It's All About the Journey

Today is your future. Live in the moment!


My Life and The New York Times

i bought yesterday’s New York Times.  I started with the front page, typical, I suppose, for the newspaper reader.  Now generally, when I read the newspaper, ANY newspaper, I scan the headlines, read a line or two, and determine whether or not I will continue to finish the article.  Not so with The New York Times!  Here we go:

In yesterday’s Times, each article on the front page was genius!  I read not only word for word, but then had to choose which article to continue with first.  I did read them all, from removing symbols of the Confederacy to the front page obituary of Don Featherstone, creator of Phoenicopterus rubber plasticus (aka the pink flamingo that has decorated lawns across the United States for nearly 6 decades).

Reading the full obituary led me to B10, the rest of the obituaries.  The New York Times writers have an incredible way of reporting on the lives of these people, they make me want to read more.  Frances Kroll Ring, secretary to F. Scott Fitzgerald died, also Dick Van Patten.  And many more, names in smaller memorials, all noteworthy in their world, and now introduced to mine.  Reading the obituaries, while it gives me fullness and delight to read of these lives, serves a pill which is almost bittersweet, reminding me that I, too, will die (yes, I have written my own obituary, who know me better than me, after all. Except well, the date of my departure and whether or not I “died peacefully” or “she put up a fight” or “her grandmother came to bring her home” (and that one only I will know).  It makes me sad, in a way, yet it also has a bipolar complex in that it stirs excitement towards the future beyond.  Depending on my mood is the stance I take, each moment it’s own (Ahh! Another life in the moment moment).

Scurrying, as it were, to enjoy my reading the Times today (yes, one day later), I found a routine appearing.  When opening, no matter what section or article I am continuing, I read the page on the right first.  Now, go figure that one! Why?  Must be some behavioral clue and the psychology major will know that answer, as well as the market researchers.  And I start at the middle each and every time.  

On behalf of Ruth Stratton, and to her memory I dedicate this blog post today.  Thank you for handing me the obituaries that first day at Old Orchard Beach, Maine.  I bet you did that on purpose!  Love you, woman!

   
 

And one more thing, there’s nothing like reading it with your hands, physically opening the paper, scattering it all alongside, proof that there is life in paper and ink.  My focus is better than online, too.


Evening Walk

The perfect day for a walk to my self-dubbed bird sanctuary–the dike, the abandoned railroad tracks.  Yes I found a few birds.  I heard some, too.  I cannot find the bird in my field guide. Similar to the red wing blackbird, but the wing color shape all wrong. No picture, they aren’t still enough for me (yet).  But, walking along the river I made some beautiful discoveries.

  
Forget-me-nots were everywhere!  These are, by far, my favorite.  I’d see them in the woods as a small child, and somehow related too them (we were both small).

Walking on the overgrown tracks, I spied homespun bird houses 

  
And then, in this grand meadow, this sanctuary I call “mine,” I found a home of another type

   
     Private thinking space, perhaps. Another day more clues!

Somehow, I felt closer to the spirit of Henry David Thoreau.

Nature can bring peace to the soul, if we give it a chance. 


Appealing the Death Penalty

I read in The New York Times today about the death sentence confirmed against deposed president Mohamed Morsi.  Several sentences later it states “the defendants now have the right to appeal through the courts.”

My thoughts turned back through time and Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth I, and their death penalties issued.  Justice was swift, those condemned were allowed a final speech. Charles Radcliffe appealed to the queen that he only be beheaded, he’d been condemned to also bring drawn and quartered.  Of course, there is also Mary, Queen of Scots, who was under house arrest for 17 years, but once charged with treason, lost her head as well.  Or Lady Jane Grey, the 9 day queen.  

My point being, there wasn’t much in the way of appealing.  Especially not Henry VIII.  Waved his wrist, and moved on, or at least it seems…

Reading more on Mr. Morsi, the New York Times is very detailed.  

I am not advocating the death penalty, in lieu of lifetime imprisonment.  I tend to swing on that, so this is not what it is about. This is merely observation.  And thought.  Thoughts of the guilty, and of the innocent.


A Morning Walk

I decided to rise from my slumbering mode this morning to enjoy the morning air!  My morning writing, consisting of a handwritten letter to my daughter, needed posting, and I decided to walk it over.  I could have waited, yes, but I’m glad I didn’t.

I don’t know what I like more, the beauty of nature or her sounds.  I’m grateful I can take advantage of both!  

 The perfect fence adornment!

  Living the life in June, the peony and Queen Anne’s lace share  

  

 I sit this morning on my porch, the Robin sings (he’s the only one I really can remember, and the only one brave enough to hop across my lawn)–oh wait! I just heard the cardinal (but he eludes my vision).

It’s like eating breakfast with Ralph Waldo!  

The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.

 


Breakfast at The Old Brewery House

15 Albany Street.

Back in the 70’s, I went with a college group to Israel.  We stayed in a youth hostel. I was surprised by the breakfast, vegetables and eggs, I think maybe some cheese, I cannot remember, but I remember the freedom I felt, eating perhaps what is a Mediterranean breakfast. 

That longing prompted this action:

 
Assembled, yes that’s mayonnaise you see (my little luxury, Helmanns, of course) with a dash of sea salt–

  The first bite is heaven–followed quickly as it falls apart all over…

  Down to the last delicious bite!  I’ve made it to heaven, or just a glimpse and a promise of it!