“Our fantastic civilization has fallen out of touch with many aspects of nature, and with none more completely than night.” Henry Beston, a 20th-century writer and naturalist. He saw it as a peaceful period.

The night? It is the period when daylight pain might amplify. In the middle of the night, if one awakens, things can appear more fearful than in bright sunshine.

And the darkness flashing us into sleep. What an amazing instant. We cannot perceive that moment falling headlong into the first stage of sleep.

It differs from deep anesthesia. There, under bright lights, getting pinched hard doesn’t wake us as it would with sleep. When I was a med student, a prof said something unforgettable about deep anesthesia. It is the closest thing to death in the living patient.

So much for the solitude of darkness.

Poof, Where Did it Go?


Pilgrim on a Long, Long Journey

Poof! Where is the melanin going? I think it migrated down to my eyes, that, are darkening.

I am breathing and I have a pulse. As an added bonus, I don’t feel like I have been hit by a Buick this morning.

On the other hand, I have no burning desire for an all-electric, Ford 150 truck that can power my house in the event the grid goes down.

So much for staying young. Didn’t Peter Pan make that mistake?

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Those Rhythms

“If life is not always poetical, it is at least metrical.” Alice Meynell, an English, 19th and 20th-century writer. 

Oh, the rhythms of life. Gershwin takes a cross-country train and hears in the rhythm of the wheels and the exterior a Rhapsody in Blue. The humorist, Mark Twain, timed a phrase well describing one composer’s works. “Wagner’s music is much better than it sounds.” 

We are different people in different phases of our lives. I don’t know why we live in different rhythms in those phases. The late Gail Sheehy expounded on those life phases and advised, after 100’s of interviews, that older is better. 

I think dotage’s rhythms have their up and downs, but they don’t seem as drastic as in earlier phases of life. The finale is a bit strong, they tell me.

What Nora Ephron Said She Would Miss

A sweet list…

Pilgrim on a Long, Long Journey

Nora Ephron, who, of course wrote the classic film, You’ve Got Mail, fought a long battle with leukemia and in her last book, a memoir, had a list of all she would miss. The book was called I Remember Nothing: and Other Relections. Nick was her husband and the Author of Goodfellas. Incidentally, it’s apple rhubarb pie that I really love, speaking of last misses.

  1. “My kids
  2. Nick
  3. Spring
  4. Fall
  5. Waffles
  6. The concept of waffles
  7. Bacon
  8. A walk in the park
  9. The idea of a walk in the park
  10. The park
  11. Shakespeare in the Park
  12. The bed
  13. Reading in bed
  14. Fireworks
  15. Laughs
  16. The view out the window
  17. Twinkle lights
  18. Butter
  19. Dinner at home just the two of us
  20. Dinner with friends
  21. Dinner with friends in cities where none of us lives
  22. Paris
  23. Next year in Istanbul
  24. Pride and Prejudice
  25. The Christmas tree
  26. Thanksgiving dinner
  27. One for the…

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Oh That Dialogue

“Real life is sometimes boring, rarely conclusive and boy, does the dialogue need work.” Sarah Rees Brennan, an Irish writer.

Dialogue? Whoa.

In the family in which I was raised, so as to skirt reality and confuse we used ambiguous pronouns. They were ambiguous because no one had the slightest idea who we referred to with those words.

I still do it now, but less so with more self awareness. As someone once said, the greatest defect in communication is the belief that it happened.

Needs work…

Nothing Was Certain

“Nothing was certain, but everything was safe – that was part of the mystery of Love.” Charles Williams, British novelist and one of C.S. Lewis and Tolkein’s Inklings.

Why two people fall in love is a mystery. Universally this is appreciated. It is mentioned in the Bible’s Book of Proverbs. I am sure you have asked yourself that question at some time in your journey.

Do we feel safe in love though tomorrow isn’t certain? Miraculously we do. The most risk averse of us get’s hitched. Do we not?

Our precious Lord gives us that beautiful experience that makes every day worth living.

A Purpose and a Method

“The only end of writing is to enable the readers better to enjoy life, or better to endure it.” Samuel Johnson, an 18th-century English poet, essayist and biographer.

If it isn’t funny, or fascinating or encouraging, or all three, why put quill to parchment? Reality requires some relief. Doesn’t it? Whether it is Johnson’s 18th-century or our 21st, it is, at its best, a source of joy and or relief.

Those of us who appreciate that and love to write need ideas. “Ideas aren’t magical; the only tricky part is holding on to one long enough to get it written down.” Lynn Abbey, an American writer.

That is why in our 21st- century our cellphones are so helpful. In those brief moments in which we are prompted, that cellphone is right there to take it all in for now, or later.

I knew there was a reason they invented those things.

Our Human Journey

Seemed worth another look after nine months of gestating.

Pilgrim on a Long, Long Journey

“The human journey is a continuous act of transfiguration.” John O’ Donohue, who was an Irish poet, priest, and theologian. Merriam-Webster has two definitions of transfiguration: “a change in form or appearance” and “an exalting, glorifying, or spiritual change.

We see, if we have the privilege of aging, our physical metamorphosis. As O’ Donahue has noted, we never see our faces, ever. We only see their reflection.

Noses drop, eyelids sag, etc. But in most oldsters, wisdom has come with age. To the believer, it follows experience and delving into the ancient wisdom of the Scriptures.

May you find the richness of a life filled with the deep and memorable. May you reflect upon it in the winter of your content.

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Another Drum

“He who marches out of line hears another drum.” Ken Kesey who wrote One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

I am in the rarest temperament type, INFJ. There are many times I will say something with a group and it will end the conversation.

The fewest physicians enter pathology. The rarest of pathologists do forensic pathology. That was me.

Lord knows I am different. That’s how I was made.

I am out there on that limb. At least it hasn’t broken……yet.

The Old and Young

From Ravenous Butterflies on Facebook:

“The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”I do that too,” laughed the little old man.

Said the little boy, “I often cry.”The old man nodded, “So do I.

“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.I know what you mean,” said the little old man.” Shel Silverstein Hugo Gerhard Simberg – Towards Evening, 1913