My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Taking Notice
We pass through a number of settings and situations as though we could handle them well. In fact, we pretend we are but it is only passing through and if we are fortunate we will sometimes recognize this is so. There will be an occasion to make changes so we might stop for awhile, stop passing through and instead notice.
Labels:
indifference
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