Hear this, ye old men

Hear this, ye old men, and give ear, all ye inhabitants of the land . . .
Joel 1:2

Older I grow; but am I much wiser?

Am I in tune with the Highest Deviser?

Help me to hear all thy counsels aright,

and find in obedience my greatest delight!

My Poem on the Troubles in Portland is Posted in the New York Times.

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tim torkildson | utah This sentence: ". . . how much more powerful it is for changemakers to endure violence than to commit it." The squeaky wheel may get the grease/if they can but survive police/and troops that swoop down in the night/to give the innocent a fright/When presidents intimidate/it's time for them to abdicate/You cannot sterilize free speech/or keep control of what folk preach/When steam is bottled up, you know/it has a tendency to blow/Mahatma Gandhi would agree/that Trump misreads democracy.

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The righteous shall be recompensed.

Behold, the righteous shall be recompensed in the earth: much more the wicked and the sinner.
Proverbs 11:31

The recompense that may be mine

I leave to Holy God divine.

His loving kindness tips the scales

because his mercy never fails.

Unto Thee shall all flesh come.

O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come.
Psalm  65:2

How shall my flesh come to thee,
to dwell in thy manse blissfully?
No balloon or a tower,
or rocket fuel power --
but by loving kind charity!

My Recent Poem on Alaskan Salmon & Gold has been Posted in the New York Times.

Your comment has been approved! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with The New York Times community. tim torkildson | utah There's nothing like a salmon run/with flecks of speckled speed/when bears and eagles congregate to feast with blameless greed/But gold is where you find it, and it glitters temptingly/A man would be a fool to leave it lying homelessly/Maybe we can sell the rights to mine the land pristine/to a guileless cartel from the land of Argentine/They'll never organize enough to get the digging done/and we can keep on fishing and grow rich while having fun! View your comment If you're having trouble viewing your comment, please copy and paste this link in your browser: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/24/climate/pebble-mine-alaska-environment.html#commentsContainer&permid=108306192:108306192 All of our comments are moderated for civility. Have feedback? Let us know. If you would like your comment to be considered for publication as a letter to the editor, please email a copy of your comment to letters@nytimes.com – along with your name, city/town and phone number (the latter for verification only).

FDA Warns About Toxic Hand Sanitizers

Remember Prohibition? Of course you do!
It was that time a hundred years ago when all the saloons shut down and Americans had to make their own hootch.
Much of the resulting product was just barely potable, but Jazz Age flappers and hep cats managed to still get the desired effect, throwing up merrily all over their raccoon coats and Calvin Coolidge rotogravures. 
But some of the booze that was cobbled together in those halcyon days was actually toxic -- it gave imbibers the heebie jeebies, not to mention the colly wobbles and softening of the eyeballs. 
There was never any sure way to discern between the Good Stuff and the Graveyard Gravy. You just had to take your chances. Many a fine man and woman, in an unguarded moment, blighted their futures with one sip too many of a toxic cocktail -- becoming imbeciles, or, even worse, card-carrying Wampus Babies. Your great grandfather probably had a dose of toxic liquor at one time or another; and doesn't that go a long way towards explaining those strange second cousins who live in the Turtle Mountains and worship what they call the Vinegar God?

Today we face a similar challenge when it comes to hand sanitizers; some of them, it has been reported by reliable news sources, are chock-a-block with toxic ingredients that not only don't kill germs but can actually cause your skin to peel off and your fingers to independently run for President.
Spurious ingredients in hand sanitizers for sale at major retail outlets in America include:

Oil of squills.
Millipede powder.
Eye of Gingrich.
Mandolin picks.
Dust bunny droppings.
and lutefisk concentrate.

Horrible to think about. Even more horrible to use!
Don't be fooled by labels that boast about 'purity' or 'gluten free.' In order to see how toxic your hand sanitizer might be, test it first by placing a drop on a noisy child in your neighborhood. If it bores a hole through the child's head, you know it's toxic and you've wasted your money on poison. But on the bright side at least you've gotten rid of one obnoxious child.
There's really only one way to insure that your hand sanitizer is safe and sound, and that is to make it yourself. As a public service I hereby offer, gratis, this scientific formula for hand sanitizer that will neutralize microbes before you can say "Andy Fauci!"

TORKILDSON'S OLDE FASHIONED ORGANIC HAND SANITIZER.

Start with a gallon of neutral grain spirits.
As soon as you've finished that and sobered up again pour a quart of turpentine into a galvanized wash tub, add three tablespoons of Epsom salts and a dash of cooking sherry. Stir constantly for five minutes and then throw in three packets of unflavored gelatin and a handful of cloves. Cover with cheesecloth and let sit overnight. Siphon off into one pint spray bottles and immediately give them all to your mother-in-law. Because she certainly deserves them, doesn't she?

What is Chapter 11 bankruptcy?

Chapter 11 bankruptcy (often known as 'not my fault, try and get me, nyaah!) is a simple legal procedure that can be explained in a few short sentences.
Unfortunately for you, I get paid by the word, so this is going to go on forever. You might want to skip to the end, where I end, which I've labeled 'the end.' Otherwise, hang around for the kind of financial education only vouchsafed to the heirs of Rockefeller and J.P. Morgan.
The first order of bizness in filing for Chapter 11 is to find a competent lawyer. This is usually accomplished by looking for an attorney who is still vertical after Happy Hour. If you're that lucky, things should go swimmingly for you. Or else you'll drown. Either way, the editors are paying for every single word I'm writing here so I don't give a carrot peel about your uncle who used to be an attorney but was turned in for cooking the books when he only meant to cook spaghetti. The law is blind, and doesn't much care for oregano either.
Next you'll be scheduled in a bankruptcy court. These dens of iniquity pimple the countryside like a rash. That's because, next to homicide, suicide, and can't decide, bankruptcy is America's favorite pastime. 
The best way to schedule your case is to wave a hundred dollar bill under the nose of the docket clerk. His or her eyes will glow with cupidity and as soon as they have penciled you in you can skedaddle with your c-note. Most court clerks are too fat and lazy to give chase. If you happen to get a svelte one then just yell 'habeas corpus!' and they'll disappear in a cloud of toner.
During the hearing the judge may ask you for proof of expenditures for the last two years. You won't have any proof, of course -- since your lawyer conveniently gathered it all up the week before and sent it to Costa Rica for laundering and they take forever to get it back. Plus there's always buttons missing.
So just have your lawyer tell the judge that due to circumstances beyond belief your data has been hacked -- not only that, but also slashed, burned, and replanted with oil palm trees. 
In all likelihood you and your attorney and the judge will then adjourn to the nearest outdoor cafe for a cup of hibiscus leaf tea and a hearty laugh at the expense of anyone who has read this entire article thinking they were being informed on something useful.
"The End."
The above is meant only as a suggestion; any resemblance to a real piece of information is entirely by chance and doesn't count as a question on Jeopardy.

Baseball Will Start Its Weirdest Season Ever. But Will It Finish? (WSJ Headline.)

The pastime of America's about to yell "Play Ball!"
Their season is truncated and there's health rules up the wall.
No summer camp to speak of for the teams of MLB --
No doubt this season will be one for screwball history.

The Yankees and the Nationals will start the game in style
in Washington, with nobody in rows or on the aisle.
Dr. Fauci will be there, in hazmat suit to bask
in silence as he throws the season's first symbolic mask.

With cardboard cutouts looking on, the pitching's bound to stink.
The batting average will be low -- no theft of bases (. . . wink.)
If the game's anemic I don't know who will tune in;
even Victor Rojas might just sound like hollow tin.

Let's hope that at the end of day, as players leave the field,
the fans in distant domiciles will not have all congealed.
If big league games don't bring in lots of ample advertising,
they'll have to sell their diamonds and begin a mass downsizing!

The Tale of the Veil.

The world lay wrapped in stuffy ease -- 
at least that part that felt no squeeze.
For many life was very good,
while others did the best they could.

Then out of China came a scourge
that left behind a prolonged dirge.
This plague leaped borders without check,
and left behind but doleful wreck.

And Beijing, silent as the crypt,
told no one of it and so skipped
the blame for quite a while, until
their own docs all the beans did spill.

But pointing fingers held no charm
for countries now aflame with harm.
Economies began crash
as biznesses were strapped for cash.

Because, you see, nobody felt
like going out and spending gelt
when anyone could be contagious
(and face it -- prices grew outrageous.)

So everybody stayed at home;
in condo, shack, or manse of chrome.
And streaming Disney or Netflix,
they managed well -- or laid some bricks.

The hunt for vaccines was quite stalled
by public health experts -- so called.
Since anyone with white lab coat
could any nutty theory float.

The media was like ping pong;
here and there, then right and wrong.
Statistics piled up in a heap
and sent the public fast asleep.

Our President had much to say;
it had no meaning, just great sway.
He dosed himself with nostrums weird
and told the press: "I ain't afeared!"

Before a cure was found the mob
that pulls the strings began to throb;
they were hurting and so they told
their minions to start spinning gold.

Presidents and other leaders
(including many bottom feeders)
bowed their heads and went ahead
with opening a large beachhead.

Some people started going out;
the bars and stores to bravely scout.
Some got sick, but some returned;
the yen for freedom brightly burned.

Though death remained a constant threat
the people did refuse to fret.
They piled out of their domiciles
to all resume their old lifestyles.

And then . . . and then, what do you think?
Amidst their eating and their drink
there arose a squabble pealing
on the subject of concealing!

Consensus slowly took the form
that masking ought to be the norm.
The medicoes had proven surely
that veils could help us live securely.

Governors and bizness mavens,
croaking constantly like ravens,
ordered that the public basking
in their freedom must start masking.

And most obeyed this simple rule
when working, in stores, or at school.
But some there were who figured that
their leaders talked through silken hat.

These bravos thought that they could see
a horrible conspiracy.
Being muzzled is a folly --
they would not succumb, by golly!

And so they marched in turbid groups,
ignored by any army troops --
they entered shops to bare their fangs,
all cursing with ignoble twangs.

While those who wore a mask deplored
what they now called 'the unwashed horde."
Now polarized beyond repair,
the two sides went beyond a glare.

They threw up barricades on streets;
they wore steel hats and put on sheets.
They took potshots and threw grenades;
both sides were weighed down with switchblades.

While in the White House feckless Don
gave out with tweets and then did yawn.
The country into chaos fell;
sweet reason fled to padded cell.

At last the Lord God intervened
and all mankind was quarantined.
He caused a mask on every face
to grow and fit like Irish lace.

And then He put us each in boxes,
very clean -- with scent of phloxes.
And that's just how we're gonna stay
until it's time for Judgement Day.

My recent comment on Trump is posted in the New York Times.

Your comment has been approved! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with The New York Times community. tim torkildson | utah The bogeyman will get you, and he comes straight from DC/He'll drag you off and lock you up with total secrecy/He never says a word but simply grabs the nearest chump/and throws 'em in an unmarked van on orders from old Trump/So never go out when it's dark or march in a procession/otherwise you'll disappear for make believe transgression. View your comment If you're having trouble viewing your comment, please copy and paste this link in your browser: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/20/us/politics/trump-chicago-portland-federal-agents.html#commentsContainer&permid=108244192:108244192 All of our comments are moderated for civility. Have feedback? Let us know. If you would like your comment to be considered for publication as a letter to the editor, please email a copy of your comment to letters@nytimes.com – along with your name, city/town and phone number (the latter for verification only).