YOU CAN’T LOSE IF YOU DON’T PLAY

One of the ways Quakers have stood apart from the larger society is in our opposition to gambling. Across America, though, the tension has grown in recent years, as governments (led by New Hampshire’s example) and Native American tribes have engaged in lotteries and casinos. Even causes we support commonly turn to raffles as fundraisers.

Still, we can witness to the fact that a lottery is an inefficient way to raise money for education or other socially valued causes. If you want something, you should be willing to pay for it directly, rather than expect someone else to foot the bill. As for gaming, the odds are vastly against winning, and I long found myself working far too hard to enjoy throwing hundreds of dollars down the drain. Even a weekly Megabucks ticket adds up. As one of my coworkers insisted, “Lotteries are a tax on stupidity.” He might have added, “a tax on despair,” as well, especially for lower- and middle-class families whose purchasing power keeps shrinking in the current economic climate. If anything, the glamour of gaming masks this reality. Maybe, just maybe, the hope goes, I’ll escape my condition. Friends have warned against the inclination to expect something for nothing or at someone else’s expense. I’m just as concerned about the quest for “fun” replacing a work ethic, or the way the entertainment media are shaping the everyday theology of the masses. Look closer, then, at the Foxwoods or Tri-State Lottery Commission commercials. Fantasy and reality diverge sharply.

Yes, it’s tempting. As in “temptation.” Even so, we believe in speaking Truth to Power. Need I say more?

SNOW MUCH SNOW

It’s snowing again, a nor’easter that’s expected to drop up to 15 inches on us before dawn. That’s on top of 5 or so a little over a week ago, plus last Tuesday’s 30-inch blizzard blast and Friday’s 7.5. That’s close to 5 feet of snowfall in a week-and-a-half and we still have two more winter months left – the two that traditionally can get the biggest totals, especially if we settle into a twice-a-week storm pattern as we seem to be.

Admittedly, even with subzero and single-digit lows, some has melted between rounds, but much of that’s also refrozen into compacted snow and ice below the surface. The landscape’s getting wild, even before the next foot or so expected later in the week. Add to that the monster icicles clinging to the eaves – cold claws growing at our windows.

I keep looking out at the falling, windblown flakes and at the driveway and pathways that are already obliterated again. With an overcast sky, half of the landscape appears to be erased from existence.

This is hardly the quaint Currier and Ives stereotype of New England winter. It’s the reason barns and outbuildings were connected to the farmhouse itself. In earlier times, it could prompt madness and a feeling of being buried alive, with or without others.

Nowadays, we usually have recourse to mobility and entertainment throughout all but the worst outbursts – or the increasingly common power outages.

Still, it’s such a relief to not be commuting to and from the newsroom these days, but that’s no cause for smugness as I consider so many workers who must venture forth in public service.

And here comes a city snowplow, making one more pass down our street – and adding to the blockage at the end of our driveway.

Back to the digging, then. Round by round.