I am in Baraboo Wisconsin today. I am alone, with a cup of coffee on an outside patio. The crows in the woods behind me are noisily conferring. I heard this song on the radio yesterday. Goodby Stranger was featured in Breakfast in America an album by the British group Supertramp, released in 1979. …
Monday, the morning illuminated with unfiltered sun. Reaching for my dark sunglasses I accelerated into traffic, peering directly into the rising sun. Turning left from Fabyan Parkway onto Rt 31 I noted the poor reception on the FM radio no matter the station selected. Atmospheric conditions are such, — static mixes with music,… That…
The morning is bright and cool, reminding me of the Wisconsin North Woods which are subject to spells of midsummer cool days. The human mind strives to recognize patterns. Our default is the assumption that our mind-made pattern is the form of reality, which we presume will persist . Thus I am “tipped…
Tuesday, and friends are coming over late in the morning. Friends of many years become scarce with the passage of time. Life becomes more complex, or worse, we are uprooted and forced to begin all over again. The latter is often the case as demands of employment mandate a move to a new town…
I am the last person to have anything to say about prayer. It is rare for me to “pray.” I have become a Christian-agnostic. That sounds like an oxymoron, an impossible contradiction. It is not that I decided impiety is a reasonable response to life. Reason has nothing to do with it, nor does…
Friday brings a sultry summer morning. Perhaps this will be the beginning of an idyllic day, such as I remember, or believe that I remember from my childhood. Those were endless summers. My only responsibility was to return to the house by dark. Otherwise the day was entirely mine for play and for exploration. …
The question comes in due time to everyone who is aware, caring about the condition of society, about the well being of one’s fellows. No doubt that the question of concern is self-interested. What if anything ought I to do about climate warming, or the pandemic, or the political issues which divide us as…
Another day dawns. A light rain is falling for which I am thankful. I do not live in L.A. There it is a dry time. The city is certain to face water rationing, when Lake Mead falls lower. The man-made lake is now at 36% of full capacity. Four million people in one place,…
Last night I participated in a wide ranging discussion about language. How language, words and a manner of speaking, those informal “rules” that channel our conversations in predictable ways — make up our minds. When I look at the assertion which I just wrote I feel an inner disquiet, dismay. It appears that language,…
It is Monday morning, a gray overcast sky. I do not want to write about politics, about the resurgence of the covid virus, or about the heatwave scorching the West. Can I write a few lines about a song, about music that communicates more than the composers, the performers intended, or could know? Rock…
