One of my favorite books suggests that procrastination is really just sloth in five syllables. Syllables seem to matter a great deal in American English lately. I frequently hear "utilize" in place of "use," "notate" instead of "note," and "stated" for "said." For example, "She stated that she'd notated you procrastinate rather than utilize your talents," instead of "She said she'd noted you choose to be lazy rather than use your talents."
Simple is beautiful. I'm a decent speller with a pretty good vocabulary, but I suck at pronunciation. If there's a wrong way to pronounce an English word, I'll find it.
For me, the fewer syllables, the better.
01 April 2011
27 March 2011
Baby Bunny
At first, I wasn't sure what it was and I thought it was dead. Early this morning, not long after sunrise, I happened upon this very young rabbit while recovering my Thermos and fleece I'd left among some low dirt mounds, near the canal where I walk my dogs at sunrise and sunset. On closer inspection, I realized it wasn't quite dead and that it wasn't a rodent, it was a younger, smaller version of the cottontail rabbits the dogs live to chase (but never catch) in the large empty field adjacent to the canal.
I don't remember ever seeing such a young bunny. He's just a tiny version of an adult rabbit, with fur and open eyes. I removed him from the dirty depression where he lie motionless and cradled him in my hands, handing the other items to Jeannie. When we got home, she found a shoe box and some soft cloth and made a bed for him. We let him rest in this safe place away from drafts, temperature extremes and predators while we ate our breakfast. Later, we tried feeding him some soy milk and some dandelion greens. He made a little movement and a faint noise, but didn't seem to be interested in the milk.
I don't know much at all about how to care for rabbits, but Jeannie did some research on the Internet. Although he's so tiny, it's a good sign that he has fur and that his eyes are open. We don't know what, if anything, happened to him before we found him. Did he venture from the nest on his own and fall victim to exhaustion or another creature? Was he defective and carried from the nest by his mother? I don't expect him to survive and thrive, but I recently rescued a pigeon from my front yard who'd been stunned or wounded and could only flap a wing and spin in circles. I didn't expect him to survive either, but the next morning he was better, and he flew away as I released him into the air. I will do my best for this little rabbit and hope he makes it.
Some people and animals do not live to be very old. I don't know why. I don't know how or why I've lived 54 years. I don't know how much longer I'll continue to live, but I'm learning to live in each moment and accept it for what it is, not for what I wish it to be. I'm learning to observe it without judging it as good or bad.
Baby bunnies are really cute.
I don't remember ever seeing such a young bunny. He's just a tiny version of an adult rabbit, with fur and open eyes. I removed him from the dirty depression where he lie motionless and cradled him in my hands, handing the other items to Jeannie. When we got home, she found a shoe box and some soft cloth and made a bed for him. We let him rest in this safe place away from drafts, temperature extremes and predators while we ate our breakfast. Later, we tried feeding him some soy milk and some dandelion greens. He made a little movement and a faint noise, but didn't seem to be interested in the milk.
I don't know much at all about how to care for rabbits, but Jeannie did some research on the Internet. Although he's so tiny, it's a good sign that he has fur and that his eyes are open. We don't know what, if anything, happened to him before we found him. Did he venture from the nest on his own and fall victim to exhaustion or another creature? Was he defective and carried from the nest by his mother? I don't expect him to survive and thrive, but I recently rescued a pigeon from my front yard who'd been stunned or wounded and could only flap a wing and spin in circles. I didn't expect him to survive either, but the next morning he was better, and he flew away as I released him into the air. I will do my best for this little rabbit and hope he makes it.
Some people and animals do not live to be very old. I don't know why. I don't know how or why I've lived 54 years. I don't know how much longer I'll continue to live, but I'm learning to live in each moment and accept it for what it is, not for what I wish it to be. I'm learning to observe it without judging it as good or bad.
Baby bunnies are really cute.
26 March 2011
Humility, Humiliation, and 40 Years of Wandering in Another Desert
I'm full of hope. It's taken 40 years, but I've come full circle.
At about age 14, I read the Sermon on the Mount in the book of Matthew, chapters five, six, and seven. A gift, completely outside my frame of reference, was given me in my adolescence. Awestruck, excited, I left my bedroom to find my mother in the kitchen preparing dinner. I felt compelled to share this personal revelation of Jesus Christ as Messiah with the nearest human being, and she was it. Any reaction short of backward handsprings would have seemed to me inappropriately indifferent to the good news I had to offer, and of course my mother, stirring a pan of something at the stove, merely remarked, "That's nice, honey." Nice???!!! That's nice???!!! Tell me I'm wrong, tell me I'm crazy, but don't say "That's nice."
I'd had a spiritual experience, although I could not have known or described it as such at the time. The words of the Sermon impressed me as Truth transcending human imagination and wisdom. I had read and heard the spoken Word, and I'd never be the same, although I'd stumble on the worries of life and various deceitful diversions for the next 40 years, wandering aimlessly in a literal (Sonoran) and figurative (vanity) desert.
There's a world, you know. There's a way to go, and the road to the life described by Jesus' words is narrow, but open to all. It is the way of humility.
At 54, I am a man of modest means and education, with many defects of character and twisted emotions. I have no special talents, and have no significant accomplishments. Those things neither confer nor withhold humility, they are only facts, data about my history. I gain tiny fragments of humility through the painful and ego-smashing process of humiliation. Humiliation hurts, but it does not kill. In the end, it is not my opinion of myself nor the opinions of others about me that matters. It is only the Truth that matters, and the Truth is that I was created in the image of God in order to do his bidding. Each new day is an opportunity to live inside each moment, and by faith to practice willingness and an open mind.
At about age 14, I read the Sermon on the Mount in the book of Matthew, chapters five, six, and seven. A gift, completely outside my frame of reference, was given me in my adolescence. Awestruck, excited, I left my bedroom to find my mother in the kitchen preparing dinner. I felt compelled to share this personal revelation of Jesus Christ as Messiah with the nearest human being, and she was it. Any reaction short of backward handsprings would have seemed to me inappropriately indifferent to the good news I had to offer, and of course my mother, stirring a pan of something at the stove, merely remarked, "That's nice, honey." Nice???!!! That's nice???!!! Tell me I'm wrong, tell me I'm crazy, but don't say "That's nice."
I'd had a spiritual experience, although I could not have known or described it as such at the time. The words of the Sermon impressed me as Truth transcending human imagination and wisdom. I had read and heard the spoken Word, and I'd never be the same, although I'd stumble on the worries of life and various deceitful diversions for the next 40 years, wandering aimlessly in a literal (Sonoran) and figurative (vanity) desert.
There's a world, you know. There's a way to go, and the road to the life described by Jesus' words is narrow, but open to all. It is the way of humility.
At 54, I am a man of modest means and education, with many defects of character and twisted emotions. I have no special talents, and have no significant accomplishments. Those things neither confer nor withhold humility, they are only facts, data about my history. I gain tiny fragments of humility through the painful and ego-smashing process of humiliation. Humiliation hurts, but it does not kill. In the end, it is not my opinion of myself nor the opinions of others about me that matters. It is only the Truth that matters, and the Truth is that I was created in the image of God in order to do his bidding. Each new day is an opportunity to live inside each moment, and by faith to practice willingness and an open mind.
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