I’m waiting for the man- a round and jolly old man in a bright red suit and hat, with a snowy white pompom and a snowy white beard, living in a very snowy place. He has always been old, but he does not age; I assume he lives forever. His Mrs. does too, and I assume she is an excellent cook.
‘Maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you,
Every-time I hear of another incident created against humanity I feel as if I am living in another universe. But this post is not intended to address that. That in itself is such a huge topic; I’ll leave it for another time. But it makes me question whether we have always inhabited these other-worlds, and, consciously or unconsciously, do we make the journey with the possibility of never returning to our known worlds.
This summer has been filled with outdoor concerts. I once heard that Mozart’s favorite instrument was the sad and desperate viola. I have to say mine is the lovely delicate harp. That’s because not even the conductor is certain of how it works. The harp is a mystery yet where would Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers be without it?
Mexican journalist Javier Valdez Cardenas was killed on the 15th of May by a lone gunman in Sinaloa state in the middle of the day. He is the seventh journalist to die this year imparting messages about guns and corruption that most people don’t want to hear.
Today May 5, marks Do Write’s eighth birthday! A time for reflection, a time to catch my breath, and a time to break out the baby picture. Thanks to everyone who has supported us over the past four-fifths of a decade.