Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad

Spotted this in the shop while getting the car washed.

A remnant of a time of the “dry run” or “dress rehearsal” or whatever you want to call it.

Kind of makes me misty-eyed for those days. Not.

Also kind of makes me wonder what’s coming next.

https://www.catholictradition.org/Classics/novena-booklet.htm#PROFUNDIS

The always Apot-on Fr. Nix has a wonderful piece up today and I encourage you to read through it here:

https://www.padreperegrino.org/2026/04/twojudgments/

A snippet:

“Saint Robert Bellarmine teaches that the reason the final Christians on earth will not need Purgatory is because they will have faced either a red or white martyrdom.  In other words, the last persevering Catholics will be taken straight to heaven because of what they will have endured during the time of the final antichrist.  After a very brief death, they will be reunited with their bodies (almost immediately) unto the Beatific Vision.  Think about what that means for the final great apostasy, whether that is happening right now or in a hundred years.”

Speaking of judgment, that Robin is totally judging me from her perch above my drainpipe. I don’t know who she thinks she is but that’s my drainpipe. Don’t forget it, bird.

I have written before of my love/hate with birds. I’m not ornithophobic ($0.75 out of my bank account right there). I think most birds are pretty and their tunes are sweet and all that. I’m sure they do something for the life cycle or something like that.

But over the past twenty years of home ownership, on a yearly basis, one or two of these little bastards decides he wants to make his home on my property. Since I am not a land baron that usually means I’m going to find a nest in my mailbox or something. I do everything in my power to prevent said nest building. I keep the mailbox closed tightly. I pull down strings and twigs from the gutter line. I tap out “Go away!” in Morse code from an old telegraphy machine I purchased for just this occasion. Finally, I sit on my front porch pleading with the little wren or cardinal to just leave me alone.

It isn’t that I don’t appreciate their skill. I’m always amazed that something with a brain the size of a pea can build a nest so perfectly and get past my above-mentioned security devices. No, in fact it’s just the opposite.

The real reason I don’t want them to start building is my bleeding heart. Once the nest is built and the eggs laid, I can’t bring myself to tear it down. That means I just have to wait it out a few weeks and then a few weeks more until they fledge – I had to look up all these bird terms – and then I’m left feeling empty. They eventually abandon me. They were always just using me. And not paying rent or taxes.

This morning while mowing the back 40 .04 I saw a robin swooping over my head. He landed on the section of drainpipe leading from the gutter into the patio tie-in. He landed on… A NEST!

Damn it.

I got up on a chair and stuck my phone over the top of the nest once the mother flew away and snapped the following.

See what I mean? Perfectly formed blue robin’s eggs. What am supposed to do with this?!

And they’ll leave me. They always do.

Lights cigarette and leans against the wall to mourn.

Who am I kidding? Next year there will be more.

And life goes on.

A good and holy bishop – there aren’t may these days – has gone to his judgment at the age of 102.

May he rest in peace.