a bunny, with a fawn at his feet peeking into a basket. I remember someone gave me the statue as a birthday gift

I guess Francis is a garden gnome. Some sort of yard art.

(Are you sure?)

Okay, I’ll check the Internet. You can find everything there.

(Are you sure?)

Sure, I just type in “Francis yard art or garden gnome.” And, press enter. . . . There we go.

(And?)

I found him! At the top, it says: “Saint Francis of Assisi Statue Lawn Garden Sculpture Yard Art.” He looks like my guy, except this one has a bird and a squirrel, with a fawn and a rabbit. Same hair style – bald on the top, a rim of hair circling around. Kinda’ cool. He’d fit right in at the mall.

(What does it say under the statue?)

It says: “Give your garden the added warmth of this beautiful St. Francis sculpture. Known as the patron saint of the animals, St. Francis of Assisi is the perfect accent in your butterfly garden, bird sanctuary, or wild flower patch. Crafted of resin, this lawn statue measures 21″H. Beautiful indoors or out.” That’s my guy.

(And, who just picked the name “Francis?”)

You mean the Pope. Yeah, I saw that he did. Why’d he pick the name of a garden statue?

(Why do you think?)

He likes animals?

(Not bad, but maybe you should go back to the Internet.)

Francis is an interesting person. It says in the Wikipedia article that Francis was a rich dude who gave up everything and started an order of poor friars. That special rim haircut was called a “tonsure” — it showed that the friars were an approved group of preachers dedicated to a life of poverty. This Francis guy believed that nature reflected God, and he called the animals his brothers and sisters. He even preached to the birds and straightened out a bad wolf that was eating people. It sounds like Francis of Assisi tried to stop the crusades by walking into the camp of the Sultan of Egypt with nothing but his robe and haircut. He was so brave the Franciscans, that’s the name of his followers, were allowed by the Muslims to stay in the Holy Land. Seems like Francis could build bridges and reach folks just about everywhere. He was named a saint less than two years after he died, and Pope John Paul II made him the patron saint of ecology – that’s how we interact with our environment. So, he’s green, which explains why you see him in the backyard. And, he’s one of the two patron saints of Italy.

(So, why do you think the new Pope picked the name of Francis of Assisi?)

Well, the Pope got elected in Italy, and St. Francis was a local and the patron saint of the country. You know what they say: When in Rome do as the Romans do. Maybe, it’s like me trying to speak a little Spanish in Mexico or French in France. My Spanish and French aren’t that good, but I want the people to know I respect them, I like where they live and I appreciate their hospitality. Maybe, the Pope was saying: “Thanks and I want to fit in.”

(Not bad, but do you think that was all the Pope was thinking?)

It’s hard to say what a Pope is thinking.

(Give it a try.)

Well . . . St. Francis had a focus on poverty and the poor — look at his hair and his clothes. I’ve heard that this Pope is already dressing down for a pope. So, he’s not into fancy trappings, and he reaches out to the crowd and talks sorta’ folksy. . . . And, St. Francis of Assisi talked to different people, like that Sultan in Egypt who was a Muslim . . . and they seemed to get along. And, St. Francis of Assisi was a green guy. He cared about the environment before solar panels and wind farms were cool. And, he was simple — he hung around with birds and wolves, the good and the bad, the big and the small. He gave ‘em all a chance, not a prejudiced guy. . . . You know that old Francis was a modern kinda’ guy – I guess. He was a good guy trying to fit in.

(So, you think the Pope is just trying to fit in?)

No . . . I think it’s more than that. I think the new Pope Francis picked the name to say he’s trying to be like we’re all trying to be today.

(And, how are we’re all trying to be?)

Like the old St. Francis. Don’t you see it? I mean it’s cool today to dress comfortable and help each other, and be green and recycle, and talk with everyone and not be prejudiced. That’s what St. Francis did. He lived it. Right on, Saint.

(So, St. Francis fits right in?)

He does. That’s why the Pope picked the name. St. Francis did what we’re all trying to be today. Go, Francis. I dig it. He fits right in.

(I think he does, too.)

I never realized there could be so much in a name.

(Or in a garden statue.)

Maybe I’ll get another for the front?

(Better hurry — they seem to be popular.)

I’m headin’ to the nursery right now. See you later.

(Say “Hello” for me.)

Will do,

(Grandpa Jim)

One of Pope Francis’ first unofficial acts in Rome was to demonstrate the action of the Higgs Field and its bosons on a formerly unattached photon, himself.

Back in 1964, Peter Higgs at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland suggested a secret invisible force field running through the universe that somehow imparts the aspect of mass or substance to subatomic particles and to us, because we are made up of zillions of sub-small pieces like protons, neutrons and electrons that stick together in substance and in total make the weight that we measure on the bathroom scale. Which is the long way of saying, he, Higgs, said our physics doesn’t make any sense unless we can somehow show that energy can become mass and keep us all stuck together and worried about our diet.

The search for the God particle was on. It’s called the God particle because its existence is portrayed by the popular media as explaining how the Big Bang 13.7 billion years ago created something out of nothing. Of course, neither the physicists nor God looks at it that way. To the physicists, the Higgs’ field full of its bosons pre-dated the Bang — so something was already there from the view of physics. It’s just that the something was pure energy, and nothing was massing or sticking to anything or anybody and making planets and people and all of that, that is, us and the universe. (The last sentence may help explain why theoretical physics can be such an interesting field to some and such a fascinating mystery to others, me included.) And, even God in Genesis says He started with some thing before He made the earth, moon, stars and planets. So, the search was never to find no thing, it was to find the one thing that was used to make the some thing’s we see today and that hold us together.

6,000 scientists have found it. At least, they think they’ve found it. They found it last July, but they had to check the data from the CERN collider. CERN is a French acronym which loosely translates as Council Europe Research Nuclear. It’s a really big hole in the ground, more like a 17-mile dug tunnel circling around under the ground, where protons are launched at each other at 99 percent the speed of light. The thinking of 10’s of 1000’s of scientists for almost 50 years has been if you smash things together really hard, one of the original building blocks may pop out and help explain why we’re doing this. And, it has, we think — a Higgs boson has popped out, we hope.

So, here’s the way it works for the Pope:

Before he becomes Pope (think of this as before the Big Bang), Cardinal Bergoglio rides a bus to work in Buenos Aires in a simple black suit with no fancy hat. He’s a photon – he’s got all the energy in the world but no real mass because people don’t notice him in his humble attire and don’t push to form a big ball around him asking for autographs. The good Cardinal is not interacting and so he is, in effect, mass-less – he moves easily through the crowd. Now, Cardinal Bergoglio goes to Rome and becomes the Pope. The next day, this morning, he leaves the Vatican to catch a bus to a luncheon appointment in Rome. Of course, fans are watching every bus stop in the City for this very thing to happen. “That’s him,” one yells. “Papa! Papa!” 10’s scream as they rush to the scene. “The Pope is out!” 100’s and 1,000’s text and tweet as the crowd grows into a cheering mob. “It’s him,” the helicopter film crew flashes to the masses around the world. And, there you have it: a photon of pure energy (Cardinal Bergoglio) becomes a proton of great mass (Pope Francis) because of his interaction with those around him. As soon as we, the Higgs bosons in our fields of daydreams, see the Pope walking to the bus stop, the world explodes. That’s the Big Bang Roman style.

You wonder why those physicists didn’t skip CERN and go straight to the Eternal City.

For a humble man of prayer, Pope Francis sure has mass attraction.

See you later — I’m heading to the bus stop.

Who knows who we’ll see?

Grandpa Jim

I just got the text — at 1:10 pm Dallas, Texas Time:

WHITE SMOKE IN ROME!

The first white smoke reached the sky at 1:06.

A new Pope has been chosen.

The TV is on.

We’re waiting to see and hear.

St. Peter’s Square is going crazy with exitement and anticipation.

As you will read below, the Iditarod champion was named earlier this moring in Nome.

The hoped for headline from yesterday’s blog has become reality:

 Musher and Pope Finish First Together – What a Race!!

Wow and Double Wow. We are all waiting for the Pope to appear on the balcony overlooking St. Peter’s Square. 100,000 people are waiting there. Millions are watching around the world.

In an age of uncertainty and risk,

White burning ballots new adventure bring .

Excitement is in the air.

Who will it be? Who will it be? Who will it be?

Least expected is the most unexpected

And the most unexpected is just that.

Can’t wait.

It will surprise us yet.

A humble and holy man — Pope Francis. He just greeted the world with the simple prayer of children and faithful everywhere: The Our Father. Cardinal Bergoglio of Argentina is the first pope from Latin America. A simple man — in Buenos Aires he lives in a single room, takes public transportation and cooks his own meals. The son of an Italian immigrant, Cardinal Bergoglio is known for his committtment to the poor, as St. Francis was in his life. The voice of the poor, archbishop of  Buenos Aires, a Jesuit described by his colleagues as a saint, Pope Francis is a new and quiet voice of peace to a world waiting for a kind and understanding touch.

The race in Rome is decided, and I think we will all be the better for its outcome.

Wow.

Now, back to the race in Nome.

MItch wins!

Mitch Seavey wins the Iditarod!

At 12:22 am and 39 seconds early this morning Alaskan time – “on a clear brisk night in Nome,” Mitch crossed under the victory arch and claimed the 2013 title of Iditarod dog sled race champion. Just 24 seconds later (count them and that is not much difference for a race of 1,000 miles) – at 12:23 am and 3 seconds, Aliy Zirkle glided home for second place.

I like to think that as soon as Mitch claimed the title, he jumped from his sled and turned to waive Aliy and her team across the finish line.

The Champion finishes first with the gait,

Who turns to wave the winners through the gate.

Thank you, Mitch for a race well run and one graciously won.

As has been said, there are only winners who finish this race. Aliy gave it her best and I bet she’ll be back next year to try again. She and the others at the finish and those tired mushers pushing with their teams for Nome are all the winners. I am sure Mitch, with his second Iditarod win, knows and believes that he won to encourage them all, and he would if he could be there at the gate to wave each across.

For now, at the top, the white knight of the north is Mitch Seavey. At 53 years young, Mitch is the oldest person to win the sled race over the snow of our far northern state. Last year, Mitch’s son Dallas was the youngest Iditarod winner. Back-to-back, son-father champions is a tale worth many a telling before a warm winter’s fire with a hot cup of chocolate in hand.

The latest news from Nome is that Son Dallas has finished at #4, 59 seconds behind Jeff King at #3, and 44 seconds ahead of Ray Redington, Jr. who finished at #5. Only 1 minute and 43 seconds separated those three. Folks, that is some very close racing to the line after almost 9 and a half days of hard sledding. My hat is off to the state of Alaska and its hardy and hard-working mushers.

Iditarod!

Go Alaska.

Mush on!

Thank you Nome. Thank you Rome.

Remember, you first heard it here, at Uncle Joe Stories:

 Musher and Pope Finish First Together – What a Race!!

March 13, 2013

3 – 13 – 13

Lucky 13

Double Lucky 13

A new pope and a champion musher – on the same day

Lucky Double 13

Believe,

Grandpa Jim