Solitude

To deliver oneself up, to hand oneself over, entrust oneself completely to the silence of a wide landscape of woods and hills, or sea, or desert; to sit still while the sun comes up over that land and fills its silences with light. To pray and work in the morning and to labor and rest in the afternoon, and to sit still again in meditation in the evening when night falls upon that land and when the silence fills itself with darkness and with stars. This is a true and special vocation. There are few who are willing to belong completely to such silence, to let it soak into their bones, to breath nothing but silence, to feed on silence, and to turn the very substance of their life into a living and vigilant silence.

-Thomas Merton


It was only a matter of being willing to believe
in a Power greater than myself. Nothing more
was required of me to make my beginning.

-Bill W.

Last call for ftp

Blogger.com, my host/publisher, is discontinuing ftp support for postings. Ending it tonight. I have to figure out how to migrate to one of the two available alternative forms of publishing the blog posts. I'm an old dog, ftp is just blended into the seams between my keystrokes.

A dilemma.


An old sea dog, stuck in the currents from the earlier bit stream. I feel this white cap cresting into place next to other strokes in my little skiff. I may take another bearing to find my way, next up the river, down the coast, over the horizon.

Easy does it. It may be a while before I come back this way, so take care, be good to yourself.

Heather and Grayson

I'm so very pleased. He asked, she said Yes.
Love you both!

-Dad

Lemon Vinaigrette

1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (from 1-1/2 medium lemons)
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

In medium bowl, whisk together lemon juice, mustard, salt, and pepper. Slowly whisk in 1/4 cup olive oil. Vinaigrette can be made up to 3 hours ahead and chilled, covered. Bring to room temperature and stir before serving.

Missing you

Days moving by, a year has passed, the limp appears permanent.

Brought you flowers from the yard: your beloved white geraniums and some periwinkle and a bouquet from the pear tree, like the pretty one you left for me during those last days. Your rainy drizzle presence filled the park, and the day is grey with your absence. Although your identity was obliterated, bless you as your kamma takes you to your new life. Each day starts anew, with the results not yet written, and, as if nothing had yet been done, we can be free.

May we find happiness and the root of happiness.
May we be free of suffering and the root of suffering.
May we never be separated from
the great joy of appreciating one another.
May we dwell in the great equanimity,
free from passion, aggression, and prejudice.

To my teachers
I bow down