We watched the Seahawks game against the Packers. Before it started I said to my son that I hoped it was a good game. At the end of the fourth quarter with the score tied, my son turned to me and asked, “Is this tense enough for you?”
He emerged from the finished basement which had become our family’s recreation room looking like he had been threatened with immediate death. His deep brown eyes had a tinge of “wild seeking escape” to them. His usually erect shoulders were even further drawn back.
When she said, “Eat your vegetables, they’re good for you,” she had the nutritional fact right, but she could have put it in a more kid-enthusing way. And she could have cooked the veggies in chicken broth, or put a little butter with them.
I don’t know how you treat the transition from one year to the next, but generally I tend to try and temper disgust with what has taken some three hundred plus days to ebb and flow with a modicum of hope that the next, similar cluster of days and nights offers a chance at redemption and renewal,
I recently read Naomi Klein’s new book, This Changes Everything. She relates a cautionary tale about an island in the South Pacific that is about the same size as Maury Island. For thousands of years, the island of Nauru was a tropical paradise on which people thrived on the abundance of fertile forest and sea.
When people hear what I’m doing, this look of horrified shock melts onto their faces and then simultaneously I see them go for restraint lest their emotions show. The restraint never works. It amuses me a little.
Inherent in the recognition and celebration of the darkest time of the year is the return of the light. Our confidence in the promise of the winter solstice is reflected in the birth of Christ, the miraculous Hannukah light that carried us through the dark time, the reinforcing of community ties of Kwanzaa, and personal resolve to reinvent ourselves in our New Year’s resolutions.
On December 26, 1995, Mark Sears spent the day tracking an elusive J Pod. With his own children in tow, Mark and the Sears Pod circumnavigated Vashon-Maury. Near Blake Island, the Sears Pod finally caught up with J Pod.
The Christmas cookie-baking season rushes on in my neighborhood. There are going to be lots of children, and older people, too, high on sugar if we don’t lock up some of the cookies. Also, we can choose our sugars wisely.
Three times in the last week I have experienced people screwing up and then putting the blame on me. That’s actually kind of a low number of incidences for a week isn’t it? You experience that all the time don’t you? A lot of lies are told during the holidays.
Raven was building a PowerPoint slide show when all hell broke loose. It seems that Raven offended the little helpers who keep the lights on and the email sending smoothly. At the last minute, Raven invited Rabbit and Coyote, his Trickster compadres, to the shindig.
I don’t recall running for the position, but then again, the eighth grade was an eternity ago- thankfully. Even though I can’t say how I got there, I do have a vague memory of attending one of the meetings. As I stop and dig deeper, there is a realization that I’m not even sure whether this remembrance concerns a place on the student council or simply being a homeroom representative or what it was exactly.
For stamina to keep you up with all the delightful demands of December—chilly weather, snow, winter colds, Christmas shopping, the planning, the parties to give and to go to—we need to feed our bodies and minds well. A good breakfast fuels us for these high energy expenditure days.
This will not, until the last, seem like a holiday column. Most assuredly it is. It’s true what they say. Don’t give up running when you are two feet from the finish line. Drag that sorry fanny across the line if you have to.
From the per
As my younger son and I were setting off for the family Thanksgiving dinner to which we had been invited, I received a text from a friend wishing me a good day. “I know it’s hard,” she said, and she does know – she lost her spouse about a year before Rick died.
I haven’t been getting out much lately, but when I do it’s to meetings. This has seriously cramped the possibility of my vying for the most interesting man in the world qualification round, although that is not a title that might even become a doodle in my mental notebook.
Well, my SAD friends, it is that time of the year, when the sun goes down early and comes up late, and there are fewer minutes of daylight every day. For people who have SAD, it is the least favorite time of the year.
Down on the coast, this year’s cranberries have been raked, sorted and packaged for our pleasure and good nourishment. We’ve enjoyed them in baked goods this month, especially these scones, made with low-gluten barley flour or no-gluten sorghum flour combined with almond meal for texture and flavor.
The caseworker, who had been with us for five years already after our first adoption, sidled up to me as we prepared to take our weekend respite charge home with us and said, “I wouldn’t mind if you fell in love with this one. We don’t have anywhere to place him.”
In observance of Native American Heritage Month, we -- Orca Annie and Odin Lonning -- will present “THE SACRED WHALE: Requiem for Ruffles (J1),” on Thursday, November 20, at 7:00 PM in the Vashon Land Trust Building.
This article finds us a day or two after the mid term election. For the last 8 months, we have been besieged by non-stop daily emails (“All is lost!”, “No Hope!”, “Triple Match!”) desperately pleading for donations. We knew it was coming after the Supreme Court decision in favor of faux grass roots group Citizens United.