Tag: Inspirational

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

Live & Learn26 Comments

Lori told me it was coming, the Perseid meteor shower. I hadn’t seen one during the peak viewing period from Aug 11 to 13th, but I was on the look out this morning.

And why Great One, why shower me with hundreds, when One will do?

And One there was, streaking downward from the wispy clouds, quicker than a finger snap, much too quick for my clumsy hands and human technology, but the eye spotted it.

And here I sit typing this post recalling a passage from Sebastian Barry’s Old God’s Time: “My brain continued to tell a story disconnected from his waking self…one hundred trillion neutrinos passed through his body every second. You wrote something down to see it, see it all for the first time. Write it down to capture it…Neutrinos passed them also, trillions of them…on their way to the floor, into the earth and through the earth herself at nearly the speed of light. They passed through his tumbling mind, all its channels and sparks…they passed through his fingers…”

And so with me.

My trillions of neutrinos wrapping themselves around that split second flash.

Hold that thought. Wrap yourself around it and hold it tight.

I will remember this.

Notes:

  • See other photos from this morning’s walk here, my 1,196th consecutive (almost) daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
  • Post inspired by:..the great meteor shower of August, the Perseid, I wail all day for the shooting stars I miss. They’re out there showering down…and hissing perhaps at last into the ocean. —  Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Walking. Finding Sacrosanct.

Live & Learn48 Comments

Canada Geese are said to mate for life. Of course, I didn’t know this but I googled it 2 years ago when I tripped into a need to know. Sawsan, of course, would have known this, and all things about why the earth turns this way and that, and would have told me so, as the knower of all things that I, DK, don’t know. Irritating? Mildly. But like that growth on the instep of your foot — think “One of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn’t belong here” (Sesame Street) — its become part of you, and you get used to it in time by walking on it.

So here we are, on my 1,195th consecutive (almost) daybreak walk at Cove Island Park — like in a row . Minutes after my weather app said the rain would stop, it stopped. “Precipitation will end at 5:04 a.m.” And damn if it didn’t end at 5:04 a.m. I’m clearly not paying enough for this app, for the 1 in 10x it gets it right.

The heavy rains overnight have made the track muddy, and i’m stepping around the puddles I can see, and splashing through those that I don’t, some ankle deep, with the excess being sopped up by my socks.

Continue reading “Walking. Finding Sacrosanct.” →

Sunday Morning

Live & Learn12 Comments


This morning’s pictures of Cygnet with Mom & Dad here. Daybreak photos here.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

Live & Learn20 Comments


At certain moments I find myself enjoying life in a certain way. I may be alone, or with friends, or with my family, or even among strangers. Beautiful weather always helps; the more trees, the better. Early morning or evening is the best time. Maybe someone says something funny. And while everyone laughs, there is a sort of feeling that surges up under the laughter, like a wave rocking a rowboat, that tells you that this is the way life should be.

Moments like that don’t come every day, aren’t predictable, and can’t very well be charted. But the main response they inspire is something like gratitude: after all, one can’t exactly deserve them. One can only be prepared for them. But they do come.

— Joseph Sobran, from “Pensees: Notes for the reactionary of tomorrow (National Review, December 31, 1985)

Quote: Thank you Kurt @ Cultural Offering)

The measure of a community isn’t how it treats insiders, but rather how it treats outsiders.

Live & Learn29 Comments

[…] I now have a different view of small towns, one based in part on how they sometimes treat those they perceive as outsiders. Because I’ve had that experience as well, and it can be grim enough. […]

Over the course of our 12 years in Columbia, my family slowly but surely progressed from insiders to outsiders, beginning with the adoption of our youngest daughter, a beautiful girl from Ethiopia. My other two children, who are blond with blue eyes, were never followed by store employees; my youngest daughter was. My older kids were never told by their schoolmates that parents didn’t allow them to play with “kids like you,” or that it wasn’t “safe” to come to their house. Or that their “muddy” faces weren’t welcome on a hayride at a local farm. My youngest daughter has had all those experiences. She has also been told that slavery was necessary to “help” Black people to be ready for life in America.

No, none of this came from our friends, who were appalled right along with us. But we were forced to see a different part of our community, one that made our family feel far less like we were truly at home. […]

And that’s when I realized a truth that should have been blindingly obvious from the start: The measure of a community isn’t how it treats insiders, but rather how it treats outsiders. It is easy to be kind to your friends and allies. And when you experience that kindness, it can turn a small-town community into something like a security blanket. This is where you belong. But when you experience cruelty, a small town can be something else entirely. It can make you feel trapped and uneasy, as if there is no place to rest, as if your home isn’t truly your home.

What is your experience like if you’re the only Black or brown person in a sea of white? What is your experience if your household is a blue island in a red ocean, or a red island in a blue ocean? How much grace is extended to you when you fall or stumble? How much tolerance do you experience when you disagree? That is the measure of a place, not its love for its favorite daughters and sons.

— David French, from “Try Tolerance in a Small Town” (The New York Times · July 27, 2023)

Photo: David & Nancy French with their children. The Daily Herald.