My daughter noticed that photos of a young newlywed couple going about their daily lives have been spreading around the intertubes lately. Both have significant physical disabilities. “This suddenly makes anything I ever complain or have issues with, seem insignificant and trivial.” You’re so right, Gilly.
I took this photo yesterday morning of a lone goose slowly paddling up river past the Harvest sculpture. And it reminded me of one of my favorite poems.
The Wild Geese
Horseback on Sunday morning, harvest over, we taste persimmon and wild grape, sharp sweet of summer’s end. In time’s maze over the fall fields, we name names that went west from here, names that rest on graves. We open a persimmon seed to find the tree that stands in promise, pale, in the seed’s marrow. Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear, in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear. What we need is here.
Yesterday’s Strib has a letter to the editor by Northfielder and frequent LoGroNo commenter, John George, on “how earthquakes can be God’s judgment for sin.” (See full text below.) I’m hoping John will chime in here with a longer explanation.
But for those of you who do believe in God and who might quickly dismiss John’s assertions, consider how often you pray or participate in prayers that ask God to intercede in some way in your physical world or the physical world of others.
The appeal of his approach was immediate to me, especially tackling one habit at a time, taking baby steps, and using ‘triggers.’ And since two of the 6 steps involve public accountability, blogging my progress makes sense. Want to join me?
These days, confide to someone that you are in despair and he or she will likely suggest that you seek out professional help for your depression. While despair used to be classified as one of the seven deadly sins, it has now been medicalized and folded into the concept of clinical depression.
Tom Friedman’s column yesterday, 59 Is the New 30, reinforced my oft-stated goal to live till the end of the summer of 2069 so I can celebrate the 100th anniversary of man landing on the moon (July 20, 1969) and Woodstock (August 15-18, 1969). I’d be 119 years old – not out of the realm of possibility since centenarians are increasingly common. (Fun fact: in 2005, the “Social Security Administration extended the life expectancy tables up to age 119.”)
It doesn’t really matter if I get run over by a truck tomorrow or felled by some illness at an age when most everyone else my age is dying (80s? 90s?). And I wouldn’t want to be 119 unless I was reasonably mentally sharp.
What matters is that I’m acting now as if my life is only half over. I have six decades of experiences, learning, and accomplishments ahead of me.
No, I don’t have a bucket list. Do you? I’ve not been inclined to make one since they seem to encourage people to be more self-centered and acquisition-oriented, ie, acquiring experiences as if they were things.
Simply spending quality time together is probably not enough to prevent a relationship from getting stale… The goal is to find ways to keep injecting novelty into the relationship. The activity can be as simple as trying a new restaurant or something a little more unusual or thrilling — like taking an art class or going to an amusement park. The theory is based on brain science…
It is possible to go overboard on the novelty, however. “C’mon, honey. It’s cold, it’s windy, it’s pouring rain. Let’s go camping!” Yep, that’s my sweetie, looking like a hazmat worker but still as cute as ever, trying to keep warm and dry at Frontenac State Park on Saturday night. Let’s just say it was a memorable experience.
[Note from Tracy: The following was posted as a comment which was held for moderation. I thought that the story merited a post of its own. Thank you, Mr. Blodgett, for writing.]
“The shocking incident happened just at six o’clock. The boys were enjoying a boat ride above the dam and came down stream at full speed . . . Whether the steering gear was at fault or the engine was not working properly seems to be a conjecture, but the swiftly raging waters drew the boat and its living load toward the brink of the dam. The launch swung around as it neared the dam and went over stern first. (continued) Continue reading Guest post: Dave Blodgett, Class of ’43→