Before the Winter Solstice, I was reading “The Psychology of Money” by Morgan Housel. In a chapter on savings and compound interest, he gave an example about Ice Ages which gave me pause.
Back in the late 2000’s when Twitter’s Fail Whale was still a frequent and inevitable sighting, I used to read a blog called “How to Avoid the Bummer Life”. It was written by Stevil Knevil of Swobo bikes and centered around mountain biking, beer, mustaches, and generally living a good, laid back life with friends while covered in mud from coasting down some sweet single track. I used to do a lot of biking in the late 2000’s, spent a lot of time on fire roads and beach bike paths, and can confirm that mustaches were “a thing”.
When I was a young child, I would occasionally hear statements like this: “If only [those people] would just go away and leave the community, then everything would be better.” [Those people] were some sort of Other - racial, sexual, political, etc…) Luckily, my mother was close by and at the ready to remind me …
Yesterday morning I had the urge to make bread and to start tidying up the backyard garden. I started with the garden first. As I stepped off the patio, I startled two mice who had been nibbling in the grass. One ran to the jasmine. The other to hide among the raised garden beds. Uh-oh.
A couple of Tuesdays ago, I got burned - literally. I was cooking and reached far in to the oven to get the pan out. My arm lifted a little too high and hit the hot wire shelf just above where the oven mitt stopped. Ouch!
As August drew to a close, I started a novena to Stella Maris, the Blessed Virgin Mary in her form as Star of the Sea - guide to seafarers, navigators, and anyone who feels lost.
My daughter just reached the age where she wants to do my makeup and look in my jewelry box. I blame her recent Venus return. As we go through my small collection of rings, bracelets, and necklaces, the conversation is like this...
The 405 likes to dance and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can dance with him for miles right through the golden hills.
I always hesitate at the edge of the Ocean before putting my toes into the water. There’s something about touching the edge of an entity so vast that gives me pause. I think about cold depths, miles of just water touching sky, and all that the Ocean must know in its millennia of being.
A couple of weeks ago, a box arrived from my cousin with birthday gifts for my daughter. When I opened it the smell of her house filled the air. I was immediately back there. Her home smells like clean linen and a bit of powdery lavender with hint of pine and humidity. We live almost 2,000 miles apart, but the scent travelled in the box as surely as if it were carefully packed and placed there. Strange how that happens.