Write Lightning is a blog from writer Deb Thompson.
Everyone is welcome here.
(Some links or topics may not be completely kid-appropriate.)
Everyone is welcome here.
(Some links or topics may not be completely kid-appropriate.)
Fri, Jun 23 2006
Friday Finishes
It's been a strange week, in which my best efforts to wrap up the July edition of Deb's Monthly Review have not yet paid off. I'm getting close, but I had to drop everything and get into the middle of an unrelated, but very important, research project that began because of something I did that rippled out to one group and then another and then another, larger group. No man is an island. Neither, apparently, is a female editor during Crunch Week.
Then I went and read the story about the superstitions of coach
Ricardo La Volpe. One man's beliefs can affect a lot of other people when
it comes to team sports and international competition. I would say with fair
certainty that no coach can be an island.
The Motley Food carried an article that referenced a story about a man in Montclair, California who dug a 60-foot-deep hole after finding gold dust near his patio. He's 63 years old. I wonder what vitamins he's taking. And I wonder why authorities stopped him. Maybe they thought he would fall. But he was already 60 feet down and doing all right, from what I understand. I suppose sometimes it doesn't matter how deeply one is willing to dig for treasure, if others don't see the merit in it. Apparently, no gold digger is an island.
A piece originally from the LA Times talks about people and groups of people who are trying to hasten the end of the world by preparing temple cornerstones or breeding perfect red heifers. I don't know quite what wisdom I can gain from this article, other than to be sure I read spiritual things while considering symbolism and literalism in equal portions. It would seem that no eschatologist is an island.
And then I visited Fire Ant Gazette and found that Eric had done one of his Fire Ant Theatre readings of lyrics from a Texas blues song. The blues are one of my favorite genres of music, and as I listened to Eric read about bulls and blues I let all the other crazy things blend into the background. I remembered that most of the craziness we think we see in life has nothing to do with what gets dealt to one individual or another at any given time. It's only when we compare what happens to us with what happens to others around us that we begin to build a case for what's crazy. Of course, any good blues song lets us vent about life's craziness and then throws that whole "no man is an island" thing right in our faces and leaves us feeling pretty good about still being around to sing about our troubles. I do believe the good Lord Himself must have invented the blues for us. He must have known it would be a great way for us to gain some perspective on hazy Friday afternoons.
posted at: 14:17 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry
It's been a strange week, in which my best efforts to wrap up the July edition of Deb's Monthly Review have not yet paid off. I'm getting close, but I had to drop everything and get into the middle of an unrelated, but very important, research project that began because of something I did that rippled out to one group and then another and then another, larger group. No man is an island. Neither, apparently, is a female editor during Crunch Week.
Then I went and read the story about the superstitions of coach
The Motley Food carried an article that referenced a story about a man in Montclair, California who dug a 60-foot-deep hole after finding gold dust near his patio. He's 63 years old. I wonder what vitamins he's taking. And I wonder why authorities stopped him. Maybe they thought he would fall. But he was already 60 feet down and doing all right, from what I understand. I suppose sometimes it doesn't matter how deeply one is willing to dig for treasure, if others don't see the merit in it. Apparently, no gold digger is an island.
A piece originally from the LA Times talks about people and groups of people who are trying to hasten the end of the world by preparing temple cornerstones or breeding perfect red heifers. I don't know quite what wisdom I can gain from this article, other than to be sure I read spiritual things while considering symbolism and literalism in equal portions. It would seem that no eschatologist is an island.
And then I visited Fire Ant Gazette and found that Eric had done one of his Fire Ant Theatre readings of lyrics from a Texas blues song. The blues are one of my favorite genres of music, and as I listened to Eric read about bulls and blues I let all the other crazy things blend into the background. I remembered that most of the craziness we think we see in life has nothing to do with what gets dealt to one individual or another at any given time. It's only when we compare what happens to us with what happens to others around us that we begin to build a case for what's crazy. Of course, any good blues song lets us vent about life's craziness and then throws that whole "no man is an island" thing right in our faces and leaves us feeling pretty good about still being around to sing about our troubles. I do believe the good Lord Himself must have invented the blues for us. He must have known it would be a great way for us to gain some perspective on hazy Friday afternoons.
posted at: 14:17 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry
