Tonight, about three quarters of the way through meeting, my internet cut off.
I have no idea how it happened but I got it back later in the evening (now).
All I can say is, sorry! I just disappeared, I'm sure! I hope the meeting carried on!
-Tom
Sunday, November 21, 2021
Queries
I have become impatient with trolling the internet looking for good queries. I can make them myself, but I also think that others should join in. If you have any, send them to me @ leverett @ siu.edu. I will be glad to include them here!
Here are a few I've come up with:
1. What can each of us do to make a zoom meeting more centered?
2. In what ways do different conceptions of God affect the practice of a Meeting?
3. How has your association with Quakerism changed you?
4. What wisdom can you share for new attenders about the process of centering and deep listening?
more coming...
Here are a few I've come up with:
1. What can each of us do to make a zoom meeting more centered?
2. In what ways do different conceptions of God affect the practice of a Meeting?
3. How has your association with Quakerism changed you?
4. What wisdom can you share for new attenders about the process of centering and deep listening?
more coming...
Saturday, November 13, 2021
Beginner's Guide to Quakerism
Thursday, October 14, 2021
Some Lady In Queen's Lords Prayer
Our Mother, our Father, Great Spirit
who is in heaven
holy is your name
your kindom come
and your will be done
on this fecund earth
as it is in a jillion
times more rapturous
heaven.
Give us daily
what we need to eat-
that should suffice.
Shore up inner-city dumpster divers,
and all of the hungry children
scavenging through landfills around the globe.
Bless the 10 year old Burundi boy
I saw on a New Pedestrianism
urban planner's website,
who chose to wear a
filthy pink, calf length ruche dress
he found in a Burundian dumpsite
rather than walk around
naked all the time.
Forgive us our age of terrorism
our self-serving transgressions
as we strive to absolve the hypnotized
the ignorant, the programmed
the rebellious for rebellion's sake
like lemmings
diving en masse
serially
over
cliffs,
who have anguished us before
they've headed for self destruction.
Protect us from craving, from impulse buying,
when our pneumas become weighted down with ash
and abrade, graze the ground, and our bosoms
have become hardened from this life
like that piece of horseradish cheddar
I found in the back of my refrigerator
cheese drawer that I forgot to
wrap in Saran wrap a month ago.
Don't let Beelzebub get at us.
His past-centuries name
still sends shivers through some. Especially
if said with a Mississippi southern accent.
10/02/21
Monday, October 4, 2021
from Steven W.
Manchester & Warrington Area Quakers are runnung a Quaker Quest series.
It is our Area Meeting’s usually annual main outreach activity.
The last sessions in 2019 were all done in Quaker week and Young Friends got about 50 people to come to the first on Quakers and Youth but more commonly there are ol about 4-7 newcomers in attendance
These are in person at Central Manchester and blended.
There is a large display that can show 25 people clearly, including being able to read their names, and a good microphone.
When they were in person the format was that three people would each spend eight minutes giving their personal story on the topic.
Then some questions would be answered and the new comers would go into break out rooms with a couple of experienced friends for twenty minutes.
The rest of the experienced friends socialise in another room.
There would then be a brief plenary followed by fifteen minutes of Meeting for Worship.
Register at Eventbrite to get sent the Zoom link the day before.
E-mail <quakerquest21mw@outlook.com>
7:00-9:00pm with refreshments from 6:30pm BST.
4 October Quakers and Worship
11 October Quakers, God and Other Faiths
18 October Quakers and Peace
25 October Quakers and Equality
1 November Quakers and Sustainability
This is 11am Pacific time, midday Mountain time 1pm Central time and 2pm Eastern time with socialising in the half hour before.
I’ll probably be going to these in person from next week.
I think elders are running the first, Greater Manchester Churches Together the second, peace group the third, social justice group the fourth and environmental group the fifth.
Thursday, September 9, 2021
Poems of F.T.
Riff On A 1918 Sarah Teasdale Pacifist Poem Reworked
As A Centenary + Two Years Pandemic Homage
Again come the hurricane-force winds
and flash-floods to Gotham New York,
And 3 am mockingbirds imitating cats in distress,
avians blown over from Long Island's North Fork;
In my yard I see achromatic 'possums wading
through puddles accumulating overnight,
And 70 plum tree friuts lie waiting
a nocturnal forager's delight.
Well-fed raccoons break some tines as they
amble atop a white picket fence-
they've even knocked out bottoms, and if possums,
or skunks are the culprits- a more forgivable offence.
And not one will know of this near civil war,
this incivility, this threat of extinction, not one
Could care diddly-squat insouciant
when the whole damn thing is done.
The licorice-nosed koala, lyrical lyre bird, neuro-genius octupi,
powerful, thoothed hippopotamus, and revered pine tree
could care less if humans took a hiatus permanently.
Sarah Teasdale said it over a hundred years ago,
and although I don't like her poetry
that's all you need to know.
-F.T. 08/27/21
Teasdale's 1918 poem is called "There Will Come Soft Rains", and was a reflection on World War 1 and the 1918 flu pandemic.
Mikaela In A Concave Geode Has A Revelation
Once in Wisconsin, a fresh water river nymph cautiously hid. She was a Potameides of the Naiad clan, and her name was Mikaela. She would remove freckles from the faces of young girls who bathed in her bubbling waters. She disappeared when vociferous men caused auricular tumults near the sloping river's banks.
Mikaela loved when a beauty-emanating geode, birthed by the mineral rich river's flows, occasionally cracked open against another rock. She especially cleaved to the purple and turquiose sea green colored ones- their vibrational frequencies soothed her so. It was her place to climb and curl into, then lay skyward in that little safe cup in a receptive state, arms folded across her chest like American trance seer Edgar Cayce. Then she waited, patiently waited.
She knew, she saw, that the people who kept eating severely tortured and butchered animal friends and saints in Usanian factory farms had a psychological dilemma to solve. They did not want to change their ways borne from entrenched habits of cultural tradition, so they made up a strategy not known to their very own selves
They decided to accuse and blame other people in their country of cooking and eating human children. They were unable to see that they themselves were cooking, broiling, occasionally stamping on, electrocuting, suffocating, and ingesting Great Spirit's other tribe's beloved offspring.
Mikaela knew the truth from her hypnogogic trances now, floating so closely above that mirky, unconscious river. This is why she often hid until innocents arrived. She beheld a milleniums-long mass habituation that was very violent. Except when young girls with freckle problems came to bathe. This she ministered to with sublime calm, peace, and sororal ease.
-F.T. 09/04/21
This is a poem about projection, and about our inability to see what horrific abuses we are continuously inflicting upon defenseless beings from other tribes by our shopping habits, borne from deeply entrenched, culturally-influenced alimentary and lifestyle habits. I am particularly thinking about conspiracy theorists, the currently cult-like Republican party in the US and the influence it has on the kinds of intellectually weak, spiritually bankrupt, frightened and programmed people who have lost the ability to think and constructively dialogue. A Hopi elder I was listening to said that people are currently without the instructions on how to live on Earth. Also, Thomas Merton once said that animals are saints because they are true to their own natures.
Tender Biker
He moves with a muted elan that is
as faint as the colors in a moonbow,
or like the pastel confectionery scent
of violet baby cologne.
He offers a paper plate holding
rainbow sprinkled red velvet cupcakes
to share with his daughter.
His eyes shine washed white mushroom bright
reflecting back the burst of glee
on her four years old face.
He cleans her hands smudged
from smeared icing with a
cucumber and green tea scented wipe
then puts her and the apricot poodle
into the motorcycle side car bedecked
with metallic pink and purple pinwheels-
just for her.
They take off, that revving a reprieve from
the stoned neighbor's bass boost
invading the street's bungalow houses.
From my front stoop, I glance
beetween reading texts then pages
from a Zbigniew Herbert poetry anthology.
I just now found the moxie
to go sweep up and flush
the dead water bug in the basement.
-F.T. 07/31/21
The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a few hour-long news specials on the January 6th hearings, as well as some clips on the new book that came out by the award winning Washington Post journalists Leonnig and Rucker, entitled "I Alone Can Fix It", highlighting the former president's authoritarian and "Stong Man" delusional ideal, it's effects on our democracy, and the fact that he is increasingly being recognized as an American war criminal. The tender biker depicted in this poem, for me, illustrates authentic, constructive, and healthy masculine strength that is very attractive.
Undersong Frequencies Against
The Demons Of Our Undoing
That's what I must sometimes
sound like to God when I pray-
a droning beseecher
with supplications on repeat
yet part of limping creation's fallen beat.
My spiritual coexistence
is a conjoint condition
with the trap door of prayer
hidden in twilight's hideaways.
What deflects the physics law-bending
supernatural light from flooding and freeing
are the malignant offspring of our harmful actions.
They are yoking demons, torturers meant to awaken.
To unclasp these spirit leeches from your neck,
start with accepting your status
as a pilgrim deuteragonist.
Ignorance is letting your
14 year old daughter
accompany you to a wake in
daisy dukes and a crop top.
I had the pleasure of beholding
this future, discount residustrial strumpet
in a Greenpoint funeral parlor.
Sadness can barely appreciate,
and is bummer Debbie Downer
monotonously dressed in somber brown.
This is a condition that is not depression.
Before the disruption of the planetary ecosystems,
It was considered the most harmful of spirits.
Self-indulgence. Laddie, do you really need
40 pairs of Nikes stacked in tangerine boxes
we can see in your room on Zoom?
Lust. Once on a Peter Pan bus stuck
in traffic on I-278 over New York's Triboro Bridge,
snug, daydreaming out of a window seat,
I glanced down to see a male driver in his car
wanking himself. Everyone on the bus could see it
if they looked over to the left.
Maybe he was an objectumsexual and
got excited by his close contact
with the car in front of him.
Injustice. Thousands of California Black,
Latina, and Indigenous women became
victims of forced sterilization in that state's
eugenics program in the first half of the last century.
It gave the Nazis the idea to execute it.
Greed. “Everyone’s greedy,”
Bell assistant city manager Angela Spaccia's
defense attorney Harland Braun argued at trial,
defending her $564,000 a year salary.
“There’s no crime in taking too much money.”
The double-chinned ex-mayor Anthony Rizzo
could barely button his jacket over his bulging
belly at his own trial. That button was so ripe to pop
and go flying any minute, across the room.
Deceitfulness. Gaslighting your spouse,
with "I'm not having an affair".
Or the vet ripping out all of your
sick senior cat's teeth for one grand,
when he really was dying from brain cancer.
He missed it in his mom and pop shop
local clinic, lacking the necessary equipment
to make an accurate diagnosis.
There is also deceitfulness through silence.
Craving. Here's one you're targeted for
by sociopathic psychologists and advertisers
using military psychological operations tactics.
They make you want to have things that you
don't really want or need
by implanting the desire in your mind,
that keeps appearing like pop-ups on your lap top.
Or Kraft Foods Group staff marketing meetings, they
celebrate their food chemist's flavor enhancers
that make sure you can't stop eating once you start.
"Betcha can't eat just one!"
Fraud. You were beyond credulous
to have bought this one. The levitating
Indian "guru", concealed in a tent before and after
actually becoming suspended in the air,
seated on a metal plate hidden under his robes,
secretly attached to his staff
firmly anchored into the ground.
Bless me, godman!
Anger. The spirit of wrath.
Not the PTSD-generated mindful anger that has snapped
out of its denial of planetary suicide,
is no longer willing to be stuck in ire,
is facing its stage of grief, and is uploading
its new-found energy towards salvaging work and giving.
Haste. What memes that flew
when that lone black fly landed and sat like a monk
on Mike Pence's head during the 2020 VP debate.
The attack on the working class, the gig economy,
the squeezing, the stress pressed upon those buckling
under unliveable wages have upticked anxiety disorders
like never seen before in this collapsing America.
There is no need for "Work Shall Set You Free"
signs above death camps anymore. Just be a member
of the working or splinter-sized, remnant middle class.
A few corporations are taking out
a dead peasant policy on you, anyway.
Ill Will. Once I was called for Brooklyn jury duty.
Some Black lady put out her foot to intentionally trip me.
I nimbly tried to hop over it at the edge of
our wooden bench row as I went up to the judge
to beseech excusal for religious reasons.
I think the tripper judged me because I was Land's End and
L.L. Bean dressed-for-social-worker-job white.
I am sure of this.
The Mennonite oath forbiddance and
a music minister gig there near Washington Square
sent me home to continue helping poor
Black and Hispanic poeple uninterrupted.
The city has gotten rid of excusal
for conscience reasons since then-
one step ahead of us clever.
- F.T. 07/25/21
This poem is a melange of religious guiding principles drawn from various ancient and Gnostic scriptures illustrated in 12 experimental codas.
Editor's Note: F.T. is a pen name for one of our regular attenders; if you read carefully you'll know which one. If you are looking for a connection to Quakerism, that was it. We publish each other's poetry just to share with each other as a community. No other alignment with our values is intended or inferred.
As A Centenary + Two Years Pandemic Homage
Again come the hurricane-force winds
and flash-floods to Gotham New York,
And 3 am mockingbirds imitating cats in distress,
avians blown over from Long Island's North Fork;
In my yard I see achromatic 'possums wading
through puddles accumulating overnight,
And 70 plum tree friuts lie waiting
a nocturnal forager's delight.
Well-fed raccoons break some tines as they
amble atop a white picket fence-
they've even knocked out bottoms, and if possums,
or skunks are the culprits- a more forgivable offence.
And not one will know of this near civil war,
this incivility, this threat of extinction, not one
Could care diddly-squat insouciant
when the whole damn thing is done.
The licorice-nosed koala, lyrical lyre bird, neuro-genius octupi,
powerful, thoothed hippopotamus, and revered pine tree
could care less if humans took a hiatus permanently.
Sarah Teasdale said it over a hundred years ago,
and although I don't like her poetry
that's all you need to know.
-F.T. 08/27/21
Teasdale's 1918 poem is called "There Will Come Soft Rains", and was a reflection on World War 1 and the 1918 flu pandemic.
Once in Wisconsin, a fresh water river nymph cautiously hid. She was a Potameides of the Naiad clan, and her name was Mikaela. She would remove freckles from the faces of young girls who bathed in her bubbling waters. She disappeared when vociferous men caused auricular tumults near the sloping river's banks.
Mikaela loved when a beauty-emanating geode, birthed by the mineral rich river's flows, occasionally cracked open against another rock. She especially cleaved to the purple and turquiose sea green colored ones- their vibrational frequencies soothed her so. It was her place to climb and curl into, then lay skyward in that little safe cup in a receptive state, arms folded across her chest like American trance seer Edgar Cayce. Then she waited, patiently waited.
She knew, she saw, that the people who kept eating severely tortured and butchered animal friends and saints in Usanian factory farms had a psychological dilemma to solve. They did not want to change their ways borne from entrenched habits of cultural tradition, so they made up a strategy not known to their very own selves
They decided to accuse and blame other people in their country of cooking and eating human children. They were unable to see that they themselves were cooking, broiling, occasionally stamping on, electrocuting, suffocating, and ingesting Great Spirit's other tribe's beloved offspring.
Mikaela knew the truth from her hypnogogic trances now, floating so closely above that mirky, unconscious river. This is why she often hid until innocents arrived. She beheld a milleniums-long mass habituation that was very violent. Except when young girls with freckle problems came to bathe. This she ministered to with sublime calm, peace, and sororal ease.
-F.T. 09/04/21
This is a poem about projection, and about our inability to see what horrific abuses we are continuously inflicting upon defenseless beings from other tribes by our shopping habits, borne from deeply entrenched, culturally-influenced alimentary and lifestyle habits. I am particularly thinking about conspiracy theorists, the currently cult-like Republican party in the US and the influence it has on the kinds of intellectually weak, spiritually bankrupt, frightened and programmed people who have lost the ability to think and constructively dialogue. A Hopi elder I was listening to said that people are currently without the instructions on how to live on Earth. Also, Thomas Merton once said that animals are saints because they are true to their own natures.
He moves with a muted elan that is
as faint as the colors in a moonbow,
or like the pastel confectionery scent
of violet baby cologne.
He offers a paper plate holding
rainbow sprinkled red velvet cupcakes
to share with his daughter.
His eyes shine washed white mushroom bright
reflecting back the burst of glee
on her four years old face.
He cleans her hands smudged
from smeared icing with a
cucumber and green tea scented wipe
then puts her and the apricot poodle
into the motorcycle side car bedecked
with metallic pink and purple pinwheels-
just for her.
They take off, that revving a reprieve from
the stoned neighbor's bass boost
invading the street's bungalow houses.
From my front stoop, I glance
beetween reading texts then pages
from a Zbigniew Herbert poetry anthology.
I just now found the moxie
to go sweep up and flush
the dead water bug in the basement.
-F.T. 07/31/21
The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a few hour-long news specials on the January 6th hearings, as well as some clips on the new book that came out by the award winning Washington Post journalists Leonnig and Rucker, entitled "I Alone Can Fix It", highlighting the former president's authoritarian and "Stong Man" delusional ideal, it's effects on our democracy, and the fact that he is increasingly being recognized as an American war criminal. The tender biker depicted in this poem, for me, illustrates authentic, constructive, and healthy masculine strength that is very attractive.
That's what I must sometimes
sound like to God when I pray-
a droning beseecher
with supplications on repeat
yet part of limping creation's fallen beat.
My spiritual coexistence
is a conjoint condition
with the trap door of prayer
hidden in twilight's hideaways.
What deflects the physics law-bending
supernatural light from flooding and freeing
are the malignant offspring of our harmful actions.
They are yoking demons, torturers meant to awaken.
To unclasp these spirit leeches from your neck,
start with accepting your status
as a pilgrim deuteragonist.
Ignorance is letting your
14 year old daughter
accompany you to a wake in
daisy dukes and a crop top.
I had the pleasure of beholding
this future, discount residustrial strumpet
in a Greenpoint funeral parlor.
Sadness can barely appreciate,
and is bummer Debbie Downer
monotonously dressed in somber brown.
This is a condition that is not depression.
Before the disruption of the planetary ecosystems,
It was considered the most harmful of spirits.
Self-indulgence. Laddie, do you really need
40 pairs of Nikes stacked in tangerine boxes
we can see in your room on Zoom?
Lust. Once on a Peter Pan bus stuck
in traffic on I-278 over New York's Triboro Bridge,
snug, daydreaming out of a window seat,
I glanced down to see a male driver in his car
wanking himself. Everyone on the bus could see it
if they looked over to the left.
Maybe he was an objectumsexual and
got excited by his close contact
with the car in front of him.
Injustice. Thousands of California Black,
Latina, and Indigenous women became
victims of forced sterilization in that state's
eugenics program in the first half of the last century.
It gave the Nazis the idea to execute it.
Greed. “Everyone’s greedy,”
Bell assistant city manager Angela Spaccia's
defense attorney Harland Braun argued at trial,
defending her $564,000 a year salary.
“There’s no crime in taking too much money.”
The double-chinned ex-mayor Anthony Rizzo
could barely button his jacket over his bulging
belly at his own trial. That button was so ripe to pop
and go flying any minute, across the room.
Deceitfulness. Gaslighting your spouse,
with "I'm not having an affair".
Or the vet ripping out all of your
sick senior cat's teeth for one grand,
when he really was dying from brain cancer.
He missed it in his mom and pop shop
local clinic, lacking the necessary equipment
to make an accurate diagnosis.
There is also deceitfulness through silence.
Craving. Here's one you're targeted for
by sociopathic psychologists and advertisers
using military psychological operations tactics.
They make you want to have things that you
don't really want or need
by implanting the desire in your mind,
that keeps appearing like pop-ups on your lap top.
Or Kraft Foods Group staff marketing meetings, they
celebrate their food chemist's flavor enhancers
that make sure you can't stop eating once you start.
"Betcha can't eat just one!"
Fraud. You were beyond credulous
to have bought this one. The levitating
Indian "guru", concealed in a tent before and after
actually becoming suspended in the air,
seated on a metal plate hidden under his robes,
secretly attached to his staff
firmly anchored into the ground.
Bless me, godman!
Anger. The spirit of wrath.
Not the PTSD-generated mindful anger that has snapped
out of its denial of planetary suicide,
is no longer willing to be stuck in ire,
is facing its stage of grief, and is uploading
its new-found energy towards salvaging work and giving.
Haste. What memes that flew
when that lone black fly landed and sat like a monk
on Mike Pence's head during the 2020 VP debate.
The attack on the working class, the gig economy,
the squeezing, the stress pressed upon those buckling
under unliveable wages have upticked anxiety disorders
like never seen before in this collapsing America.
There is no need for "Work Shall Set You Free"
signs above death camps anymore. Just be a member
of the working or splinter-sized, remnant middle class.
A few corporations are taking out
a dead peasant policy on you, anyway.
Ill Will. Once I was called for Brooklyn jury duty.
Some Black lady put out her foot to intentionally trip me.
I nimbly tried to hop over it at the edge of
our wooden bench row as I went up to the judge
to beseech excusal for religious reasons.
I think the tripper judged me because I was Land's End and
L.L. Bean dressed-for-social-worker-job white.
I am sure of this.
The Mennonite oath forbiddance and
a music minister gig there near Washington Square
sent me home to continue helping poor
Black and Hispanic poeple uninterrupted.
The city has gotten rid of excusal
for conscience reasons since then-
one step ahead of us clever.
- F.T. 07/25/21
This poem is a melange of religious guiding principles drawn from various ancient and Gnostic scriptures illustrated in 12 experimental codas.
Editor's Note: F.T. is a pen name for one of our regular attenders; if you read carefully you'll know which one. If you are looking for a connection to Quakerism, that was it. We publish each other's poetry just to share with each other as a community. No other alignment with our values is intended or inferred.
Monday, August 30, 2021
Beginner's Guide to Quakerism
This document was given to me, written by three or four of my elders, because I am good at editing, formatting, and publishing Quaker books. It is only about 33 pages as we speak, really more of a pamphlet, and just goes over the basics of liberal Quakerism for those who are attracted to the faith.
We have sent it out to about nine first readers, who should be giving us comments in about a week. The exact method of publication is still unclear. One side of me wants to just crank out pamphlets from my shed, and become a printer-distributer. But my original idea was to go through Amazon, which is basically free - you set up the template, they print, by demand, as many as you want. In this plan printing the pamphlet would be about $1.50-$2,00, as low as they can make it, but they generally charge a lot for shipping and keeping track of author's copies. So, as long as I ordered one ($1.50), they might charge me $2.50 ot send it, but if I ordered ten ($15.00), they might charge me only $3 or $4, so it would get progressively more worthwhile for me to order author's copies in large number for people who requested them. I could have the sent anywhere. Prime would not apply. Someone who wanted to buy one straight off the top, from the Amazon page, would pay about $3 (minimum price for any book, even only 33 pages), and prime would apply if they have it, if not, another buck or two for postage.
Another possibility is to use my shed as a pamphlet-produxtion facility. I have a reasonably good printer which I believe would be up to the task although I might have to up my game in terms of making it always ready to print. I also would have to always be ready to send. I would have to be able to say to someone, "I can send you six of these on Thursday for about ten dollars including postage, and they would get there around Sunday," and then I would have to be able to do it. I am interested in this option becuase I am aware of the general distaste people have for Amazon and how much people would simply like to go around them. Another reason I am interested in this is because I am considering making a Cloud Quaker calendar, which would be available at the end of the year, and which would be done the same way: on my printer, at home, one at a time, etc.
To do this I need two things. One is a long stapler that will help me staple a calendar or a book in the middle even if it is long. The other is a fair-sized paper cutter. Both of these are readily available. I just have to get out there and find them.
The third option is to go through Pendle Hill or some other Quaker publisher who just takes care of these details for a fee and keeps you out of it. I am not sure how I feel about this or how they would react to our particular document.
Something to chew on.
We have sent it out to about nine first readers, who should be giving us comments in about a week. The exact method of publication is still unclear. One side of me wants to just crank out pamphlets from my shed, and become a printer-distributer. But my original idea was to go through Amazon, which is basically free - you set up the template, they print, by demand, as many as you want. In this plan printing the pamphlet would be about $1.50-$2,00, as low as they can make it, but they generally charge a lot for shipping and keeping track of author's copies. So, as long as I ordered one ($1.50), they might charge me $2.50 ot send it, but if I ordered ten ($15.00), they might charge me only $3 or $4, so it would get progressively more worthwhile for me to order author's copies in large number for people who requested them. I could have the sent anywhere. Prime would not apply. Someone who wanted to buy one straight off the top, from the Amazon page, would pay about $3 (minimum price for any book, even only 33 pages), and prime would apply if they have it, if not, another buck or two for postage.
Another possibility is to use my shed as a pamphlet-produxtion facility. I have a reasonably good printer which I believe would be up to the task although I might have to up my game in terms of making it always ready to print. I also would have to always be ready to send. I would have to be able to say to someone, "I can send you six of these on Thursday for about ten dollars including postage, and they would get there around Sunday," and then I would have to be able to do it. I am interested in this option becuase I am aware of the general distaste people have for Amazon and how much people would simply like to go around them. Another reason I am interested in this is because I am considering making a Cloud Quaker calendar, which would be available at the end of the year, and which would be done the same way: on my printer, at home, one at a time, etc.
To do this I need two things. One is a long stapler that will help me staple a calendar or a book in the middle even if it is long. The other is a fair-sized paper cutter. Both of these are readily available. I just have to get out there and find them.
The third option is to go through Pendle Hill or some other Quaker publisher who just takes care of these details for a fee and keeps you out of it. I am not sure how I feel about this or how they would react to our particular document.
Something to chew on.
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