If This is Rapture, Count Me In

Writing in my usual spot next to the kitchen window just wasn’t cutting it this morning, so I took my coffee and journal outside. When I opened the front door, I noticed the moon, still shining against the bright blue sky. I thought it was supposed to rain all weekend, but it’s sunny and the moon’s still visible.  That’s kind of magical. I sat down under an oak tree that seemed to be alive with the joyful sound of birdsong.  It was like every bird that hangs out around my feeder invited a few dozen friends to join the avian choir this morning. This could feel creepy, all those birds hidden up there among the leaves, and I’ll bet some of the neighbors are grumbling about how all of that “noise” woke them up early on a Saturday, but it feels pretty magical to me.   I heard honking and. . . .

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Encore! Encore!

Youthful Imaginings As a kid, I watched the Thanksgiving Day parade (Gimbel’s, Philadelphia) on the color television at my aunt and uncle’s house. The year I was about seven, I couldn’t wait to watch “Heidi” on TV after dinner, so naturally I was frustrated when the beginning of the movie was pre-empted by the end of a football game. I remember thinking, “I wish there were some way to save the movie so you could watch it from the beginning after the stupid football game’s finally over.” Seriously. Way back in the late ‘60s, before my parents had color TV, I dreamed up the concept of the VCR.  Little did I know that Sony had beaten me to market by a couple of years. Fast-forward . . . a Few Decades I’m still coming up with ideas that, while they seem radically innovative to me, have already been implemented by. . . .

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Something Real and True

Better than Cable I’m among 150,000 people currently watching “eagle cam” online.  I’ve been hooked on the live video stream from an eagle’s nest in Decorah (http://www NULL.ustream NULL.tv/decoraheagles), Iowa, since I learned about it on Saturday. I usually watch it while working in another screen or even on another computer.  Sometimes, though, the action is so compelling, I stop everything and click the full-screen icon, instantly becoming transfixed by the raptor reality show. When I first checked in this evening, Mom had just moved so that #1 and #2 were in full view on either side of #3’s cracked shell.  I postponed dinner until Mom moved to snuggle atop her hatchlings, just as Dad swooped in, dropped off their dinner – I can almost hear Mom saying, “fish, again?” – and flew away. The web cam from the Raptor Resource Project (http://www NULL.raptorresource NULL.org/) has been featured online and. . . .

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Play Ball

With so many horrible things happening in the world, I almost feel guilty to be so excited about the start of baseball season.  I get it if you think I’m being frivolous, especially when so much of the world seems to be falling apart. I can’t help it, though.  My tendency to look forward to the Phillies’ opening day might not be entwined in my DNA, but it’s been nurtured so strongly for so long that I’m sure it’s part of my brain chemistry. I truly love the game.  More than that, though, Phillies baseball will forever represent two things for me: connections and hope. Connections I can’t remember a summer without Phillies baseball as part of the soundtrack.  I grew up spending summers at the Jersey Shore (decades before Snookie), and, along with the scent of Coppertone and the feel of sand between my toes, the transistor-radio voices of Saam, Ashburn,. . . .

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In My Own Voice

Writing for Fun, and then Not The first item on my to-do list for the past (hmm, last post was on the 10th, so that would be) two weeks has been “publish blog post.”  Good thing I moved on to item two, or I would have missed flossing, paying bills, and seeing the super-moon rise over the ocean. Blogging was so much fun when I started those few short months ago, amid the 1/1/11 hoopla.  The atta-girls weren’t so bad, either.  But in no time, the pleasure of posting daily became the chore of posting a few times a week, quickly followed by the self-torment of posting whenever the stars were appropriately aligned.  And the creek wasn’t rising. Determined not to join the 95% of bloggers who abandon their projects within four months, I set out to find my lost blogging mojo. It snowed.  I got busy.  It snowed again. . . . .

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Work I Love So Much . . . .

Don’t tell my agent, but I would do this for free. That’s my favorite (paraphrased) sound bite from the Academy Awards broadcast.  Busy with Sunday evening get-ready-for-the-week chores, I was only half-listening to the TV, so I’m not sure which Oscar winner said it, but it was someone who worked behind the scenes, not a movie star. Work I love so much, I would do it for free. “Yeah, Hollywood movie guy.  You make big bucks and just won an Oscar.  Easy for you to talk about loving your work enough to do it for free.  What about us regular folks?” That’s why they call it work. I actually said that to someone who was complaining about going back to work after a great weekend. And I believed it.  For a long time. These days I’m working toward being able to authentically echo that mystery Academy Award recipient. I figure. . . .

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Slow Motion, Not No Motion

What happened to January? Or the beginning of February, for that matter. Can it possibly be only five weeks since I was brimming with all of those resolutions, er, intentions, for the New Year? Dotted with “2-hour delay” and “snow day,” my calendar doesn’t look like I accomplished much in the last five weeks, in spite of working through all of those snow days. Maybe the nice tech guy who helped me set up my web address was clairvoyant, since our conversation went like this: “OK, let’s review your order for SlowMotionCoaching.” “Wa-wa-wa-wait. What? How are you spelling that?” I felt the blood draining from my face. “S as in slacker . . . . L as in lazy . . . . “ (OK, so he didn’t say exactly that, but wouldn’t it have been pretty funny if he had?) “No, no, no,” I interrupted, “it’s F as in. . . .

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