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Thank you all so much. And Blue Yeti, thank you particularly. I can now head back to the Main Feed without squinting.
To sweet gruesome-enured Percival:
You didn't call me a doody-head, so I'm way ok with your comment.
Sigh! · 4 hours ago
Edited 4 hours ago
At least once a day, my husband and I look up from our reading or the the news and sigh:
It isn't my world anymore.
Why do we not hear voices . . . words . . truths . . like Dave's - from the lecterns of Congress?
"Obama . . . .But is he prudent enough and humble enough to feign interest in them?" · 2 hours ago
BaracKaa will seduce and cajole his media lapdogs:
You two . . .
Never watched one episode. Hmmm . . but I could go for those outfits.
The cancellation of Miami Vice may have given a break to our overworked ears, but think of the other tragedy: my entire wardrobe of pastel muscle shirts and white pants immediately became obsolete. · 7 hours ago
Edited 7 hours ago
Case in point regarding gratuitous noise: Hubby and I are just watching the recap of the Preakness. We had to playback the DVR twice to hear the commentators' remarks as they ran the footage of the race. The overlay of noise was just amazing . . . . and I don't think most people even hear it anymore.
To all the funny and beautiful expressions of gratitude for modernity's mixed blessings and the wistful sighs for what we'd have otherwise . .
Allow me to combine my complaint and wish in one:
Stop the music/noise.
Documentaries, movies, news shows, that would otherwise be entertaining, informative and enjoyable are destroyed by the synthesizer drumbeats and guitar squealings in dins of thumping and screeching that render the monologue or over-voice as an almost irrelevant intrusion.
Oh kid sis . . .
Western Chauvinist: I second everything above. And I'll add something poignant from a project my sister, Trink, recently took on -- I miss thetangibles of personal correspondence that have been almost wholly displaced by email/digital media.
Thesethingsremind us of our attachments, and in a most intimate way invite us to reconciliation. . . . . .
I think these important memories lose their almost sacramental immediacy when they're out there in the ether, in some rarely accessed configuration of ones and zeros. The blessing of technology comes with the curse of atomization. · May 16, 2013 at 12:28am
. . . . beautifully stated and sadly - true.
A former neighbor and friend, a beneficiary of your tax dollars for his solar start-up company - left this message on my answering machine after 9-11.
"Was Samson a terrorist?"
Sis. Those cruets were pretty clean-looking when your tomato vine tumbled over on 'em. Nice harmony - the feminine cruets with the robust vine.
And I'd say that's what you and Mr. Chauvinist have achieved . . . a mutually satisfying, happy balance.
Indulgence granted, Dave.
Eyes moist with resonating memories.
You were a lucky little boy all propped up in bed listening to Johnny Carson's theme song beside a woman who loved you the way she did.
Her sunburst was part little David.
The glow continues.
You ask a very good question. The answer is no. This may not make any sense to you, but there is a quality of absoluteknowing to the knowing. It has nothing to do with what I want, what I believe, or what I'm hoping for. It's just uncanny. · 3 hours ago
" . .but there is a quality of absolute knowing to the knowing."
I was making the bed in the second story of a summer home on White Lake in Michigan. The house was on a high bluff and well-back from the edge of the overlook. I looked up from my job . . . and said with complete knowing:
"Keith needs me."
I ran down and out the front door, across the porch, the lawn and down the long steps to the beach where I stood and observed my husband floundering, but hanging onto his over-turned canoe. He was in no serious jeopardy, but highly distressed to be in that water - up to his gills in dead alewives.
Sorry. Didn't load and I over "Posted.
But equally mind-boggling is the fact of Grandma pacing the floor on the day Dad was crossing the English Channel for the D-day invasion. She wept as her parents watched helplessly.
Grandma told me she'd wake at night with tears on her pillow. She called Mother and Dad on a few occasions to tell them that she heard one of her grandchildren, in distress, calling her name.
And as you know . . . information would emerge that one of us was in a crisis . .
I've only had a couple extraordinary 'knowings' like that. Always with someone in distress.
It seems my kid has inherited something of this. He always bats way better than average on card/color/what's in the sack stuff. Has dreams and 'knowings' in extraordinary accuracy about colleagues and friends.
(He's a Ph.D. physicist and doesn't talk about this skill from lecterns:)
Western Chauvinist: This is a phenomenon in our family, especially among some of our more empathic personalities (I'm looking at you, Trink).
One day, GG announced that she had to go home early. "Gladys needs me." Just as GG walked through the kitchen door, the kerosene lantern hanging from the ceiling that Gladys was lighting tipped and spilled the kerosene down Glady's arm, catching her clothing on fire.
I picture GG calmly smothering the flames, having already anticipated why she was there. Our Grandma Gladys had no lasting injuries. Just the memory of a remarkably "fortuitous" moment. · 1 hour ago
Sis . . there's more to this event. At the point that the oil was spilling and igniting Grandma Glady's clothes . . . an uncle pulled up in his horse-drawn dray wagon (had to look up the spelling . . I'd only heard Grandma say the word 'dray') and helped beat out the flames with his leather gloves.
My son is a research scientist with a Ph.D. in astrophysical, planetary and atmospheric sciences.
His denialism is a screaming #2 with the following alterations:
Original # 2:
I think there's warming, but it wasn't caused by us.
Corrected # 2:
I know there was warming, but it wasn't caused by us.
Oh. And he'd add: Don't throw out your long underwear.
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