Where is my left foot?

Friend Tom Lewis has a new blog, which today features a hilarious dream, which would also make a good short film.

My recent internal shift has caused my wife to suggest that it has had a positive impact in our household. The difficulty with letting go is the fear of letting go. If I let go, then what? Ruminating on my own dreams lately makes me wonder about paths, and the unique nature of ones path.

This tree, Terminalia bucidoides (?) is growing at the University of Florida’s Agricultural Extension at Nova Southeastern University. The person who planted it doesn’t remember any specific details, and wasn’t all that interested in talking to me. It’s a dioecious species, so without a partner it will not reproduce.

From an event at Henry and Adele’s school, on “International Peace Day”. (links to a larger file)

You know who you are, and yes, you sure do.

As many of you already know, I lost my mom to breast cancer in 1976 and my step-mom and step-sister are both breast cancer survivors. On Saturday, October 21, Adele and I will be participating in the Komen Race/Walk for the Cure. The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation is the largest private funder of breast cancer research in the country. Please make a donation to support our efforts to see breast cancer eradicated in our lifetime.

No donation is too small, so consider skipping a Latte at Starbucks this week and instead give your money to this wonderful organization. 75% of the proceeds from this race will stay in our community for treatment, screening, and education.

Please use this link to make a donation online.

Many thanks,

Susan and Adele Stock

One of Mark Morford’s best columns I’ve read:

Death has a tendency to encourage a depressing view of war,” summarized the ever-pithy Donald “Black Heart” Rumsfeld. Oh Don, you big jokester. You said a mouthful.

Should we celebrate the fact that there are some things that cannot be taken away from the human experience or viciously co-opted by marketing execs? Should we be glad, in an oddly morbid sort of way, that in the age of wild gobs of ultraviolence in popular culture, we can still be jarred to our core by actual death? You could say that.

You could say: We might be the most jaded and burned-out and fear-pummeled culture on the face of the planet, but at least we have real death. Sort of makes life worth living, no?

Jay is a friend of a friend who lives in Thailand.

A busy day of (paid) work. After work, this:

…but a short period to write it in. After my 42nd birthday, and my astrological reading, I experienced a profound inner change, facilitated by the letting go of an inner exercise I had been practicing since March. I saw that this was generating nothing but fear reactions within myself, and that this was not necessary, and that I was no more frequently aware of myself with or without this exercise. I had decided to stop being hard on myself, to stop pushing myself from behind/within. This decision was a realization, resulting in the understanding of a decision. Life’s too short.

On the way home from picking up the kids at school:
smashed railroad cars on top of other, not-smashed railroad cars.

A john trying to pick up what he thinks is a hooker at our corner, but is a actually a schizophrenic woman who lives in the neighborhood. The phone may or may not be a) charged b) on or c) a phone. The john’s license plate is sadly visible and legible next to Adansonia perrieri and Hildegardia populifolia.