Two Out of Seven

I came across Mike Ratliff’s blog “Possessing the Treasure” today, and walked into the middle of a huge exchange between conservative and liberal Christians, each side trumpeting their own view of what true Christianity is. To those who participated in those discussions, if by some chance you come my way, I have some comments to share. I will open by saying that I do not wish to offend anyone, nor am I taking any sides in your discussion. I have only expressed my view of the nature of the discussion, not my view of anyone’s particular opinions.

So…

Why is it that when people begin discussing faith and politics it always descends to name-calling, self-righteousness and mutual disgust?

“In My Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am, there you may be also. I will not leave you comfortless, but will come to you.” -John 14

Christ said that there were “many mansions”; He did not say that those mansions would all be painted the same color, nor furnished in the same style.

None of us can know the entire mind of God, so how dare we presume certainty in the arrogance of our own opinions? The men and women closest to Jesus in His years of mission were often confused by His words, because they were mere humans trying to understand the infinite wisdom, mercy and power of Christ. How can we, who must rely only upon that “still quiet voice” and our best but necessarily human and therefore incomplete understanding of God’s Word, be so proud as to berate one another with the ascendency of our own interpretation? Pope Gregory the Great and St Thomas Aquinas listed Pride and Wrath (anger) among the seven sins most deadly to the soul. It is wise to remember that alignment when entering into theological or political debate.

All of us seek assurance of our salvation. Christ assures us in John 14 that where He goes, there we will be also. That is our only assurance, all we need. Why then need we constantly strive among each other for the winning of an argument over who is most right, who is closest to God’s throne? Do we think our righteousness shall gain us heaven? We cannot earn heaven; we may only be gifted with it by the mercy of God.

Christ said that He came in fulfillment of the Commandments. He said that the two greatest commandments were “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

These were not the commandments of Moses; they fulfilled the commandments of Moses. These commandments were not a matter of chapter and verse. These commandments were not the law of the Sadducees, nor the customs and traditions of the Pharisees. These commandments were the living words of Christ, of God. So why do we quibble with each other over trifles of politics and law, and argue over who is more righteous and who is less? Who is right and who is wrong? We are ALL wrong; we are ALL sinners, and never moreso than when we rise in pride and wrath to assert our righteousness, whether that be branded conservative or liberal, Fundamentalist or Secularist.

Righteousness, faith, salvation; these are not part of some spiritual football game; there are no strategies, no cheerleaders, no halftime shows, no crowd to thrill, no final score. We do not push the ball across the goal line; we ARE the ball, and we are carried across the only goal line that matters by the mercy of God. The ball doesn’t coach the team. The ball doesn’t call the play. The ball should take no pride in being taken over the goal line. If it feels at all, it should only feel gratitude that the play is over.

So the next time any of you get into an argument over the relative merits of conservatism and liberalism, or Fundamentalism and Secularism, take care that you forget neither the first nor the second of the most important commandments. You may be right in your opinion…or you may be wrong. Your certainty is salvation through Christ; this is your only certainty. All else is your best judgement. And your judgement, no matter how careful your study, no matter how cleverly you debate, no matter how impressive your biblical quotations nor your sheer intelligence, should always be tempered by the knowledge that you may be wrong. You may only use your best judgement, that which God gave you, and hope that you don’t make too many mistakes along the way. And remember, that if you would lead someone to Christ, you must lead them with love. You cannot drive them with anger, nor with fear. And you need not take pride in your righteousness.

You have not earned it. You cannot earn it. You may only strive for it.

At this Moment…

Every moment we live is a miracle. Every moment we feel, every moment we see, every moment we experience our world is a miracle.

At this moment a life is reaching a conclusion, and someone is discovering whether there is nothing, or everything, beyond the world in which we live.

At this moment a child is opening her eyes for the first time.

At this moment a cow is mooing.

At this moment a tire is losing adherence to a wet road surface.

At this moment a foot is striking a ball.

At this moment old friends are sharing a laugh.

At this moment a snowflake is falling on a hillside.

At this moment a wife is being struck by her husband.

At this moment a prayer is being said.

At this moment sunlight is peeking over the edge of the world.

At this moment a foot’s asleep.

At this moment a breeze is stirring through a lion’s mane.

At this moment a man is snoring.

At this moment a child is losing his innocence.

At this moment a whale is sounding.

At this moment a traffic light is changing.

At this moment a kitten is purring.

At this moment a pilot is flying over Iraq.

At this moment a woman is looking into the eyes of the man she’ll marry.

At this moment a sun is moving into eclipse.

At this moment a farmer is spreading manure.

At this moment a doctor is prescribing a sedative.

At this moment a wave is breaking on a tropical reef.

At this moment billions of people are living from moment to moment to moment totally unaware of the miracles around them. At this moment some of those billions realize that in this one moment we are all alive and the universe is around us. At this moment, just as immensity is about to overwhelm and sanity teeters on the edge of the infinite, a soul is finding its place, and the universe is regaining its balance.

Every moment we live is a miracle. Every moment we feel, every moment we see, every moment we experience our world is a miracle. Every moment we are is a miracle.

And the next moment….

Things I wonder about.

I have a lot of spare time. Well, not really, but I do waste a lot of time wondering about things that have no effect upon my own life, and over which I have no power or authority. For example:

I wonder if there are aliens on a planet in the Greater Magellanic cloud wondering if there are aliens on a planet in Andromeda wondering if there are aliens on a planet here in the Milky Way wondering if there are aliens on Earth. Woo!..I’m a little dizzy.

I wonder where they get the chintzy prizes they put in Cracker Jack boxes.

I wonder if we would have brought the perpetrators of 9/11 to justice any faster if we had engaged in a pursuit of criminals rather than in a “war on terror”.

Just why is Lou Holtz on television?

Are Archer, Daniels and Midland family farmers? And if not, do they get all those government tax breaks and subsidies anyway?

I wonder why I yell at my dog to get out of the trash when I know she can’t understand English.

If Cialis works so well, why is that couple always sitting…outside…in two separate bathtubs…behind an umbrella.

Is “evitable” really the opposite of “inevitable”?

I wonder if I will actually kill the next person I hear asking why we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway. It was funny exactly once.

I wonder if the NBA season will ever go so long that a baby born at the opening of the first game of the season can play power forward at the end of the season. And truly, aren’t ALL balls roundballs? Well, spherical, anyway, but still….

Do they always put the woman on the Fox News morning show directly in front of the camera in a short skirt?

Where are my darn car keys?!?

On an interstate highway, “merge” means “merge”, first one car from the merging lane, then one from the through lane; it doesn’t mean stop! WHY CAN’T YOU GET THAT?!?

Why is Gilbert Gottfried? And no, that’s not a typo.

I wonder what Mark Twain would think of Will Rogers?

Those are the things I wonder about. What do you wonder about?

I wonder if you’ll say….

My Bucket List

There’s a new movie out, with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, called “The Bucket List”. In it, two elderly men make a list of all the things they want to do before they “kick the bucket”. I don’t like the fact that I’m identifying with elderly men, but lately I’ve been thinking of my own bucket list.

Some of these are pretty mundane. Some of these are downright dangerous. A few are ludicrous. A few are sublime. And most I probably won’t get to do. But what the heck; at least I’ve made a list. These are not in any particular order of precedence or importance. It’s just the raw list.

1. See the sunset in the midst of a tropical sea. I don’t want to do it alone. I don’t want to do it on a cruise ship with five thousand other people. I just want to do it, with friends and an experienced captain, a sail boat and a very good radio.

2. Fly in an F-16. Or maybe an F-18. I’m not particular. I just want to get in the backseat of a very, very fast aircraft and ride along as the pilot winds it out to maximum.

3. Learn how to use a very good telescope.

4. Write my father’s story.

5. Return to Yosemite.

6. Build a Swiss Family Robinson treehouse…and live in it.

7. Meet a Swiss person named Robinson.

8. Step into Nelson’s cabin on HMS Victory (without batting my eyelashes at the sailor/tourguide, Trish!)

9. Fly on Virgin’s commercial space shuttle.

10. Not have to take immuno-suppressant steroids anymore…without having to lose my grafted kidney or die to do it.

11. See another Major League No-Hitter. (I’ve seen TWO…with WITNESSES: Derek Lowe’s at Fenway, and The Big Unit’s Perfect Game at Turner Field.)

12. Do one good thing that will be remembered.

13. Try one of those new Wendy’s fish sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.

14. Live to be 100.

There it is, my Bucket List. I wonder which of them I will do before I leave our present space/time continuum. I wonder if I will do any of them.

Okay, the fish sandwich is probably pretty certain. One down!

The Kindness of Friends…

“You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn’t it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe.”-Marcus Cole, Babylon 5, “A Late Delivery from Avalon”

I became a true and everlasting fan of the syndicated science fiction TV epic Babylon 5 when one of my favorite characters, the young and idealistic Ranger, Marcus Cole, made the observation above. It brought so much of life’s good and bad into a kind of smirking perspective. And it applies to more than just the disasters that come our way. It also applies to friends.

Our friends bear us through things, and our friends teach us things, and our friends give us things. We are grateful, we are thankful, we are thoughtless, we take them for granted.

But if we don’t deserve life’s less pleasant vicissitudes, do we deserve the kindness of our friends?

I spent the afternoon with a friend today, and in the course of our (usual) eclectic, erratic conversation, she said something that reminded me of the quote above. She said “I finally got it through my head that I need to stop thinking I deserve anything in this life, do what I can and count on grace to get me through.”

She was speaking of the grace of God, of course, in the context current between us at that moment. It occurred to me a little later, though, that she could be talking of a more earthly grace as well, that grace we receive from our friends.

Some speak of “earning” friendship, but that’s not quite right. We might earn an obligation from someone, but friendship? That’s bestowed, freely given. It is priceless, not just because its value is immeasurable, but because price is irrelevant.

Friends can fail us. Friends can fall away, or be lost to us. But the friendship that sustained us once, sustains us forever afterward. Can you not remember the kindness of a friend at some time of frailty or fear, even if it was years ago, and the cause of the fear, perhaps even the name of the friend who lifted you along, you can’t recall? The kindness remains. The kindness is unforgettable.

So give thanks for God’s grace of friendship, given and received, undeserved. Rejoice in the kindness. Be not just the receiver, but the bestower of grace. For when you touch the hand of a friend, in pain or to ease pain, you touch the hand of God.

“Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”-from Matthew, 25:40, ESV

If I Had Stopped To Listen Once or Twice…

If I had stopped to listen once or twice/

If I had closed my mouth and opened my eyes/

If I had cooled my head and warmed my heart/

I’d not be on this lonesome road tonight.

James Taylor

I first heard this song years ago. The harmonies of James Taylor and his group was unadorned, sweet, and moving. But the message of the song was overwhelming.

I wasn’t a good listener, then. I am still not as good a listener as I should be. But I have begun to listen a little more closely, a little more carefully. These are some of the things I’ve heard.

I hear the slight halt in her voice when my mother speaks of my father, dead nearly twenty-four years, but still the light of my Mom’s morning.

I hear the warmth in my wife’s voice when she holds our cat Stascha up to her ear, to hear the loudest and best purr in our house. I hear the impending laugh in her voice when she’s about to launch one of her priceless bon mots.

I hear the groan in Chloe’s voice when I am writing and won’t come play with her…like tonight. Like right now. (Come on girl, we’ve been playing all evening. I need a break!)

I hear the hurt in my friend’s voice when she has had some blow to her soul, and the prayer in her tone that asks for strength and peace.

In the middle of the night, I hear the sound of rain, and I remember the rain falling on the leaves outside my window as a boy of eight, in Augusta, in the gentle spring of the year before I developed diabetes. I remember the lulling drone of the fan in the window that summer, in the days when only the rich folks houses had central air, and the breeze through the other window was scented with the smell of fresh grass, and lingering smokiness from Dad’s grill and the hamburgers we had for dinner, and filled with the chirp of crickets and tree frogs.

I hear the brittle impatience in my niece’s voice when her mother has once again interfered with her dating life. I remember hearing the same sound in her mother’s voice when we were children. I remember hearing laughter then…mine. Little brothers can be a pain. Heh. Heh-heh. Heh.

I hear the annoyance in my coworker’s voice when she encounters the problem that continues to plague the project I turned over to her last week: the manager who asked for the report doesn’t understand the work that goes into detailed analysis and reporting. I sympathize; I hadn’t wanted to turn it over to her, but there wasn’t a choice, I was too swamped with the other five things I was doing.

I hear her heartbeat quicken when I kiss my wife’s neck…and then again when I kiss the other side. Symmetry is very important.

I can hear the steady, shallow breaths of Charlemagne as he rests beside me, asleep in his golden fur. I listen to make sure he keeps breathing. He’s thirteen, he’s got medical conditions, he’s my luck charm. He’s just a cat. But he’s my cat. And that counts for much.

I hear the fluid sweep of Jerry Douglas‘ chords, and marvel at how the man can make a twang sound like a symphony.

I hear the sound of ball hitting bat, on this evening’s news telecast, and I know that even if it’s only February, baseball is beginning to stir. Spring can’t come too soon. I can smell the grass and the pine tar even now.

I hear the passion in my brother’s voice whenever he speaks of any of three things: the Alabama Women’s Gymnastics Team, the profligate ways of Democrats, and the latest of his daughter’s accomplishments. Have I mentioned that she’s a trainer with the Crimson Tide basketball team this year? I didn’t? Don’t tell my brother.

I can always hear the singing of six women; my mother’s; my wife’s; my sister’s; my friend Susan’s; and that of my friend eTrish. And, of course, Linda Ronstadt’s. If I could have put them all in the same girl-group, I’d have had platinum record winner. As it is, in each of their voices, I hear a little of the voice of the Universe.

I didn’t hear my father’s last words. I didn’t hear the first words of any of my nieces. I will never hear the voice of my own child. But I hear love all around me. I hear love within me, for the people close to me, for the animals that have found shelter with me, for the world in which there are still wonders, and beauties, and perfections, and imperfections.

I have only just begun to hear, because I have only just begun to listen.

The Silly Season, Chapter 2

A few weeks ago (December 16th, to be exact), I opined about the current Silly Season. Things have progressed…if such a word can be used. Let’s see how I did in the prophecy business:

“I predict that the Democratic nominee will be…Hillary Clinton.” (Clupeiform, The Silly Season, 16 December, 2007)

Okay, I haven’t been proven wrong yet, but even I couldn’t predict the long legs of “Obamamania”. When he received the endorsement of Clan Kennedy, I thought I was stuck in a time warp; is this a new “Camelot”? Do we really want another “Camelot”?

We’ll see. I still say Hillary knows where the skeletons are hidden.

Bill Richardson and John Edwards have dropped out; this surprised no one, or shouldn’t have. Richardson is too diplomatic, in oh so many ways. Edwards, though gone from the presidential sweepstakes, was and continues running for the job for which he has the most experience: the Vice Presidential Nominee. Could it be anything else after that memorable New Hampshire debate?

On the Republican side, I had it half-wrong:

“So who will be the Republican nominee? Magic Eight-ball isn’t very conclusive, but seems to be indicating… Rudy Giuliani, with Huckabee as a running mate.” – (Clupeiform, The Silly Season, 16 December, 2007)

Well, I was really wrong about Rudy, he’s dead and gone, and thrown his support behind McCain. I may still be right about Huck, though. If either McCain or Romney pull it out, they’re going to need something to pull in the Social Conservatives of the Great Green South. Huck, despite his somewhat controversial stance on immigration, would do both of the Unaccented Ones a great deal of good down here.

But the old war horse keeps on going. John McCain has been poor-mouthed by talk radio for his daring to work out compromises rather than follow the failed Gingrichesque exclusivity of the Contract With America years. To be uncompromising is to be polticially deranged, in a democracy. “Uncompromising” is a word very common in despotisms, monarchies, and dictatorships. It’s not a very American thing.

“We have a genius for compromise”, Shelby Foote once said, “Our whole government is based upon it.” He also pointed out that when we failed to compromise, in 1860, we went about killing each other in greater numbers than anybody else has ever managed. Something to consider, eh, you stalwart Uncompromisers? As McCain’s own 94-year-old mother said today, you “may hold their noses while [you] do it, but [you]‘ll vote for him.”

So maybe McCain will carry the Republican flag, and maybe Huckabee or Giuliani will stiffen his image for one or the other branch of Republican conservatism. Or maybe Romney will surge forward on funds and family values, and use someone…Gingrich, maybe?…to provide his conservative credentials.

It all comes down to Super-Stupor Tuesday. It all comes down to dozens of states voting on one day, with a huge number of delegates in both parties up for grabs. More than likely, there’ll be some kind of gosh-awful split, and maybe, just maybe, and against my expectation, both parties will go into the convention with no clear leader, and for once in fifty years, as my wife pointed out, we might see a convention as something other than a coronation.

But don’t bet on it.

My political prophecy batting average has yet to be determined. I’ve got one strike (Giuliani), and one ball (Edwards). Wonder what the next pitch will be….

Tagged.

So, I got “tagged” by eTrish .

Thanks.

So now I am required to (attempt to) do the following. Okay, I’m game. Here are the rules to the game:

(1) Link to the person that tagged you. (2) Post the rules on your blog. (3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. (4) Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. (5) Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Okay. Now, it’s my turn.

! and 2: Done.

4: Ain’t happening. I only know two people on WordPress, and they’ve already played the game. I don’t know if any of my other friends blog. It’s a pity; I thought I was a lot more popular. Sigh.

3: This I can slamdunk. I mean, come on! Just seven weird things?

Amateurs.

1) I occasionally like to put peanuts in my (bottled) Diet Coke or Coke Zero. It’s like having a sugar free Snickers bar: peanuts, caramel. Okay, no chocolate; nothing’s perfect. By the way, that’s three product endorsements. Do I get any fat cash contracts? HECK no!

2) I love stuffed animals. Always have. I have several, mainly otters, which I collect. I am 47. I am heterosexual. Yes, really.

3) I have conversations in my car with people who aren’t there…and usually they are reruns of conversations from twenty years ago. In my car, however, I win the arguments.

4) Sometimes, in bed, I will entwine the blanket between my fingers, to feel the cool textures of the blanket between them. Wonder what Freud would say about that? On second thought, no, I don’t.

5) I never fell in love at first sight. First touch, on the other hand….

6) When I look at the stars at night, I try to see the ones I know I’ll never be able to see. It’s nice to look into emptiness, and know, even in the dark part of the sky, there is light.

7) If my football team is losing, I’ll change hats. If they don’t start winning after that, I take the hat off. If they lose anyway, I cry. Childish? I’m an Alabama fan. I wear a houndstooth hat on occasion. I was in college when Bear Bryant was still coaching. Don’t you know the U.S. Constitution protects both freedom of religion and freedom of expression? Deal with it.

So there we are. I will perhaps try to tag others as I get to know more people in the ‘blogosphere.

How it is.

Let me first tell how it was.

In November of 1993, I reached End Stage Renal Failure. I went on dialysis soon after, and then waited a year for my HMO to approve the kidney and pancreas transplant coverage I needed to go on the SPK list.

The call came. February 19, 1995 at a little after 8 AM. I went in to Emory, was prepped for surgery, was on the table for about four hours or so, and woke up…well, I didn’t have to take insulin for a long time after that.

I was joyful. I was filled with life like I hadn’t been since I was nine. I was happy, I was ecstatic!

I had to pee!

And then the steroids kicked in. Understand something very clearly: I feel more gratitude than I could possibly express to the family of my organ donor. I have life, thanks not to their loss but to their gift. But sometimes living with steroids is less than a fine time.

Let me tell you how it is.

There’s depression. I was prone to it by heredity; the steroids just made it more apparent. “‘Roid rage” is not an urban myth. I was easily, inexplicably angry at times. The symptoms became less pronounced as the dosage level went down, but even now I can be subject to sudden irritations, usually accompanied by yelling, cursing, but fortunately no violence…at least against anything actually alive. A few nonliving things have been damaged now and then, but so far I’ve retained my grip on sanity pretty well.

There are days when I just feel like crap. I’m tired, listless. I sit too much all the time, but on some days I just don’t even feel like getting out of bed. Oh, I do, but sometimes it feels like an act of sheer will just to get up and go to work. (I am told this is just middle-age; my non-recipient friends are dealing with this, too…but this is my story and I’m not cutting them slack at the moment).

There are good days. There are days when my mood lifts, and the world is bright and I’m top of my game…whatever the heck my game is, I’ve never been too sure, but I’m on top of it.

There are days when my memory is not…I have days when my short-term memory is…

What were we talking about?

Oh, yeah. Anyway, my short-term memory, always a little short of eidetic, gets so bad I go looking for the glasses I’m wearing. It’s not Alzheimers…I hope…it’s the steroids…and the blood pressure meds I have to take because of the steroids. And the antidepressants I’ve been prescribed for the depression exacerbateded by…you guessed it…the steroids.

Where was I again?

The question is, would I, knowing what I know now, have been willing to go through this for the ten years I had post-transplant without having to take insulin injections, without having to worry about having a piece of cake or pie or candy, without having to…manage…my every waking moment? Without having to manage how I did every little thing to make sure I could get to my insulin and syringes to stay alive?

You bet I would.

I am on the insulin pump now, after my grafted pancreas ceased to cope. It works well enough, better than I had originally hoped, though I do have to manage things. I live in some expectation that at some point the kidney will fail, and I will be back on that dialysis bandwagon. Maybe not.

I get along pretty well, despite feeling like crap some days, despite never seeming to have quite enough energy to get everything done around the house that needs doing. I am reasonably healthy, out of shape and overweight, yes, but reasonably healthy. I am married to a woman who, somehow, still loves me even though she didn’t get quite everything for which she hoped (hey, Mandy Patinkin married someone else!). My cats haven’t killed me…yet…and my dog adores me. Well, Chloe adores anybody who will play with her, but she likes me, and I’m happy with that. I have a job, a real, sure enough 40-hour-a-week full-time job, with health insurance, two weeks paid vacation and real responsibility…and I even got to go to Paris on business! I’m doing okay.

I’m doing pretty darned okay.

I am still looking for God. I believe in Him. I haven’t found His name yet. I thought it was Jesus, and it may be, but unlike John Wesley I’ve not quite felt my heart strangely moved, and while I hear His voice, I haven’t heard what I’m here for, what I’m meant to do, how I can live up to the gift I’ve been given, how I can find the energy…and the heart…and the compassion…to make a difference somehow. I tried going back to church, and it was a comfort for a time, but unlike my best friend Trish, who’s faith sustains her, and whose faith inspires her to work for the good of all…I couldn’t keep going when my heart wasn’t in it, and when it was more for my benefit than for His. I haven’t found God’s love inside me yet, not enough to get outside of my own selfishness, wilfulness…my own narcissusism (come on! I’m writing a BLOG!).

But I have hope that I will find Him someday, when maybe I’ve found the way to love someone else more than I love myself; to give up my own happiness and comfort for the sake of the happiness and comfort of others. To love others with the love that I have been given, and with the joy that is there for all of us.

John Wesley once said that redemption was but the door to the House of God; once in you’ve only begun the life of faith. He also said that the door doesn’t close behind you, and that you may wander out again. But, you see, the door…is always open.

The door always open. I put my hope…my faith…in that.

Selah.

Snow Falling On Something Other Than Cedars

I will not go into endless paroxysms of poetic amazement at the simple fact of flakes of frozen water falling gently to the ground. I won’t. I live in Metro Atlanta, where this perfectly natural combination of cold temperatures and precipitation is always greeted as a combination of holiday and climatic disaster.

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not complaining about how Atlanta shuts down in a storm like this. It’s never been cost-effective for states in the Deep South to buy the number of snow-clearing vehicles necessary to deal with even a small snowfall. Tree-clearing vehicles and tools for dealing with tornado, hurricane and forest fire damage, yes, but not snowfalls. I can live with that.

I did go out and take a few pictures.

This one is looking down my street. No one was out in the neighborhood.

Yes, it was beautiful, though as you can see, the coverage wasn’t deep, nor very complete. By the end of the day the snpw had already begun to melt. Snowjam 2008 wasn’t much of an event, though it was rather pleasant to spend the day in the quiet.

There was a little traffic on Highway 92, up the street, but the snow seemed to hush even that occasional noise.

I think what we love best about snow days is the sense that suddenly all that is everyday, all that is humdrum, is shown to us from a different perspective. It makes us appreciate things a little better, maybe. It reminds us that beauty can come upon us at any moment. The question, as always, is are we ready to perceive it when it comes?

Today, as I walked with my dog Chloe in the falling snow, I had a moment to appreciate the snowy transfiguration of a suburban street, to see even the mundane can have it’s moment of beauty.

Not bad, Old Man. Not bad at all.