Love and Life

Little Women

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I stood on the scale and as luck would have it, no weight loss and no weight gain either.

Huh. Alas. Alack. Oh whoa is me. Or is it?

The new snow is coating the grass.

The early morning sky is azure blue as the sun blazes near the eastern horizon.

The chilly birds are dive bombing Jane’s feeder next door.

It is a new day!

These thoughts come to me in rapid fire as I awaken more fully while drinking my coffee and thinking about the previous evening. The play “Little Women” was excellent. The production itself is a co-production, a special partnership between two theaters working on a single play. The play was staged first in Portland and then here in Cincinnati. Debbie and I went to see it last night during one of our field trips. The play itself tells the stories within Little Women but focuses on Louisa May Alcott as a writer and her life.

At intermission we had a conversation with a younger man seated next to us. He asked how longer we had been together. I responded with “about a year and a half.” I did not think much of it but Debbie picked up on the fact that he thought I was joking. Debbie talked to him for a bit and found out that he was from out of town.

Later as we drove home she told me that he thought we had been together for a long time, an easy assumption to make since we are both older. When she corrected his notion he was interested in our story. Her synopsis of us meeting later in life interested him.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. The play was well done.

There have been many instances now where total strangers have commented on the love and affection vibe that they perceive between us.

I feel that way about Debbie and she feels that way about me.

It shows.

Carpe Diem.

mushrooms

Church, Mass, Catholicism

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A few weeks ago on Sunday before church began I wrote – What do I want to takeaway from my time in mass today? And further I wrote – What for the rest of the day?

As to the first prompt, I went to Sunday mass (11AM service) which Cheryl and I did not do for some time. Early on in our marriage we went to the 9AM service. There were 5 masses at our parish in those days. Later as the church changed and even later as Cheryl’s disease progressed we attended 4:30 mass which became 5:15 mass which eventually died a slow death with little participation. After her death I returned to 5:15 mass and over time I was comforted by friends. Now this mass is gone from the schedule too. I think my takeaway is that the Roman Catholic church has lost touch with the congregation.

There is only one mass time at my parish now. It was not crowded. It should have been crowded but it was okay that it was not crowded. The holiday is over and much is back to normal. Small attendance masses are peaceful.

Thinking this way is the way I think about busses. They run all the time on specific routes. If I find one convenient I get on and ride. But only certain routes and certain times are crowded. Riding an empty-ish bus in the mid-morning can be peaceful much like a city tour bus without the scratchy public address system.

Limited access highways are like this in the morning and late afternoon. Expressways, however, are never peaceful.

Masses ought to happen on a fixed schedule, so I can get in and get some holy, is probably a selfish attitude. I will think about that for some time. I may never find a conclusion. It is that sort of a question, one with no answer, for me to ponder as I get older and put more of life in the past.

I think many dioceses of the Roman Catholic Church have lost touch with their congregations but that thought is not my only takeaway. I went back to church after Cheryl died to look for the peacefulness missing in my life. For a while I found it there. I moved from where we often sat so that I could see Cheryl in the pew from a different position. It was peaceful and I was surrounded by friends. The Church is the congregation.

In the time that has passed since I started this essay, I have visited and thought and revisited it several times. What is it that I want from church? It is community. It is belonging. It is love. It is morality. It is sharing the journey. It is belief in a universal consciousness we call God and sharing that belief with others.

How does one become spiritual? And why do I (me, myself) attend this specific service. The first and most glaring reason is that it is the spiritual system with which I am most familiar. I was brought up Catholic so at this point in my life it may be nothing stronger than indoctrination. There must be something more than that idea in me.

In a similar vein, what is the meaning of life? What is my purpose in it? Am I achieving my purpose? If I cannot figure out my purpose, how will I know if I achieve it? Is it important to achieve it? As I get older I find myself searching for this, an unknown, a “may never be known”, the church might say, “a cannot be known.” I search for peace in my heart with not knowing my purpose.

To just be is enough for now.

Carpe Diem

A 2026 Calendar

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Time and Dates and Events

The activity of marking and acknowledging life events was Cheryl’s job. All through 2025 I realized how much I missed her and her organizational ability when my date dyslexia would dissipate for a moment and would remember that I forgot some important event like a birthday or anniversary. These, of course, were an important acknowledgment of some life altering event. Something to be commemorated. Something to be celebrated. Or something to be commiserated.

To her life was a continuum but it was marked by various events both good and bad.

When she moved to a memory care facility and I disassembled her office back into a guest bedroom, I developed a simple sorting method for her clutter. Clutter is an unkind word because in her own mind as it disintegrated she was doing real work and “getting things done.” It breaks my heart when I think about it. Scattered in various storage spaces in my condominium now I have collected the clutter into three general categories: pictures, letters, notes.

The pictures are easy. They are of our family and friends and sometimes Christmas postcards that show the growth of often far flung friends and family. In earlier times she sorted and organized these. During the last few years of her life she sorted and organized but the associations were meaningless to others, as well as, her after she had done so.

The letters did not need separation or organization. These were separated into their own file folder. Cheryl and I wrote many many letters back and forth while in high school. I have these collected with my own response in my office.

Her notes I sorted into their own tubs and a couple boxes. I hope to write a memoir as I review her notes to herself.

Today I went through the big black book that we (I) purchased for her to help her remember birthdays and anniversaries when her cognitive function was fading. The BBB is its own category. It has all the dates of family and friends births and anniversaries and in some cases, their deaths. It has also collected many other notes and pictures paper-clipped and stapled here and there at random. This coming year I hope to remember my family’s birthdays and although I am not a card sender, I can acknowledge the date.

It is hard for me to go through this book to recover birth data because it contains cognitive data and the lack there of as well. This note, stuck in the book on April 15th, reminds me how upon occasion her cognitive ability returned for short periods

– DO NOT worry about greeting cards for the W/girls for now) (too much stress –

I do not know which W/girls she referred to but her mind was telling her to relax a bit. The note is printed in all caps. Mileena’s birthday is noted on the page above this note and the parenthesis are askew, nevertheless, she recognized her internal stress about getting it right and wrote herself a note to let it go. She consistently wrote notes to herself about this or that and attached the notes to that or this. The attachment did not always go with the note.

I did achieve my goal. I constructed a calendar of my own and slid it into a plastic sheet protector. I laid it on the kitchen table so that I can ignore it in a brighter light filled room. (When she was alive it resided in the hallway to our bedroom.)

Better in Retirement

I am ready for 2026.

Carpe Diem.

Funerals

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These events are for the living. The usefulness to the living is a final farewell. The tradition helps the living cope with the fact that they too will eventually succumb. (Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we are here and then we are not.) Nice music and often monotonic recitation of traditional prayer provides solace.

This particular funeral service was held for my sister-in-law. Three of us brothers-in-law are widowers now. Is this a trend? I hope not. I chose to sit near the back of the church to avoid sitting with the grieving immediate family and to be alone with my own thoughts. Cheryl is still fresh in my mind.

As the homilist was speaking I heard the first allusion to purgatory in a Roman Catholic sermon that I have heard without using the word for a very long time. (It could be that I did not listen to funeral sermons carefully before this one.) I was interested by the implication that the person might not be in heaven. But me being me I was not alarmed, I went off to the Wait wait What? to read current doctrine of the Roman Catholic church. Every thought, idea, law and religious doctrine exists on the WWW somewhere and it exists for any religious philosophy.

There is a YouTube video for the reading challenged at www.catholic.com that tells all. Reserve an hour or so if you are interested. I have got to admit that the current view of purgatory is much different than what I got from reading the catechism and listening to the Sisters of Mercy seventy years ago.

I have misunderstood the difference of “praying for” and “praying to” for many years. Today I read this: “… prayers for the dead: “In doing this (offering a sacrifice) he (Judas Maccabee) acted in a very excellent and noble way, inasmuch as he had the resurrection of the dead in view; for if he were not expecting the dead to rise again, it would have been useless and foolish to pray for them in death. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be freed from this sin” (2 Macc. 12:43–45). Prayers are not needed by those in heaven, and no one can help those in hell…”

There is an in-between state (Limbo of the Fathers, Purgatory, Sanctification) and those souls we pray for. Souls in heaven do not need prayer. They are there. They are sanctified. They are prayed to. Souls in hell (damnation) are lost and cannot be helped. That is sad. The distinction was lost on me when I was six years old and I was not interested enough to ask. Catholic philosophy is laden with guilt and I did not seek out more of it by asking the nun to compare and contrast for and to.

As for me, I prefer to sit near the back of any church. It is a fine old Catholic tradition that if you get in early you can sit in the back. Cheryl liked to sit midway up and to the left side. After her death I sit near the rear and to the right. I can look at the other side of her. I see her often in church, any church, when I am there.

Family is mostly what I thought about during her funeral after I made a mental note to educate myself about the concept of purgatory. Two of my children sat with me. We did not stay for the reception in the church hall afterward. Cheryl’s death is too fresh for all of us.

Cheryl… when she died I was sad and happy… She was better at religion than I was and am now. I think women are better at religion. It is odd, I think, that men are in charge of them, all of them. I was sad that she was gone from my life and I felt that here in church at Teri’s funeral.

Cheryl came to me in an early morning dream a few months ago. It is incredibly vivid in my memory, as though I had lived though it. In the dream there was a special service in our church – Nativity. For some unclear reason we had to bring our own chairs to the service – a mass as I remember it. At the end of the service she hoped up and announced to me that she had to go. I can hear her, “I have to go!” I thought she meant to the lady’s room. She was in the midst of her Parkinson’s and with that her memory and spacial issues. She could not always find her way around. In this instance she was moving with ease towards the lavatory door which was around the corner and out of my sight as she moved through the crowd of folks leaving the service. I waited anxiously near our chairs gathering our stuff up to leave. I looked in her direction often to be sure she would make her way back. She often was unsure of where she was, so, I was worried. She was gone a long time and as I began to move towards the lady’s room a young man came up to me and asked if he could help with the chairs. He explained that Cheryl was gone.(He said, “She’s not coming back. She’ll be okay.) It is a very vivid memory/dream and I cry whenever I recall it. She is in heaven. This is what I take her last visit to me in this dream to mean.

I am happy for her because she was no longer suffering from Parkinson’s scourge that took her from this life and my life. I am happy that I can pray to her.

Carpe Diem

Baking and Memories

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This is the time of the year when I pay more attention to baking and making breads and pasties and pie. It is a winter time past time and it makes my little condo smell divine for a day or two. Lately I have been focused on a pecan pie recipe that I received from my daughter-in-law who is an excellent pie maker and shares my love of sweets.

I started this morning by tweaking my stash of recipes with the Karo syrup pecan pie recipe that I copied off of the world wide wait (that’s an old term – these days it is the Wha Wait What?). When I saved it to the correct folder on this laptop I found the following piece I wrote a while ago. It is a good memory of mine.

As I re-read the yellow bag story, I could hear Cheryl. At first, after she died, I was anxious that I would lose the ability to hear her voice. He works in mysterious ways. Gladly He helps me to hear her voice. (Sometimes, of course, being male, I do not want to hear it.) … on to the cookie story.

She’s Done it to Me

A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to at the time.

Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)

I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.

Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.

While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the Ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.

After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.

I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:

  • 2 C. all purpose flour
  • 2/3 C. powdered cocoa
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 1 ½ C. white sugar
  • 1 C. unsalted butter
  • 2 large eggs
  • 2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
  • 1 C. dried cranberries
  • ½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)

I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.

Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to an UNgreased cookie sheet like I did.

After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.

Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.

I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?

A conundrum.

Carpe Diem.

I will miss her always. I promise to only buy chocolate chips in the yellow bag that say morsels on the bag. Yes, Dear. I love you and miss you on holidays like this. Be safe and well in heaven. (Yep, I teared up when I wrote this.)

Carpe the baking Diem

Thankful

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This time of year I think of the things, people and situations in my life for whom and which I am thankful. The positives outweigh the negatives. Do this for yourself and assess were you are. (I am rarely thankful for negatives.)

People: (Be careful here. It is easy to miss someone.)

  • Anna & Eric & the kiddos
  • David & Melissa & the kiddos
  • Scott & Mavis & the kiddos
  • My sister Joyce
  • Debbie Joy
  • My cousin Bob (also Tom)
  • All the Nancys
  • Sr. Carren
  • Sr. Janet
  • The stock club guys
  • Grief Share support
  • Bea, Bev, Marg, Peggy, John and Peg and the back pew support crew

I stop after this list because the people who have saved me is too great for me to remember and the people who are so very special to me crowd my thoughts. It is remarkable that Cheryl is talking to me in my head; “you forgot… and what about…“ After three rounds of Grief Share group support I can hear her voice with almost perfect clarity. So, I tell her, “okay maybe I shouldn’t try to list everyone. You are right someone I missed will be sad I did not list them and they will think I forgot what they did for me.” She just said, “I am (right)!” I laughed out loud at her.

Things:

  • A place to live
  • Bike paths and a car big enough to put my bike into for travel.
  • No mortgage or loan payments
  • Enough cash to last until the end of me
  • Enough food and the ability to prepare it
  • Pie and coffee cake
  • Blueberry sorbet (I am listing the truly important things now.)
  • Also pecan pie. Mavis sent me her pecan bars recipe with the note that the filling makes THE BEST pecan pie. I have made it twice now and she is ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.

I am thankful that in our society I think I will get by with the means at hand. I am pretty sure I will get to the end of my life before I get to the end of my money. We (Cheryl and I) have always been fiscally frugal.) Tricky to do raising three kids but they all turned out perfect and these days their families are perfect. (I am thankful for them too.) I think the little pile of money Cheryl and I put together will last until the end of me.

Situations:

  • Good health
  • Bike paths and the ability to ride on them
  • Loving family
  • Wonderful friends
  • I have decided and have started the process of complete retirement. I hope to have enough time to pursue my own interests and hobbies without interruption of commitment not of my own decision.
  • Mental relief of making that decision and starting the process.
  • Wearing pajamas until noon

One of the reasons for retirement – maybe one of the best – is wearing pajamas until noon. On baking days and writing days I do this. No one is here except me. I do not concern myself with good looks when no one else is about. Lately there have been fewer writing days. My school schedule has picked up. All of that changes at the end of 2025 and I look forward to it.

Carpe Diem

Memories and Remembrance and Dad

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This writing prompt, “Write Scenes With Your Senses” popped into my email today and it made me think. To quote the email, “When a memory suddenly pops into our head it is often just a fragment: a smile, a gentle touch, the tone of a voice. What anchors those fragments and transforms them into a scene that lives on the page is the body. Our senses are the portal. Writing through sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch grounds a scene in the moment and makes it come alive. Sensory details allow the reader to know not just what happened, but to experience it with their own body. It is said that specificity is the soul of narrative.” I have these sorts of memories, mainly, from early childhood.

The discussion continued with also many “have had the experience of hearing a song from our teen years and having flashes of memory from our high school dance from decades before. Suddenly we see the disco ball shooting shards of light across our friends faces, we smell the perfume or cologne of our dance partner, we feel our feet shuffle on the floor to the rhythm of the music, we taste the flavor of our favorite gum.” Sadly I have not and I have no memory of taste of any thing but Kleespie’s Bakery rye bread. (Also a childhood memory.) This last is what propelled me into baking bread as a hobby in the 1980s.

Reading the first paragraph my brain responded with an early, very early, memory of Cub Scouts and knothole baseball. I did not play knothole baseball as a kid but I was a Cub Scout. I imagine this game was a cub scout activity. My Dad was not a huge sports fan or any kind of sports fan, although he did like bowling when I was small.

The memory that came to me like a video vision is an image that has me on a ball field near Oakley Park near where I lived then. The video is silent in my head. It was late in the afternoon and the pitcher was a 7 or 8 year old like I was. Standing there at the plate he threw 4 loopy-doop pitches in a row and I walked to first base. Three other batters behind me also walked to their bases and I walked home. Not knowing much about baseball, I thought so that is what a home run is. It was a home walk in this case.

I was excited about scoring but no one was there to see it. There are no cheers in the audience. I cannot see an audience. I only see the ball diamond. I do not see any coaches but there must have been some. The scene is starkly quiet.

Later when Dad picked me up I told him about my “home run” and scoring a run. He did not correct my misconception. He merely replied, “I wish I was there to see that.” I could hear his voice as he said that. As we rode home in the car he asked me about other things and he may have taken me to get ice cream but the memory fades and that image is not there. I can hear his voice, “I wish I was there to see that” with a little disappointment in his voice. Dad dearly loved ice cream so that image is obfuscated with other trips to various ice cream parlors near our house.

Today my scenes with my senses are focused on Dad and childhood. The only audio is – I wish I was there to see that.

Dad was in the Navy before I was born. I wish he was still here. Do we ever quit being children?

Carpe Diem.

Experimentation

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I have been experimenting with many aspects of my life since Cheryl has gone.

Where am I going? Why am I experimenting? What do I mean by experimenting? Am I searching for life meaning? My life meaning?

Is this worth my effort?

Since I am still here and God has taken her, there must be some reason that the universal conscience has for me. Or that line of thought might just be ego talking. Some days I feel like I am waiting for God to hit me with the answer of what all this is for.

Today the time changes. Why did it change? Did we get more? What is time? Why do I have so many devices in my home to measure it? Why is my circadian rhythm dysrhythmic today?

How much sugar should I add to this? Should I use sugar or honey? Where is this thought going?

I had a strange dream yesterday as I was wakening in the last time zone. My neighbor was holding two tomatoes from our little garden plot and peering into my living room windows. She was waving them up and down in the latest “6-7” motion that the children do meaninglessly. My view in the dream was as though I was looking through a doll house window. She was a giant version of herself. I woke up suddenly with a little shiver. Where did that dreamy thought come from?

Is the One whose name may not be said merely trying to show me that purpose and being are two different ideas and are not correlated? Those just are?

The human mind (maybe just my mind) is just simply too busy. Minds are too busy concerning themselves with ideas like purpose and value. What if my mind could just be? And where is my mind?

Cheryl’s mind left her before her body left the Earth. Taking care of her in her mindless menagerie of demented memories and present existence was my purpose and value for many years.

These days I seem to be experimenting to find new purpose. But what if I merely remain present to what is now. What if?

It is almost 8AM and my mind is telling my body that it was almost 9AM yesterday. Presence to now is what I shout back in my mind. What is it now? Yesterday is no more.

Time only moves forward.

We are all time travelers. See what is now. The future is tomorrow and next month and next year.

I will get there in time.

What is the rush?

Carpe Diem.

Time Is… Precious

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Time does not move in one direction. Time is never straight. – Alexis Pauline Gumbs

A long and winding road… – the Beatles

Life is a winding road. – Sheryl Crow

Observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction, observation, anticipation, longing, presence, reaction. Indeed a wiggly and tedious road life is.

I subscribe to poetry magazine. It is a small unadorned volume that appears in my mailbox every few weeks. It takes me elsewhere when it comes. The quote that appears first is on the back cover of the September volume. This morning it attracted my eye. My thoughts went off in a similar but musical direction. I found the rest of her writing inside and I read it for a bit.

Today, however, is for the students. The introduction to industrial robotics and computer integrated manufacturing class for which I am the instructor is very technical. The students are young and vibrant. They are just beginning. Near the first curve or the first fork or the first turn-off, they must decide continue or turn. Is this the way? They are not here today, so I can review their work without them yammering in my ear about why they did this or did not do that because I was unclear. Many will not or are unable to ask a question. Many are able to accept another’s work as correct and useful. (No it is not cheating. I want them to help each other.) At this early part of the journey many believe (I think) that they still need to be spoon fed. A few are beginning to try things on their own.

The software is complicated and I have not found the way myself but I have a different motive. (I want them to discover for themselves the bigger picture.) They are able to twist the software into a knot that is hard to untangle. Learning programming techniques on the fly is fun, terrifying, frustrating, satisfying and tedious. → Observation, code, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, more coding, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, much more coding, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, coding, check, test, reaction, observation, yet more coding, check, test, reaction. Will this never end? (I imagine some in the class thinking this to themselves because they are reluctant to say they are struggling out loud to the instructor.) Indeed, a wiggly and tedious road coding is, similar to life itself, similar to writing.

I can feel it coming in the air tonight… – Phil Collins

A wiggly road teaching is. As I work my way through the material which is specific to industrial robots of a specific manufacturer, my thoughts go toward how to generalize techniques and ideas to other areas. Programming (coding) a process is an art form. It is both technical and elegant. Although I have had the good fortune to do this work throughout my working career, I recognize I do not know all. Teaching, mentoring and instructing is humbling for me. I find out how little I know.

… all I wanna do is have some fun before the sun comes up over Santa Monica Blvd. (also Sheryl)

All of these thoughts and others came tumbling into my head when I read Alexis Pauline Gumbs’s quote on the back of Poetry. On some days, most days, poetry centers me. When I read the quote from her above I felt a pull to the content. I was floundering with industrial robots. Alexis was not writing about that. Alexis was writing about a fellow poet Cheryl Clarke.

“Time is not straight. Time spirals and veers, embraces and releases. She shows up with a U-Haul after one date. Time doesn’t move stubbornly forward. She comes back and helps an ex-girlfriend mourn the loss of her more recent lover, maybe even helps her raise her kids. Time is not obsessed with progress. She wants you to come back and revisit lessons you thought you had already learned. Time shows up brand new, as an imp and a trickster. Time is guided not by security, but by the risk of love. Again.

This instant. This triumph. Time is a lesbian.” — Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Poetry, September, 2025 issue

These are powerful words. ( “She shows up with a U-Haul” made me chuckle.) Time (life) is an instructor. Wisdom is “she” in the Bible. We would do well to listen, heed, be present for the message. Our time here is short and winding. Listen. Observe. Embrace the tedium.

Carpe Diem

Too Busy Too Much

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Can life be too busy? Can it be too much?

At certain times in a time of creativity it is. Yes it can.

I have not been good at blocking throughout my life. I must learn that, the ability to block certain times for certain activities and to block out other thoughts while doing those activities, is helpful to following creative thought.

“Human life revolves around four big questions: What is the meaning of life? What is the ultimate source of right and wrong? How can we reduce the amount of suffering and injustice in the world? How can we understand the world without resorting to magic, using reason and evidence instead? – Jonathan Rauch.” I read this in David Brook’s column in the New York Times. What does that have to do with “too busy”? Throughout my life (and career as a controls designer) I found that when I was up against a particularly vexing problem – dilemma, conundrum – simply walking away mentally for awhile helped with finding a solution or at least a path towards one. Some would call this prayer. I think of prayer as a literal request, so, I do not. (Maybe I should think of prayer differently – a different topic.) Although I am not good at blocking, there are too many devices nearby, I am able to about-face my mind and focus entirely on something very different. Jonathan’s list groups some of the topics hovering in the background that jump into the foreground when I let my mind wander off the vexation.

These are all deep enduring thought exercises. If I truly want to abandon rational thought for awhile I ponder the meaning of Facebook, TikTok and X.

Writing these small blog posts help me to disengage for a bit.

Simply disabling the ringer on the mobile phone is remarkably satisfying.

Life is too busy.

I want to devote more time to writing. I want to devote more time to travel. I want to devote more time to service others. I want to do more me before there is less me to do it.

Carpe Diem