Round the Herne

This is my short contribution to the celebrations of the NHS in its 70th year. If it were not for the NHS half my family would probably be dead (or bankrupted and left homeless, if we had the kind of private healthcare they have in America and which Jeremy Rhyming-Slang seems so desperate to impose on Britain). Here's to another 70 years - may you outlive all the snapping hyenas that would sell you off for private profit, and may those who misuse you gain greater respect for you and take greater care of their own health. This short myth is about the death of Asclepios, the divine physician from Greek mythology who eventually gained his place in Olympus. Possibly a tale about te death of a physician isn't the ideal way of celebrating the NHS, but it's hot and my brain can barely function. I once painted a picture of Asclepios in the manner of Klimt. It wasn't very good, but I may have another crack at painting over the summer holiday (I'm very out of practice).

A small piece of American folklore to mark Independence Day which my American friends, including those ex-pats now living in the colonies, are celebrating. I've never crossed the pond so cannot add any geographical colour about the Philadelphia forests, so will leave it to your imagination along with any notions you may have as to what the mysterious Squonk looks like (I was sorely tempted to post a photo of various politicians, but decided to be diplomatic instead).

This is a general reflection (drawing no hard and fast conclusions, because I'm still mulling over it myself) about how various types of paganism might reflect on theodicy - the big question of how justice pans out in a world where seemingly a lot of unjust things happen both in terms of the innocent suffering but also the wicked getting away with it.