“To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul. It is one of the hardest to define. A human being has roots by virtue of his real, active and natural participation in the life of a community which preserves in living shape certain particular treasures of the past and certain particular expectations for the future.”—Simone Weil
The snow lies crisp beneath the stars,
On roofs and on the ground;
Late footsteps crunch along the paths,
There is no other sound.
So cold it is the roadside trees
Snap in the rigid frost,
A dreadful night to think on them,
The homeless and the lost.
The dead sleep sheltered in the tomb,
The rich drink in the hall;
The Virgin and the Holy Child lie
shivering in a stall.
2 lbs. ripe currants
2 lbs. sugar
1 cup vinegar
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoons allspice
1 1/2 teaspoons ground closes
- Wash currants, stem and cook with sugar and vinegar for about an hour;
- Add spices and continue cooking for 30 minutes
“…and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace—Isaiah 9:6
I had a dream the other night I was a salmon and I swam free towards the sea…then I reluctantly ceased to swim and slowly woke out of my dream. Awake. it didn’t take me long to realize that today was election day! With purpose, I vigorously put on my beige Dockers, my casual business shirt, took my One-A-Day man vitamin and headed off to vote with some pep in my step.
Surprisingly, there were no long lines, as predicted by the talking heads. It only took me about 10 minutes to get in and out of the community center—easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.
Feeling pretty darn good, I drove home for a quick pit stop at the house before going in to work. I parked the Mini in the driveway and ran into the house. After grabbing a mouth full of chocolate chips, I ran back outside only to find my car missing. However, it didn’t take too long to find my car. It was halfway down the cul-de-sac, having come to a rest atop my neighbor’s mailbox. Apparently, when you place a car in neutral its gets the itch to move.
My first instinct was to grab the car and drive off, but my conscience got the best of me and I chose not to flee the scene. Although this good decision-making was encouraged by a neighbor watching me like a hawk. So, I went back into the house, grabbed some more chocolate chips (to steady my nerves), and proceeded to write a note documenting my negligence. I dutifully placed the note on my neighbor’s door and took some pictures of the “crime scene” and then tore out of the neighborhood like a bat out of hell.
I figured at the most it would be a couple of hundred dollars to fix the mailbox, so I reconciled myself once more that I would just have to suck it up and take my medicine.
Regretfully, I didn’t know anything about this neighbor. Other than they had big red truck and there was a woman at the house who curiously stared at us sometimes when we were driving to and from the house. So, I did not know what to expect when I got home from work that night.
After mansplaining to my wife about the car, insurance, and the cost to repair the mailbox, I went over to the house to just get it over with. But nobody was there except a teenage girl who told me through the door that her parents weren’t home. About an hour later, I willed myself over to the house again and introduced myself as the guilty party, in my best Eeyore voice.
To my surprise my neighbor calmly told me that “sh** happens” and told me he appreciated my honesty. All he was going to ask is that I go and buy the post ($11) and from there he’d do the rest. We shook hands firmly and stoically parted ways. A win-win for both sides. A win for honesty and win for mercy. To think the Mini being put in neutral would actually be a blessing in disguise.
What blustring Noise now interrupts my Sleepe?
What echoing Shouts thus cleaue my chrystal Deep?
And call mee hence from out my watrie Court?
What Melodie, what Sounds of Joy and Sport,
Bee these heere hurld from eu’rie neighbour Spring?
With what lowd Rumours doe the Mountaines ring?
Which in unusuall Pompe on tip—toes stand,
And (full of Wonder) ouer—looke the Land?
Whence come these glittring Throngs, these Meteors bright,
This golden People set unto my Sight?
Whence doth this Praise, Applause, and Loue, arise?
What Load—starre east—ward draweth thus all Eyes?… -William Drummond