I love the color of this morning's sunrise.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Our Records, Our Digital History
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Saw this wine bottle while shopping. Very clever piece of art. My attention was grabbed, but I didn't buy it. Though I might research it and see if this something I would like. I guess the marketing is somewhat effective. Perhaps I'm a rarity. Someone who thinks through his purchases. I hope My mindset is not rare. Well, not within my circle of friends. The best one can do, I suppose?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Today, acknowledging summer’s demise, I finally turned on the heat. Air chill, perhaps related to the gray, darkening sky. Or, perhaps, the turning of the seasons announced boldly; the date on the calendar be damned! I wonder, how cold was it, nine years ago, when the world went a bit chill?
Well, perhaps not cold, but rather hot. So often, since Nine-Eleven, Americans delved head-first into fear based reaction. Easily wrenched into “evil=muslim” paradigm. Fear. Our world shown uncontrolled, our dominance shown illusory, and the grand mirage of a world looking longingly at us (US?) for love and guidance blown apart. Fear shoved into our face, our people unused to this sensation. Irrational rage birthed.
I hoped that we, as a people, would remain above petty vindictiveness and bigoted rage. That we would be stronger, less alarmist. Our reaction to such tragedy based on effectiveness and reason. My hope remains longing for fulfillment. At moments glimmers of hope exist. Yet, I see this rage everywhere.
For me, Nine-Eleven speaks to the ease at which rage takes hold. Those flying the planes delighted in the suffering they caused. People chose immense harm, overriding all scripture’s demand for compassion. Ultimately, failure of humanity to rise to it’s potential. A potential spoken of by myriad prophets. Compassion, love; God’s commands overridden by a mad desire to slay for God. Madness!
In this morning’s chill I drove to breakfast with friends. On my drive I passed our local fire station, noticing the flag at half-staff. A sober reminder of the dreadful history of this day. Yet, up in the sky, against a horizon of blue sky and fluffy clouds sat a hot-air-balloon. They drift skyward upon a wave a hope. Autumn, a time of winding down, approaching the death of winters, glimmers with the residual hope of summer, acknowledging its eventual return. Life returns, hope remains; for that. A day will come when warmth returns, life blooms, and the heat turns off for a few months.