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My Morning Guide for Many Years
RIP, Bob Edwards, host of NPR’s Morning Edition for almost 25 years.
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After an illness, walking the dog | Jane Kenyon
Wet things smell stronger, and I suppose his main regret is that he can sniff just one at a time. In a frenzy of delight he runs way up the sandy road— scored by freshets after five days of rain. Every pebble gleams, every leaf. When I whistle he halts abruptly and steps in a circle, swings his extravagant tail. The he rolls and rubs his muzzle in a particular place, while the drizzle falls without cease, and Queen Anne’s lace and Goldenrod bend low. The top of the logging road stands open and light. Another day, before hunting starts, we’ll see how far it goes, leaving word first at home. The footing is ambiguous. Soaked and muddy, the dog drops, panting, and looks up with what amounts to a grin. It’s so good to be uphill with him, nicely winded, and looking down on the pond. A sound commences in my left ear like the sound of the sea in a shell; a downward, vertiginous drag comes with it. Time to head home. I wait until we’re nearly out to the main road to put him back on the leash, and he —the designated optimist— imagines to the end that he is free.
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Fellowship - Christian Wiman
Tragedy and Christianity are incommensurable, he declared, which we’d have chalked to bluster had he not, within the month, held a son hot from the womb but cold to his kiss, and over a coffin compact as a toolbox wept in the wrecked unreachable way that most resist, and that all of us, where we are most ourselves, turn away from. Bonded and islanded by the silence, we waited there, desperate, with our own pains, to believe, desperate, with our own pains, not to.
Hope Springs... You KnowStarted tomato plants by seed today in the garage. Will use grow lights when (if) they sprout, then repot, then into the ground come Spring. Never tried doing it this way before. Fingers crossed.
from The Great Good Place by Ray Oldenburg /... the third place tavern combines drinking with conversation such that each improves the other. The talking/drinking synergism is basic to the pub, tavern, taverna, bistro, saloon, estaminet, osteria -- whatever it is called and wherever it is found... [J]ust as conversation is enhanced by the temperate use of alcohol, the artful and witty game of conversation moderates consumption of liquor. As Tibor Scitovsky remarked with respect to those who know how to use a public drinking facility, "a half-pint of beer is to talk as bed is to making love -- one can do without, but does better with.”
My Turf Club / Tuxedo Cocktail No. 2- .75 oz Old Tom Gin
- .75 oz London Dry Gin (Tanq or Beefeater)
- 1.5 oz dry vermouth (I prefer Dolin)
- .25 oz Luxardo liqueur (worth having around for other classic cocktails, such as the Aviation)
- 2 dashes anise liqueur (absininthe, pernod, etc.)
- 2 dashes orange bitters
- 2 dashes Angostura bitters
- lemon twist garnish (important!)
London's East End in the Last CenturyFrom the wonderful Spitalfields Life: "In the seventies, while living in Mile End Place ... photographer Philip Cunningham took these tender portraits of his friends and colleagues."
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Because You Asked about the Line Between Prose and Poetry
- Howard NemerovSparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle That while you watched turned to pieces of snow Riding a gradient invisible From silver aslant to random, white, and slow. There came a moment that you couldn’t tell. And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
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