You aren’t seeing things. There are, as Paul Simon sang, angels in the architecture, especially right now. Gigantic garish gold Styrofoam angels at Macy’s. Skies of heavenly hosts, over mangers and strangers, under trees and eaves. Angels festooning the firmament of your own soul. Every December, without fail, they sing a little louder than usual.
Heartbroken, necessary intro: When I wrote this post, seemingly a hundred years ago, and queued it up for this lovely random Monday in August, I had no idea it would turn into a “Forever Loved.” How I wish it were otherwise. But our treasured Heather left this world on Friday, 8/13. Love and grief are […]
It’s not all about you, it’s not all about me, and that’s a good thing. It is, in fact, about Ronnie, but he knows how to handle it.
Henry Louis Gates, Jr. is a marvel of historical proportions. In each episode of his PBS series Finding Your Roots, Gates opens windows of insight into missing stories in his guests’ family trees. Sometimes, what remains undiscovered is the most compelling aspect of the program. A fun throw in to the show, whenever luck or […]
We are not in control.* We are not as powerful as cats. But we are not entirely helpless.
I have a secret. Sometimes I have nothing to say.
There’s a lot to be said for the power of silence, solitude, and a time apart. But sometimes it’s hard to say the things that silence is teaching us. Far, far better to let someone else sing or purr them into the void where words fall short.
You gave us wonder and splendor. You gave us the return of Bill and Ted (see above). You gave us the feast day of St. Augustine, and the annual pondering as to whether or not his friends called him “Gus.” You gave us an uncommonly high volume of marmalade cats.
Oh August, sweet little August, you are young yet, and tender. Yet as you grow, we have a request for you. On behalf of every individual of every species on every continent, subcontinent and islet: please be kind.
We try to keep it real on this blog. That said, if you ever hear me utter the words “I’m keepin’ it real,” please take me gently by the hand and take me to a quiet room where you can apply duct tape to my mouth (preferably glitter duct tape).