Tonight is Burns’ Night. Two hundred and fifty one years ago, on this night, the Scottish poet Robert Burns was born. Though I have a wee bit o’ Scottish blood in me, I’ve never been an avid celebrator of the anniversary, which Garrison Keillor describes as an evening when,
In the middle of the afternoon, as I was cooking for a friend and Ginger was sermonizing, as she calls it, she started reading MLK quotes to me, ending with this one, which she introduced by saying, “Here’s one I didn’t know.” If a man is called to
Part of my daily ritual is reading The Writer’s Almanac , both for the poem offered and for the historical notes for the day because they often set me sailing on the sea of my thoughts with their gentle breezes of suggestion. Today was no exception because I learned eighty-two
she said, in that way one speaks to get a reaction, or the way I titled this poem so you’d keep reading. I’m not proud, she said, because I had nothing to do with it, deftly putting patriotism in a new light, a search light, under the bare
Communism forgets that life is individual. Capitalism forgets that life is social, and the kingdom of brotherhood is found neither in the thesis of communism nor the antithesis of capitalism but in a higher synthesis. It is found in a higher synthesis that combines the truths of both. Now, when
This was yesterday’s poem at The Writer’s Almanac : As the day calls us to reflect on the life and legacy of Dr. King, I am aware of how little our culture at large either values or cultivates the kind of integrity and leadership he incarnated. Though we give
As we prepare to observe Martin Luther King, Jr. Day on Monday, many of us will also take time to make it a part of our worship services as well. I thought I might offer a soundtrack for the weekend, starting with "When the Ship Comes In" by
about the images of buildings lying flat on top of people, of survivors sleeping in the streets because roofs no longer symbolize safety; about those who sit snugly in studios and speak for God with ungodly arrogance and ignorance, and those who are helping quietly; about the helplessness that haunts
I wish I knew how it all began. Maybe it was the cold snap last weekend, but then again, maybe not. Something happened, though, and all I was left with was a perfectly viable Internet connection and a MacBook that couldn’t find it. Ginger’s laptop could, but not
I'm sorry I've been silent for a few days. The problem is with my MacBook, not me. For some reason, I can't get on the Internet here at the house, which makes it hard to post. I'm writing now from Ginger'
I was reading Donald Miller’s blog – Part 2 of a great duo of posts on “Living a Memorable Life,” this one on making memorable scenes – and I was particularly struck by his discussion of the power of a detail: change a the power of a scene by changing the
Today was one of the first days in a long time that I had some morning traveling time: I had to drive to Cary, about twenty miles away, for an appointment with my eye doctor, which meant I got to drive home with my eyes dilated and NPR on the