The Inexorable March of Time

I was reminded by my friend Brian’s recent comments in a Facebook group about returning to blogging that, “hey, I have a blog, too!” Only I haven’t written anything here for nearly FOUR YEARS, and other than satisfying my own desire to write, I’m not sure why I would continue, or even why I did it in the first place.

At home, on my desk, in my computer bag, etc., I have blank notebooks, big and small, some with stuff written in them, some still completely blank. I don’t expect them ever to be of value to anyone, except maybe sentimental value for a time. It’s like a bit of dialogue in the movie “Arthur” where Arthur Bach (Dudley Moore) says to fiance’ Susan, “Not all of us who drinks is a poet. Maybe some of us drink because we’re not poets.”

Not everyone who buys little notebooks is a writer. Maybe some of us buy little notebooks because we’re not writers (but wish we were). I’m also reminded that some things take discipline, practice, and patience, three things I also wish I had more of.

So, what does all this have to do with time? In the four years since I’ve written anything here our eldest and middle daughters have gotten master’s degrees, our youngest gotten her degree, all three are working and living on their own, we took a trip to England, Scotland, France, and (briefly) Iceland. I took a business trip to Norway and Sweden (the ones in Europe, not the ones in Maine), political and civil discourse in our country has gone from bad to worse, our middle daughter has gotten married and our son-in-law started his medical residency at a naval hospital, and in so many ways and in so many spheres I find myself wondering, “what’s next?”

What’s next? Well, who knows, but maybe I’ll write something about it.

time alarm clock alarm clock

Photo by Monoar Rahman on Pexels.com

Advertisements

Once More….

Cathay Pacific B777*ceci n’est pas un avion

The photo above is not the actual Boeing 777 carrying Lindsay from Los Angeles to Hong Kong on her way to Thailand, at least as far as we know, but it might as well be. Three years ago we were waiting to hear that she had arrived safely in Africa. Now, after getting her messages that she had arrived in LA from Boston and boarded her flight for Hong Kong, we have to wait about another twelve hours before we can reasonably expect to hear from her again.

With all three of our girls away, either at school, or way away, as in Asia for the next six months, we officially have an empty nest (just don’t tell the cats). This opens a new chapter, some of which I don’t expect to be markedly different from the previous, but which presents some of its own opportunities. I suspect it will take a little while for us to establish a new rhythm, a new pattern of life with mostly just the two of us again after more than twenty years with children of various sizes in the house.

Meanwhile, Lindsay has picked up her blog again, and we can expect to hear all kinds of interesting things about life, work, and travels in Thailand and other parts of southeast Asia.

Christmas 2012

The Heart-in-Waiting

The Heart-in-waiting

Jesus walked through whispering wood:
‘I am pale blossom, I am blood berry,
I am rough bark, I am sharp thorn.
This is the place where you will be born.’

Jesus went down to the skirl of the sea:
‘I am long reach, I am fierce comber,
I am keen saltspray, I am spring tide.’
He pushed the cup of the sea aside

And heard the sky which breathed-and-blew:
‘I am the firmament, I am shape-changer,
I cradle and carry and kiss and roar,
I am infinite roof and floor.’

All day he walked, he walked all night,
Then Jesus came to the heart at dawn.
‘Here and now,’ said the heart-in-waiting,
‘This is the place where you must be born.’

By Kevin Crossley-Holland, from Selected Poems, 2001; Photo by Ina Hramacek. (via Fiat Lux)

Merry Christmas.

Strangers in a Not So Strange Land

After riding through the rain and mist, and escaping whatever ghosts there were (or weren’t) in the Haynesville Woods, crossing into New Brunswick and rewarding ourselves with a very nice German-style dinner, Don and I made our way up the eastern side of the St. John River. Our destination was Eagle Lake, Maine, home of legendary (in Maine, anyway) legislator John Martin.

We rode about 350 miles on the first day of our trip. Rolling out of bed the next morning I was reminded how much more physical riding a motorcycle is than driving a car. That I was probably a little more tense because of the rain most likely added to the muscle strain, but a little Tylenol and a little more Motrin took care of that. Some coffee and a hearty German-style breakfast (no beer, thanks), along with clearing skies got us ready for the day’s excursion tracing the northeast border of Maine and the St. John Valley.

Continue reading

Change of Season

Summer is over. You didn’t get the memo?

Leaves are changing color in our part of Maine, agricultural fairs will be held over the next few weeks, and there is a decided shift in the local produce at the grocery store – more pumpkins and apples, less corn and zucchini.

I had hoped to take an early fall motorcycle ride with my friend Mark today, but the weather wasn’t very cooperative. It turned out to be a beautiful day by early/mid-afternoon, but a fun ride in the mist, drizzle, or rain is just not my idea of, well, fun. So I got my grocery shopping done earlier than I thought I would and marked the change of season with a change in the dining room candle. So long Hydrangea, hello Mulled Cider.

Eating & Mindlessness

I’m a good cook, and I don’t care who knows it. Problem is, I’m not a good eater. Oh, it isn’t that I don’t eat what I cook (never trust a skinny chef, they say), and I certainly know how to eat. That’s the problem. If you read my posts tagged with “food” or “health” or “wellness” you’ll see how much of a struggle it is. You’ll also see how little real discipline and effort I’ve put into it. I mean, let’s be honest. Keeping a food journal seems to work for a while, but only for a while.

So it was months ago that I ran across a story in the New York Times¬†(sorry if you’ve used up your free articles for the month… try next month)¬†about mindful eating, not so much about dieting as about being more aware of what we eat and why, about putting food in proper perspective. Then, about a month ago I came across another story about binge eating among men and the “Fat Dad” NY Times blog bosts. My situation isn’t as dire, but there’s no denying that those extra pounds contribute to a range of undesirable outcomes, and I am about as far from being a mindful eater as you might care to imagine. And then I suppose there’s something to be said for the first step in any recovery program, recognizing that you have a problem.