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Fresh outta curiousity!



Ah, yes, I like a euphonius appellation as much as the next guy or gal, but
after three descriptions of a euphonium, I know now why, after three encounters,
Meriwether Lewis said of grizzly bears:  "I find that the curiossity of our
party is pretty well satisfyed with rispect to this anamal."  I may unsubscribe
from the list at home, now that I'm hooked up in at work, for I deleted
skatey-eight responses to the musical question there and came home to find all
of those and many more on my Packard Bell.  The horror!  Now I gotta go soak my
index finger, strained and sprained from deleterious activity.

Thanks, though, for the thread on display cases.  I'm still curious about that
subject, and in the market for a couple.  Eventually we'll have to get one for a
trombone.  No one has yet donated a euphonium, but I'll be ready if they do.  N
yooze'll be da foista know abowedit.

I've seen lantern slides of those Chinese tortures.  I had no idea that they
were so popular in their day.  Kind of like those lynching postcards, recently
collected for a truly ghastly book.  Then again, I am familiar with the custom
of photographing dead outlaws, out west here, shot or hanged.   Mercifully,
farzI'm concerned, that was all before the advent of color.  Three or four
pictures like that pretty well satisfys my curiossity as to how humans look when
they are villently killd.

I did not see the TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL episode, but the description reminded me
that right after my photographer/family historian uncle died a couple years
back, I dreamt I saw him at the pearly gates.  Did I ever tell you this?  In my
dream I was sleeping and along came an angel who took me up to Heaven.  Said he
had to show me something, be not afraid. I was to tell my family, being that I
am the succesor to this late uncle.  So, off to blue skies and clouds, and
pillars, gates and mable stairs.  Musta been my Catholic boyhood.  I had to wait
outside the gates with my guide.  See, he said, God has found work for your
Uncle John.  There was Uncle John, arranging new arrivals in groups on the
marble steps, like so many freshman congressmen, and photographing them.  The
angel explained that this was a new service God was trying out.  Photos would be
taken with a special camera and the images would go back to earth, passing
through a special server (of sorts) in the little Springs, PA, post office where
Uncle John had been postmaster for many years.  From there, the photos would go
out to the dreams of the relatives left behind, informing them of the day and
time that their loved one arrived in Heaven.  It was almost enough to shake me
out of Unitarianism.

Michael T.

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