Summer is still officially fifteen days away, but evidence shows that it’s already in town for early rehearsals, with days in the 80s and 90s and a possible rain break in the mix. The good news for solitary me is that my calendar between now and July holds not a single appointment thus far. Visually that looks like a gift, a solid block of peace. What will I do with all that time… clean, organize, write, walk, go hug my sister, read, all of the above? Yes, and beyond that we’ll see, won’t we.
Last week was a slow one in some ways, but life is never not happening. I kicked a couple of things to the curb, thus improving my general outlook, and got through the days with a minimum of drama, always a good thing. In the course of all that, I saved a few graphics for you, beginning with the theatre aspect.
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If you’re pretending to be happy, let’s talk.
I know I’ve lately bemoaned facts of life, such as truth v fiction, life v death, family v loneliness, but the following is factual as well:
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Time and health are of the essence.
One’s energy can be better utilized on things that matter.
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A bit of happy news saved for last: We won the lottery — the Doves opted to remain in our balcony complex, but in a nicer, larger, safer condo. Despite all odds, they’ve chosen to raise their second brood adjacent to the daily Smith goings-on, and their quiet trust couldn’t feel sweeter. Having closely observed the advent of brood #1, noting every nuance, we’re old hands as grandparents now. Dave and Dar have proven themselves to be stellar parents. They’ve got this and we simply feel privileged to have seats in the orchestra pit while the play unfolds. It all leads precisely to this thought:
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Sounds simple, possibly even innate, but it takes a lifetime.
Once again nature has proven to us that Google notwithstanding, we know nothing. We read up on the facts while we prepared to be doting grandparents, only to find that isn’t how things really work in DoveLand. They know what they’re doing, it’s all written into their DNA, and our sporadic observation of their habits does not reveal to us the secrets. We’d hoped to see the chicks’ first flights, but David and Darleen very efficiently wrapped up the training course, possibly under cover of darkness, and the kids are gone, just like that. Yesterday morning when I went spying, Derek and Diane had moved to the east edge of the balcony, still under the ferns but positioned for escape, and their bright eyes and shiny feathers, freed from all the downy fluff, told me they were ready. When I saw this morning that the nest was empty it was no surprise, but a bit of melancholy set in since they left without saying goodbye.
Not to worry, Dave and Dar are already giddily at work on a new nest in the other planter where the ferns are thicker and taller, thus providing greater comfort and security than did their starter home. We hope this will become a tradition, so next spring’s plantings will be timed to encourage exactly that.
Having birds on the balcony, as opposed to bats in the belfry, is teaching me a few sweet lessons while plowing up my heart a little, as is required from time to time. Maybe the best reminder has been that life goes on, so go WITH it. Thank you, David, Darleen, and progeny for your patience and presence.
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After being angels for weeks, today’s Mickey D’s run will be just what the doctor ordered. Love happens in every flavor, especially cheese and chocolate.
It’s Thursday, and you know what that means… HOW IS THE WEEKEND HERE AGAIN ALREADY??? Bizarre, but enjoy every minute of it.
Thunderstorms have been moving through on the regular, whether they’re in the forecast or not, and we’re metaphorically soaking up every drop because soon enough our days will follow THIS pattern:
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After that, rain’s supposed to move in again, so I’m thinking the Dove family will be getting their affairs fully in order in the coming week. The rains have no doubt delayed flight training to some extent, but we see little chicky-heads bobbing around in the nest, and small wings stretching to the limit, so preparations are underway. I turned around and snapped this shot of David and Darleen yesterday while they were talking about the babies, the day’s agenda, and no doubt their undying love for one another. Pretty sure I heard him murmur, “Time to kick these kids out and reclaim our bed, schweetheart.”
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And that’s life, the cycle goes on. Speaking of which, sorting boxes and bins held over from previous eras can be hazardous to your mental health. In emptying six households belonging to loved ones, I’ve come across a few items that have creeped me out, one of which is old driver’s licenses. There’s something about that stark moment set in the amber of time. I always want to let go of it NOW and not look at it again. That is NOT the person I knew and loved, but there they are, captured forever at their near-worst for all to see. During my recent closet purge I found one of MY old licenses, thus the evidence of trauma you may be sensing as you read. I sliced it right through the numbers, cut the strangely-hued awful portrait into Xs, and buried it. There. Not that girl anymore, moving on.
Good morning on a perfect spring day. With exactly three weeks left before summer arrives, the weather’s in Chamber of Commerce mode and I’m here for it. Kim went walking early this morning and then rode his bicycle back to Einstein’s after they opened, for one of my beloved bagels. The sun’s shining, the air is cool and still, and the lawn service mowers are droning away four floors down, the ultimate in morning contentment. Kim might go across the river for PickleBall, I might take a walk, maybe apply myself to something productive… and the day will spool out.
Meanwhile, in Dove world, life is progressing day by day. This morning the chicks were side by side in the nest, one parent was on the railing a few feet away, calling softly, and the other was perched on the neighbor’s balcony doing the same. The babies are about ten days old now, and biology says that at two weeks they will vacate the nest to make room for new siblings. I must say, they look as grumpy about that prospect as you might imagine, but it seems flying lessons are imminent.
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Derek and Diane are not this robust yet, so we likely still have a few days to enjoy their presence. And then the all-knowing internet says they’ll hang around the nest for another week or so after they get their wings, and we’ll proudly watch them as they come and go. My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?
Speaking of which, if you didn’t grow up, as I did, hearing the call of mourning doves, check out the file at the top of the page that will open in the link. Turn up your sound, and wait the few seconds between calls. Ignore the “9 min” detail, nobody’s gonna hang with it that long. Probably. Depends on how sleepy you are.
I grew up on a farm with my grandparents living across the drive, and I spent lots of nights sleeping in their house. When a grandkid was there, Grandma folded back the sheets on the big bed in the guest room and it was grandma/grandkid sleepover time, leaving Grandpa all alone in the cozy bedroom just off the kitchen. Generations of mourning doves built their nests in the evergreen tree outside the guest room window, and their dreamy calls rendered me comatose every night I slept there, so to hear them now outside my own windows is to have come full circle.
David and Darleen have been out there most of the morning, stuffing little craws full of yummy seed mush, fussing around the nest, and offering parental support from six feet away while steadily distancing themselves from the whole situation, bit by bit. They’ve been good parents thus far, so I’m sure their gently-offered encouragement goes something like “You’re fine, we’re still here, no worries, just over here on the next-door balcony. Going seed-hunting, kids, BRB. Do your stretches while we’re gone, stick your little necks up but not too far, we saw a cardinal nearby this morning. Exciting times are coming, so spend your time preparing.” To which Derek and Diane can only utter a simple “Huh?” as they have no clue what lies ahead for them.
Because we have opposable thumbs and self-awareness, we fancy ourselves higher than the flora and fauna that surrounds us. The sad truth is, trees communicate with each other better than do most humans, and benign friendly birds have a lot to teach us about what matters. The world could be a much softer place, but it isn’t, so we have birds and flowers and sheltering ferns to cushion reality. On a spring morning in the 21st century, with the smell of fresh-cut grass in the air, that’s almost enough.
Second item on my list after getting out of bed this morning was to check on the Dove family, and I had a prescient little sense that something would be different this time. My first look at the nest told me there wasn’t a parent bird in attendance, and when I peeked inside there were two little chicks, wing by wing, looking up at me totally unspooked by my presence. Kim got home from his walk in time to see the babies, and he pointed out that David and Darleen were on the next-door neighbors’ balcony railing, quietly keeping watch. Must be time for the little ones to start gaining a bit of bravado and independence – they’re in the nest for only two weeks before being booted out to make way for Round Two. Such a high-speed upbringing boggles my mind. Once again this is a stock photo, but Derek and Diane look just like this at the moment, and my mama heart wishes them every success. So now we know. Two babies. Two weeks (minus time served) to enjoy them. Expect flying lessons soon.
Answers to the things we wonder about. Answers to the things we care most about… those, too. Five of the people I cherish most in the world need answers to health crises, and that’s a wait that relentlessly saps strength and courage over time. Loving people means hurting with them, that’s just how it is. May their answers turn out to be as instinctive, timely, and real as fledglings taking off for the skies.
All things considered, the heavy-duty requirement at this stage of living might be PATIENCE. Life goes on, things happen, things change for better or worse, and, well… life goes on. If you’re reading this, you’ve lived through everything that’s happened to you, every second since you were born. Base your patience on that knowledge, and keep walking. Or, like me, DO something, right or wrong, and hope for the best. Your call.
Have a lovely weekend and a solemn Memorial Day observance. Summer’s almost here!
“As The Nest Turns,” featuring David and Darleen Dove, is progressing as soap operas do. Things happen every day, most of them outside our awareness, but the next morning everything still looks the same, with little progress detected. I’ve posted several nest photos but all of them have been “stock” and not taken by us, including the one above, so I must tell you that we STILL don’t know for sure if there’s one baby in the nest or two. We’re starting to suspect there’s only one, based on brief shrouded sightings, but I got a little too inquisitive this morning, prompting a squawk from whomever was on the nest, so I’ve been warned. The parents’ schedule has completely changed since the hatching and they’re very much the hover type. Helicopter progenitors, what can ya’ do? Wait and see, as with all the rest of life, that’s what.
For the clean-freaks hanging on my every word, noticeable headway has been made in the Mantry. We hauled a few big chunks out the other day, promptly delivered them to the new “Goods Recycler” in town, heaved a sigh of relief, treated ourselves to milkshakes, and haven’t touched the room since. No need to get all obsessive about stuff, amirite? It obviously keeps.
Our focused baby vigil makes me smile. Birds. We’re watching birds, caring about the welfare of tiny feathered beings, feeling almost like surrogate grandparents. What is it about achieving level 70+ in the life cycle that causes some people to a grow a new awareness of other life around us? The birds, the bees, the flowers, the leaves, all things that have surrounded us since our birth, are suddenly new and fascinating! Maybe in this ol’ lady’s case it’s because TV mostly sucks, the daily news is unacceptable, and the actual humans who pass in and out of my life are few and far between. So… flora and fauna it is! In conjunction with the foregoing, I’m also developing a great tolerance for sitting on my balcony and contemplating whatever’s within my range of vision. In my “don’t stop ’til you drop” days, I couldn’t have seen myself ever loving a sit-around life, but a grocery list of events in the interim managed to convince me that stopping to appreciate the scenery isn’t a sin. Doing ONLY that, however, does border on the wicked, so I’m once again walking every day, as a counterbalance, yay me.
Balance is key to most of life, as it turns out. While I’m experiencing a new appreciation for the natural beauty that surrounds me, I won’t be wallpapering our loft in florals or buying a parakeet, so no worries I’m still me under these wrinkles.
I hope you’ll be motivated to MOVE today, and to keep your eyes open to everything around you. Earth still has her charms.
A few major commitments having been lovingly attended to, the world feels open for the taking today. Sunshine, balmy temps, no wind, just what the doctor ordered for strapping on the sandals and hauling the carcass out into the fresh air. Did that. Felt good. By which I mean breathing fresh air is never a bad thing, but the carcass protested all the way. I’ve lost a little ground over the winter and into the woods, but nothing a bunch of dedicated torture won’t fix. Zero nerve pain, which is the whole point, just nervy muscles protesting their late-spring awakening, and they’ll get with the program soon enough.
We can’t see the neighborhood right now for the dense leaf cover, but it’s lovely down at ground level. The early bees have been fed and nurtured, so most of the dandelions have been mowed, and the eclectic yards are beautiful, each in its own way. Life on the edge of perpetual hippiedom has suited us well here and our hearts benefit every day.
Health is a temperamental thing. We think we have the whole system nailed down and something turns on us. But we no sooner speak a discouraging word to ourselves than the sun breaks out and voilá, we feel almost human again and possibilities abound! A moment of silence for Kim, who will likely be cajoled into tackling one of our last bastions of disarray… the dreaded Mantry. I can’t do it without him because the shelves are full of tools, musical instruments, sound equipment, cooking paraphernalia, and other objects I dare not make decisions about. And we have to question whether or not I can do it WITH him for precisely the same reasons. Degaussing the Mantry also necessitates, at the same time, a vicious cleansing of our storage cage down in the garage, oh my, all of which Kimmers is up for, we’re just slow starters. So yeah, keep a good thought because I can’t wait.
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Today I’m in Mood #2 because there’s nothing on my calendar. Tomorrow and Friday I have appointments, so on those days I will revert to Default Mood #1. If you’re an anxiety baby I don’t even have to tell you.
Meanwhile, David & Darleen and their babies Derek & Diane keep us in Zen mode. We have to keep things copacetic… you know, for the kids.
We can see the top of one tiny head, and I’m surmising from its heavy fuzz cover that both eggs hatched a couple of days ago. For the first four days they’re fed crop-milk and then graduate to seeds, so we’ll see increased activity to and fro keeping them satisfied.
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Only a mother’s love, amirite?
DISCLAIMER: We have not touched the babies. We will not touch the babies. These are pics of mourning doves being raised by experts.
We’re loving our front-row seat at the Nature Table, and we’re glad David & Darleen Dove tolerate us so graciously. Okay, baby names? Let’s do this!
Since you’re no doubt wondering, I’m happy to tell you that our new balcony residents are figuring things out quite nicely and adapting to their chosen surroundings. David seems to be made of good stuff and ready for fatherhood, and I found out yesterday that although he stays out all night every. single. night, he’s out there with his ride-or-dies, feeding as a gang for reasons of personal safety, not being drunk and disorderly and annoying the single chicks. He contentedly sleeps all day until Darleen comes home from her own breakfast, lunch, and dinner out, presumably with equally-safe friends, so I’ve stopped cooing at him in English and simply leave him to his rest. They picked us for their own set of reasons and likely the first was for protection. They individually listen to our conversations as we’re in and out, and have never shown the least uneasiness. They stay perfectly still and calm when we speak to them in quiet tones, never ruffling a feather or twitching an eye. Several days in, I’m fairly sure I could pet Darleen and she wouldn’t flinch, but I’m not about to disturb her vigil. If all goes according to plan and they do become parents, David will probably get a little feisty toward approaching landlords/grandparents. He’ll stomp his feet and exercise his wings and no doubt fix us with the evil eye… so we’ll not intrude. Or maybe just a quick look at the baby/babies. The only peek we’ve had inside the nest showed one egg, but the book says there are probably two by now.
It feels excellent that they’re here of their own volition, and David’s drowsy presence behind my chair on warm afternoons is utterly peace-giving. I can hardly remember a day in the past three years when my heart wasn’t in an uproar over something or other, so this little couple’s insistence upon moving in with us is incredibly sweet and timely. To encourage them to rent from us again next spring, we’re considering one of these, placed near this season’s nest, and maybe we’ll even have it up in time for this season’s second brood. They’d customize it in a heartbeat.
It humbles us that David and Darleen observed us for a day or two, decided we were trustworthy, and moved right on in. We know, especially this girl right here, that any given morning could bring heartache because of a ransacked nest, but you have to care about something and for the next month at least, it’s the Dove family.
David and Darleen and their pending family are already making a nicer person of me, so add your “thank-you,” world, you’re the better for it.
David and Darlene Dove blew into town last week on a wing and a prayer. Short on funds and pressed for time, they were experiencing a housing crisis, and having just discovered that Darlene was pregnant, suitable accommodations were an urgent necessity. After checking out one spot after another with no success, Darlene was exhausted and ready to give up when they saw one more place that held promise. It turned out the available space was small but could be made to work under the circumstances, so they met briefly with the landlord and his wife and moved in, hoping for the best. And not a moment too soon, because by the next morning a small white bundle had made its appearance in the new love nest and a clear routine was in place.
David, whose impending fatherhood induced him to settle for less than ideal living conditions, takes the day shift with the bundle, while Darlene gets out of the house, does the shopping, runs errands, maybe makes new friends as things are tough in unfamiliar surroundings. When Darleen gets home around 5:30, she and David exchange information about the preceding hours, and then she settles in while he takes off for points unknown until morning. Believe me, the landlord’s wife notices these things, but it’s none of her business so she doesn’t say anything. Except privately to David on sunny afternoons when he’s trying to sleep, but he never bats an eye so she’s wasting her breath.
The landlord and wifey aren’t bad sorts and they worry about the young couple and their circumstances. They also suspect there’s not one but two small bundles in the new household and wonder if it will all work out. The apartment they’ve let to the couple is truly a fixer-upper, with room for only natural growth, but it IS fully air-conditioned and solar heated and boasts a spectacular view. The landlords, in all honesty, tried to steer them in a better direction, but they were desperate and determined, so… here we all are, making the best of it.
Their roof leaks like it wasn’t even there, but there’s relative safety next to the bricks, and the planter affords shelter from the wind. They’re very tolerant of our presence… I sit six inches from their makeshift home and neither has tried to peck my eyes out yet.
MeetDavid & Darleen Dove
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Darleen preparing to take the overnight watch
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David’s fat little self trying to sleep while the landlady speaks sweet nothings to him
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What we think the nest contains
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Our new renters are American mourning doves, or rain doves, colloquially known as the turtle dove. It is one of the most abundant and widespread of all North American birds and a popular gamebird. Its ability to sustain its population under such pressure is due to its prolific breeding; in warm areas, one pair may raise up to six broods of two young each in a single year. The wings make an unusual whistling sound upon take-off and landing, a form of sonation. The bird is a strong flier, capable of speeds up to 88 km/h (55 mph).
Mourning doves are light gray and brown and generally muted in color. Males and females are similar in appearance. The species is generally monogamous, with two squabs (young) per brood. Both parents incubate and care for the young. Mourning doves eat almost exclusively seeds, but the young are fed crop milk by their parents.
Wikipedia says: A Huron/Wyandot legend tells of a maiden named Ayu’ra (probably more accurately spelled Iohara, a common Iroquois girl’s name today) who used to care for a mourning dove, who came to love her a great deal. One day, the maiden became sick and died. As her spirit traveled across the land to the entrance to the Underworld, all the doves followed her and tried to gain entrance into the Underworld alongside her. Sky Woman, the deity who guards this door, refused them entry, eventually creating smoke to blind them and take Ayu’ra’s spirit away without their knowledge. The smoke stained their feathers gray and they have been in mourning for the maiden’s loss ever since. The logic behind the story is a play on words—the sound many Native Americans attributed to the bird was “howe howe,” and this is also the sound the Iroquoian peoples used to chant over the dead at funerary events.
The above notwithstanding, it’s believed to be good luck when a mourning dove pair chooses you, so we’re going with that and feeling grateful.
Since you’re all so kind, I can’t get anyone here to hold me accountable to reach my goals; therefore, I’ve had to exercise over-the-top discipline in order to avoid making a liar of myself. Those projects I’ve mentioned? I have good news…
You remember my nemesis, the 12′ x 7′ x 14′ high closet lined with shelves on three sides, which has been the repository for a wide assortment of belongings since about 2015 when I started losing mobility… you recall my brave words, right? I’m thrilled to report that it now looks like springtime in that space – a breath of fresh air – and life in general, just like that, holds more promise and feels absolutely doable. It’s like turning on a floodlight in a dark cavern, except that the surroundings revealed are entirely friendly. As I stood back admiring my work yesterday I said a mental “up yours” to the Senior Surgeon who told me there was nothing that could be done about my back, so… I guess just go home and give up, which my brain did without informing me in advance, thus putting life on hold. That haphazardly-packed closet represents the biggest win I can think of in about that many years and I’m savoring it. There’s also this: over a ten-year period I helped empty six longtime homes of loved ones, and I made a solemn vow not to put John through that. It’s an educational, revelatory, emotional, gut-ripping experience, which he’s already done once singlehandedly, so the less Kim and I leave behind, the better. Best-case scenario would be to close things out like saints, with a fork apiece and some clean underwear, but simple living and a love for open spaces will at least keep us moving in that direction.
The biggest win of all is that now, in 2023, the more I move the better I feel. That’s worth sticking around for.
And now I’m ready to focus on something I love even more than re-homing things, which is to finish editing a friend’s manuscript. I’m fairly certain it’s the calling I missed in life, that of helping to fine-tune good writing while consuming it at the same time. Bossy, nitpicking girl loves books, win/win.
A glance up the page affirms that this year has been more about gains than losses, more about the wins in spite of how dark so many days have felt in their endless passage. That’s a good thing to know because of how it colors the rest of life… sometimes the wins are so hard-won we feel beat up by them instead of validated and encouraged. At this late date, I might be finally starting to understand the process through which we come to know and love ourselves. It’s never too late.
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Take your innate kindness and human understanding with you all week and spread that stuff all over everything. The world needs it so much.
Big doin’s on a sunshiny Saturday. Last weekend a crew descended on our parking lot and ground it to a nubbin. This morning they were back at 7am to rough it up and lay asphalt, which so far is a much quieter process than the first round, and it should look pretty fine by evening. They’ll stripe it again tomorrow and we’ll be off and running for a few more years. A bit of distraction, along with Farmers Market down the block, where there’s been a steady line for the Slow Rise Sourdough Donuts. Their Nutella version just might get me over there next Saturday.
It’s our little corner on this beautiful planet hurtling through space, an incomprehensible thing that we take for granted nearly every second of our lives. I love what astronomer, astrophysicist, cosmologist, astrobiologist, planetary science guy Carl Sagan said…
“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every ‘superstar,’ every ‘supreme leader,’ every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there — on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” -Carl Sagan
One of the last known images captured by Japan’s Hakuto-R lander before crashing into the moon shows a stunning ‘Earthrise,’ with the shadow of the moon creeping over Australia during a total solar eclipse. (Image credit: ispace)
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In our personal micro-worlds we make much of our hurts and slights, the slings and arrows of identifying as human, but life is both more and less than that. I stole the following from a friend years ago and its truth hasn’t faded in the interim…
For the past few years, most days have seemed at least 36 hours long, with more blank-feeling time than I knew what to do with. In my new gung-ho “let’s do ALL the things” mode, I signed up for two KU classes and whatever daily system I had left is already shot to hell. That’s okay, it’s not yet obvious to the naked eye so we’ll survive, and I was getting pretty tired of all that perfection anyway. Oh, I laugh.
This afternoon will be the second of my three “Invitation to Poetry” classes, and it’s gratifying to realize how much I’m looking forward to it. Tomorrow morning will be more Kansas history, and maybe one day this week I’ll have the energy to clear a wider path in our big Everything closet. I’ve managed to create enough chaos in that space, I either need to finish it ASAP or just call “College Hunks Hauling Junk” and make a clean break.
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Moral support helps everybody, the more the better, and by reaching out you just might save a life.
Not every source of support proves to be this trustworthy… but never stop be-leafing.
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… even when bitterly disappointed by the discoveries you make along the way.
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However distracted we might be, we can’t afford to lose sight of what matters:
We have crossed the spring equinox and claimed the far banks of the Rubicon, so there’s no going back now, right? Winter’s finished, right? This morning’s rain is entirely made of springtime, am.I.right? Just say yes, I’m ready for the great outdoors in all its friendliness, aren’t you?
The first day of spring was also first day of school for this girl. I registered for two KU Osher Institute classes for seniors, one of which meets two blocks away, the other on campus, and the first 2-hour session was yesterday. I think there were thirteen of us boomers in the room, including the retired professor teaching the class, and the atmosphere was lovely. This one is called “An Invitation to Poetry” and seems to be everything I’d hoped it would be… comfy room, congenial people, teacher who knows his stuff in all the best ways. Twice he made tears pop into my eyes when he read lines from poems I didn’t know but want to, and he doesn’t even seem the type. I’d have guessed he taught history or the sciences, not the arts… and possibly the best part of all is the genuine love of subject that immediately comes through.
It was a happy start, and this morning I’ll begin a class called “Pioneering Stories from the Settling of Emporia and Lyon County, Kansas.” I chose this one because that’s where my grandma grew up, in a dugout/soddy/clay/stone challenge of a dwelling that included space for the livestock. She was born in 1889 and hard times accompanied most everything in her life, but she survived and thrived to the age of 96, a personal goal of mine. I’d never knock the living conditions, but neither do I want to try that mode at this point… it wasn’t for sissies:
Photo taken during a visit by family in the 1950s or so, the homestead having been abandoned long before.
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So for three consecutive Mondays and Tuesdays I get to be a student again, and it feels excellent to be back in that quietly invigorating atmosphere. And yes, I’m scouring the course listings for anything else that might spark new synapses because this morning’s dose of NE Kansas history was intriguing and I’m ready for more. In two hours we covered the years from when Kansas was still a territory, to Quantrill’s reign of terror, including the (at least) thrice burning of the town of Lawrence. We aren’t Bleeding Kansas for nothing… it bought us the privilege of being Free Kansas, a heritage worth fighting for.
I saw the following piece of advice yesterday, have made a similar folder, and will tuck this graphic inside along with any and all encouragement that shows up in my life in coming days. That stuff’s precious and should be kept in a warm dry place at all times.
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Now that spring’s officially here, it’s time to get back to making each consecutive day just a little better than the one before, so…
For humans who feel everything, every tiniest thing, there are days on end too dark for words. And then the sun breaks out again and some of those humans feel a little sheepish about all the inner angst. Oh well. That’s just how it is, and hello sunshine. I’ll play nice if you will, world.
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Things you learn along the way:
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Staying childlike, that’s the trick…
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I rolled up on this during my coffee reflections this morning, and felt it deep. Just one would lend legitimacy to this steady stream-of-consciousness…
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Welcome to my weekly blog on life's happiness. We are all human and we all deserve to smile. Click a blog title or scroll down. Thanks for stopping by.
Creative humour, satire and other bad ideas by Ross Murray, an author living in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, Canada. Is it truth or fiction? Only his hairdresser knows for sure.
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