I’m one of those unfortunate visual myoptics that had to start wearing glasses in fourth grade. I remember my first pair—we called them “cat-eye glasses”. No, they have not returned to the fashionable scene, thankfully.
My most recent pair of glasses, yeah, multi-focals now, supposedly has some kind of hi-tech, anti-glare feature. Only I think they forgot to include things like car headlights, snow on a bright day, and sunsets.
I’m a bit fascinated by the concept of Prayer Wheels. Put somewhat simplistically, a Prayer Wheel is cylindrical collection of Buddhist mantras wrapped around a central core that turns (usually clockwise) so that every time it makes a full revolution, the virtue (“merit”) of those scripted prayers are incurred by the one who turns it. It’s generally recommended that the practitioner use a form of meditation at the same time, but I’ve read that, even in a distracted state of mind, merit is still obtained. The more it is turned, the more benefit is received. This from Lamayeshe.com:Continue reading “The wheel keeps turning, but am I going anywhere? (Prayer journal #3, cont…)”
An early morning in June along the Pacific coast in Oregon is a little different than mid-summer in good ‘ole land locked Missouri. By now, the heat is already stifling and the humidity is beading the on the brow back home, even if I’m in the shade. Here up north on a family vacation, sitting out on the porch, I’m wearing sweats, sweat shirt, Bob’s hat, wrapped in blanket and drinking hot tea.
Does this place actually exist, or am I just dreaming?
They do have humidity, however. It’s in the form of fog, and lots of it. It hangs heavily over the mountains in the distance, and even the near pines are hiding on this particular morning. At least intermittently. I mean, they kind of come and go. Continue reading “The clarity of a foggy morning”
I am not an artist, which perhaps makes me appreciate those who are, like my bloggish buddy at A Time To Share and her husband. Our baby girl is an artist, as is one of our sons-in-law, and all three of my siblings and our dad. Even Bob has taken up the pen and pencil!
But me? Nope. I must have been like a flat rock that went skipping over that part of the gene pool. I can sort of draw a tree…
Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art…well, some of it. Admittedly, I’m more a Rembrandt to Rockwell fan than, say, Pablo P. I’m a bit of a realist in that sense. I’m a nurse, and I like body parts to be where they are supposed to be. Is that so wrong?
It’s an uncharacteristically warm day in winter, so I’ll need to go out and turn the compost. Now, that might not sound too exciting, unless you see it with a little vision (or a lot, depending on your perspective, I suppose…) My heavy-duty fork and I have an interesting relationship—I supply the muscle but it touches the biologicals. It’s work, but I’m hoping a good harvest this coming summer.
Which is nothing compared to the work in this account…