Once upon a time I posted on my https://pearwood.deviantArt.com account a note about how to leave a good comment.
This just got a whole lot more personal as our 35 year old son announced on Father’s Day that he was now she.
I have come to that stage in my life where Father’s Day means visiting my parents’ gravesite.
Simon & Garfunkel’s words have been echoing through my head. I don’t feel old, but I will readily agree that it feels strange to be seventy.
Back when I first heard the song in the 1960s I thought seventy was old. I’m not so sure of that now.
I am a racist. Racism is deeply embedded in the white psyche. I have been a privileged white male for nearly seventy years. But I know better.
It was a single-ship mission, ferrying an Army photographer around the Ft. Richardson, Alaska operations area. A week later there appeared in flight operations an envelope from the photographer with pictures he had taken, unbeknownst to us, of each crew member.
The last frame on the roll of sixteen is a photograph of a solitary tulip in front of our house. It seemed an appropriate post for today, not so much for the direct symbolism as for the questions it raises.
View on Instagram https://instagr.am/p/B_vMhkPBk_J/ Hiking the yellow ski trail at #durandeastmanpark. A beautiful day. The golfers agree.
Broke out the #Holga120PC for World Pinhole Photography Day #wppd #wppd2020 It had been raining steadily all day so I opted for an inside shot.
As others have noted, we celebrate Easter this year much more as did Jesus’ original followers — in the midst of our fear, pain and doubt. Things didn’t feel very joyous that first Easter morning, nor do they now.