• The Christian Gospel in a Nutshell

    This week’s group Bible study is Luke 15. Wonderful: lost sheep, lost coin, lost boy. But the best is at the top in v.2: “… the scribes murmured, saying, ‘This man receives sinners and eats with them.'” Good news, huh?

  • RepublicBank

    A nice appreciation of Dallas' RepublicBank building. I enjoyed working there for many years.

  • Tim Walz:

    January 6 was not Facebook ads.

  • So nice to have a backyard this time of year

  • RIP, Kris Kristofferson

    Well, I woke up Sunday morning
    With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
    And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
    So I had one more for dessert
    Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
    And found my cleanest dirty shirt
    And I shaved my face and combed my hair
    And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
    
    I'd smoked my brain the night before
    On cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin'
    But I lit my first and watched a small kid
    Cussin' at a can that he was kickin'
    Then I crossed the empty street
    And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken
    And it took me back to somethin'
    That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way
    
    On a Sunday morning sidewalk
    Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
    Cause there's something in a Sunday
    That makes a body feel alone
    And there's nothin' short of dyin'
    Half as lonesome as the sound
    As a sleepin' city sidewalk
    Sunday mornin' comin' down
    
    In the park, I saw a daddy
    With a laughing little girl who he was swingin'
    And I stopped beside a Sunday school
    And listened to the song that they were singin'
    Then I headed back for home
    And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'
    And it echoed through the canyons
    Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday
    
    On a Sunday morning sidewalk
    Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
    Cause there's something in a Sunday
    Makes a body feel alone
    And there's nothin' short of dyin'
    Half as lonesome as the sound
    As a sleepin' city sidewalk
    Sunday mornin' comin' down
    
  • For reference

    Auto-generated description: A diagram illustrates the eight phases of the moon, arranged in a circular pattern around Earth.
  • Hell Weed

    Smilax (or bindweed or greenbrier, among many other names). It covers everything, and its roots reach down to hell. But, once a year for about a week, it puts out pretty purple flowers. So it’s got that going for it. Which is nice.

    Purple flowers are abundantly growing among green leafy vines
  • Audere est Facere

    Micro.blogger Tottenham Hotspur fans (if any, besides @frjon and me), might take some heart from this article in the Evening Standard. COYS ⚽

  • Due Api
    Two bees on yellow Cosmos flowers

    It’s so fun to grow plants (in this case, Cosmos), from seed! Fun for the bees, too.

  • O Liverwurst, Where Art Thou?

    Sad memorial in the NYT. I loved liverwurst on rye with mustard and red onion slices from the late ’70s Stanford Coffee House. I still wonder why people crossed to the other side of the street after I’d enjoyed one.

    The deli counter at Zabar’s in 1971
    At Zabar’s, 1970 - Credit: Michael Gold/Getty Image

  • A Thought

    Extraordinary people in arts, business, etc., can be so focused that their relationships suffer. Maybe that’s the price of excellence. But those who nurture relationships also pay a cost. They may be less successful at making money or art. Might that be a price of deeper connections?

  • Cahokia Jazz

    Loved the audiobook of Francis Spufford’s amazing novel, read by Andy Ingalls. It’s a great listen, and Ingalls is an excellent reader. But I recommend also getting a print copy for the great maps, family trees, etc. (Check your library!) Dynamite as a pair.

    cover image of Cahokia Jazz, a novel by Francis Spufford
  • Bag it
    Auto-generated description: A crumpled brown paper bag with the text 10 Duro Dubl Life 100% Recycled Paper printed on it.
    I am a huge fan of the lunch-size brown paper bag. (And not merely because of its contents, though they often also are worthy of praise.)

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