Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom-poets, visionaries-realists of a larger reality. Ursula Le Guin American Writer 1929-2018
It is wonderful to sit by my fireplace on a cold, dark morning.
The sun will rise in an hour or so. There is snow on the ground.
I have a hot cup of coffee and a book to read.
My sweet Ginny lies on her rug near the fire dozing.
Could there be a more perfect morning?
In 8th grade, my girlfriends and I exchanged so much mis-information about sex. It is amusing today to recall our conversations. Continue reading “Talking About Sex”
Reading this article in the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) this morning made me happy.
Chagrin or a frown is my usual response to business articles in the WSJ.
Not their fault, just the nature of the beast.
Here is a list that Jazz Age novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald sent his 11-year old daughter Scottie in 1933 of things to and not to worry about.
She was the only child of Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Continue reading “What to worry about or not…”
When I consider that Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for over 24 years, I think what a long time that was. It seems inconceivable.
When I consider that my husband died at 58 years it does not seem nearly long enough. A life cut short. Continue reading “Help Me Out Here, Einstein”
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I awake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
It feels to me as though we are living in perilous times.
World peace, economic stability…all seems like pipe dreams.
Hence, this poem by Wendell Berry
The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind.*
It is so cold today.
I am inside wearing a heavy sweater as I type.
I sip hot coffee and enjoy dark chocolate as I start my day. Continue reading “A Debt to Pay Gladly”
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. *
I blog about my experiences.
I reveal my fears.
I share my happiness, my sorrows and my insights.
My concerns are nothing new to mankind. Continue reading “Thoughts on Blogging”
There was no Christmas tree.
No mistletoe.
No twinkling lights.
Lori Greer in Portland 