“In the way that a gardener knows how to transform compost into flowers, we can learn the art of transforming anger, depression, and racial discrimination into love and understanding.” — Thich Nhat Hanh

 

Facing a deadline, even for a shorter column, is difficult. Things kept getting in the way. I thought I had all afternoon to do it, but then I picked up “Living in Truth,” by Vaclav Havel, by then it was later in the afternoon. And then words were not as clear as they usually are. Being a diabetic I suspected low blood sugar might be the culprit. And sure enough what I needed was not there. Then it was my baby Coke to the rescue.

Then instead of getting on with the column, Bruce stopped by and we ended up on the edge of town at his cabin before realizing that I needed to get the column sent and then get over to Russ’ to shoot pool.

It’s the winter sport for us, playing nine-ball and trying to remember whose turn it is to shoot.

On the way back home Bruce suggested that I excuse Mello and Fred from the column. Instead I will mention Echo and Ptolme. Echo spent the first part of her life living with Lydia up at the university and Ptolme survived the Turtle Creek high waters that nearly claimed him.

Fred is just sitting on the floor and now laying on the floor deciding what bone to chew and Mello is working on his in the other room.

It was nice to see that the Herald is ready to run the public’s poetry. I’m thinking about submitting some of my ancient ones myself.

On the sad side was the death of Bud Johnson, the source of the A & W Root Beer stand. It was a big event back in the early days when root beer stand was just west of the Methodist Church. He will be remembered.

I’m hoping that the weather stay’s warm. We’ve had a beautiful fall and we can’t object to the mild winter so far as Santa gets ready.