I've tried to stay as far away as possible from Marie Kondo's book on organizing, even though I badly need help. My brain just does not think in an organized way and it's truly painful for me to try to imagine organization schemes. But I couldn't help it. I was curious to see a couple of Kondo's . . .
A week after I watched his documentary, The Last Man on the Moon, and days after I saw the film, Hidden Figures, astronaut Gene Cernan died. I'm having a hard time expressing the nostalgia, sadness, longing--the hiraeth I wrote about a year ago here--that I feel when I think about the space program . . .
When I heard the late Debbie Reynolds singing Tammy on the radio the other day, I felt something visceral in her wistful rendition, a heart-breaking nostalgia recalling a far more innocent era --an era we haven't seen in a long while and, I fear, we won't see again. I hear the cottonwoods . . .
I was watching a documentary the other day about something that happened more than 80 years ago. Looking at the faces of the people in the program I saw an innocence and a wholesomeness that are missing today. I've never been much for "dreaming," not in that innocent sense that dreamers have, but . . .
On the phone with one of our nephews the other day I was hit hard by hiraeth, a form of homesickness that I couldn't put words to until I ran into this word. Hiraeth. Grief for the lost places of your past. We were talking about his new job, his new apartment his new life, and while he was talking . . .
It was 1967 and I was 16 years old when I heard the opening lines of Nights in White Satin. And then, the heavily orchestrated music of the Moody Blues began: Nights in white satin Never reaching the end Letters I've written Never meaning to send The strings soared into the stratosphere . . .
Tom Brokaw's Greatest Generation is dying off, I'm sad to say. My parents were members and as I look at photographs of them pre- and post-World War II, I'm fascinated with the differences between their generation and ours. It led me to read Brokaw's book, finally, and then to think long and hard . . .
Love the people who treat you right. Forget about those who don't. I'd make a tweak in that "Love the people who treat you right." I'd say "Love everyone. But forget about those who don't treat you right." "Don't pay any attention to people who don't treat you right." That's the main . . .
Oh, I know, I know. We are supposed to keep our refrigerators clutter-free so that our kitchen looks organized. Maybe a few family photos, but that's it. But that's NOT it, not for me. Although I am probably going to shift its stuff to my file cabinet in my office once our new kitchen is . . .