Month: August 2020

Perception – Day 658

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Karl’s Magic Ball – Photo: L. Weikel

Perception

After one of my posts last week, a number of people suggested that I take a ‘news fast’ or otherwise not pay attention to what’s going on in the world, and in particular our country, at the moment. There are a number of rabbit holes I could go down in response. But for now, I want to focus on choosing a card for all of us to contemplate as we enter the first week ‘post-convention.’ Knowing things will only escalate exponentially (why would things change now?) as we start the final countdown to the election, I asked for a guiding concept for us to focus upon this week. The card I chose: Perception.

I’ve chosen and posted cards from this deck before. It’s the Mystic Art Medicine Oracle Cards/Tools for Transformation deck by Cher Lyn.

The imagery on this card feels particularly appropriate for the times we’re experiencing, especially the inclusion of the White Buffalo, which has been a fundamental aspect of prophecy for native North Americans for millennia. I hope you’ll take a moment to really zoom in on the details of Cher Lyn’s artwork and allow it to speak to you.

Here are the words she shared with this card:

Perception – “Blue Star Pe’Tanka”

The Star people watch, a new cycle birth

White Buffalo appears …good ways return to Earth.

Anticipate this Creation, it’s shifting,

All illusions, the veil is thinning and lifting.    

– Cher Lyn

“In the painting “Blue Star Pe’Tanka,” you see the spirit of a White Buffalo in gestation readying to birth abundance into the new world. She floats in the cosmos of non-linear time and space. The white owl flies in and brushes her wing through the symbol of creation to spin the wheel round again in a forward motion. The void is the cosmic eye of the buffalo, a portal into other worlds of untapped potential and adventure.

All humans see differently. You see one thing and someone right next to you can see something completely different. Everyone sees through his or her own eyes their own personal movie. See the diamond facet of yourself that is clear vision. It is here you find the Perception of the Divine…all of us has it. Sometimes it’s just covered up with dust, or emotional misinformation, attachments, or unconscious motives.

An ordinary mirror simply reflects back what it has been shown, but the mirror to your soul has a far more transformative multifaceted viewpoint with infinite potential. As you continue to heal, forgive, accept and love yourself you gain wisdom and can release the “you, who is not you.” You break through the conditionings and the dust of your illusions.

The appearances and experiences in your world are your personal mirrors of your creation. Every simple thought you have, every moment of appreciation or angry projected expression, every breath you take or scream you make, any kindness you give, and every moment of joy alters the world in some way and creates a future scene in the movie of your life.

With the Perception medicine card comes informational codes, which provide opportunity for clear vision. In your meditation allow for the intelligence of this concept, clear Perception, to reflect onto all the facets in the diamond of your life lens, projecting conscious truth and light into your personal movie called life.”

My Take

The sense I get from this card is that it would be fruitful for us to reflect upon what might be coloring our perceptions of the events that unfold this week. How might our past experiences be shading or influencing how we process the information we’re hearing and seeing projected to us now.

Is there a way for each of us – in any given moment – to consciously rise above the emotional charge of whatever it is we’re being told or shown and See things from a higher perspective? Perhaps now more than ever we’re being called to be vigilant over the use of our creative abilities: the immense power that is inherent in our thoughts, words, and deeds.

Ultimately, we’re all living in our own unique bubbles of perception. But we are also combining our perceptions to create our shared reality. First and foremost, each of us must take responsibility for our own unique thoughts, words, actions and, perhaps even more importantly, our choices of how we want to perceive the world.

Things are gestating. Change is coming. In the midst of the chaos maybe we can “mind our perception” and each do our best to perceive within the chaos the seeds of a new world that’s just, compassionate, and based on love and mutual respect.

It behooves us to pay attention to our perception.

(T-453)

Big Storms Coming – Day 657

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Shelf Clouds – Photo: L. Weikel

Big Storms Coming

Early this evening, I’d settled into a comfy position on our porch glider and was finally allowing myself to get into my current book, The Murmur of Bees*, when I received a text. “Big storms coming,” said the first one. “For you guys,” came the clarifying text soon after.

This was from my son whose first career aspiration, as a preschooler, was ‘meteorologist.’ He’s been a storm chaser since birth, quite honestly. Or at least a storm watcher. (We probably only chased a few.)

And while he may not have chosen weather as his day job, he still watches it with a fervor we know and trust. Whether it’s Boston or here – he knows what’s going on.

I’ll admit, I was pretty well hunkered down for a good read, as was Karl. And while we intended to take a walk, as we do every day, I can vouch that walking right then wasn’t a high priority when I received Sage’s text messages.

Weather Channel – or Sage?

I actually thought he might be mistaken, since I’d not received any alerts on my phone. Surely we would’ve been told we were under a severe thunderstorm watch or warning if some big ones were expected in our area? My Weather Channel app has been remarkably accurate with those lately.

So I checked. Nope. No warnings or watches issued. In fact, the hourly forecast stated that at the stroke of the hour (ten minutes from then) the chance of precipitation was 16%. (Not to put too fine a point on those predictions, eh, Weather Channel?) Then the chance of precipitation jumped to 64% at the next hour. So yeah, ok. It didn’t look like anything huge was coming as Sage was rather direly predicting, but we would heed his warning and allow ourselves to be prodded into walking now rather than after a chapter or two more in our books.

Pictorial Progression

Below is a sample of the changes that unfolded in the sky as we took our walk tonight.

Setting out – clouds in the East – Photo: L. Weikel

 

15 minutes later, to the West- Approaching Ghouls; Photo: L. Weikel

 

First Striations – Photo: L. Weikel

 

Close up – Photo: L. Weikel

The final two shots (one at the top of this post and the other below) are of what we learned later this evening are called shelf clouds. And boy, were they ever harbingers of a wild, if relatively brief, thunderstorm.

Shelf Clouds – Photo: L. Weikel

Just after I took those last two photos, I texted one of them to Sage and asked, “Will we get home in time???” His response was a none too optimistic: “No.”

Lucky for us, though we did make it back to the house with less than five minutes to spare before the heavens opened. Why? Because we’d listened and trusted Sage rather than the Weather Channel!

(In fairness, I will disclose that I did receive a “Severe Thunderstorm Warning” 13 minutes before it hit. That wouldn’t have helped us if we’d been 30 minutes away from home!)

* affiliate link

(T-454)

Why? – Day 656

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Spartacus Wants to Know – Photo: L. Weikel

Why?

Ah yes. There’s a question. You’re probably puzzling in your brain to which of the myriad unfathomable situations we’re being faced with day after day, week after week this cataclysmic year of 2020 I could possibly be directing this plaintive bleat. You’ll probably never guess; so I’ll just lay it out there: Why has Facebook decided to change – in the middle of a damn pandemic and everything else – the format we’re all comfortable with looking at and navigating? WHY????

I know; I ask myself the same thing. Really, Lisa? Quite frankly, it annoys me that it annoys me. I’m chagrined by my disturbance. I want to punch myself in the arm, give myself the silent treatment, and perhaps even put myself in a time out for giving a crap about stupid Facebook.

First Offense

It was earlier this week that FB seemed to randomly change up my account to inflict the new layout on me. I was immediately off-put and found the tab where I could switch back to “Classic” FB. (They really should take a lesson from Coca Cola). The reason why I was so quickly turned off by the new format? It would not let me copy and paste the link to that evening’s 1111 Devotion post in my status. I tried every which way that I could think of – even trying to post it first on one of my other pages (Owl Medicine and Owl Medicine Shamanic Healing). Nope.

So before I managed to track down the “return to Classic” link, I painstakingly hand typed in the whole long link address to my blog. And now, four or so days later (and notably, before September, when they said the switch would be made unilaterally and permanently for everyone), I’ve apparently been involuntarily switched to the new format – again.

It’s the Little Things

Only this time I can’t find the “return to Classic” toggle and I’m incensed. First of all, it’s not September yet! Second of all, it only reinforces my self-loathing that I’ve come to appreciate FB as a means of not only hopefully getting my posts read by more people but also staying in touch with friends and family even if tangentially and playfully during these unprecedented times of isolation.

We all know it: it’s the little things. And when so many monumental crowbars are being thrown at us right and left, day after day, would it kill FB to refrain from bonking us over the head with another one?

I guess it would. And I have to wonder: what changes have been made that we can’t see?

I’d like to think that Zuck is implementing these changes to minimize abuses and clamp down on trolling and the spreading of misinformation and disinformation. I’m sure FB is concerned about the profound implications for the coming election.

Yep. I’d like to think that. (Dream on…)

It’s incumbent upon us to remain vigilant. On so many fronts. Thanks for bearing witness to this rant. This is probably just a case of me crankily complaining that someone moved my cheese and whining, “Why?” I don’t want to resist change – if it’s good change.

(T-455)

Flexible Hips – Day 655

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Spread Eagle Pose – Makes me laugh every time – Photo: L. Weikel

Flexible Hips

I’ve been especially patient with the squirrels this year. I’m not sure why. But the fact that they don’t seem to be gnawing their way into our house or garage, and don’t seem to be cozying up in our cars and eating the wires are all points in their favor. There’s at least one, though, in the little family that’s taken up residence in – I believe – our shagbark hickory tree that has preternaturally flexible hips.

Weird, right? It’s probably more weird that I actually noticed and am writing a post on my observation than the fact that the little one has a very odd way of holding itself when it ‘rests.’

Clearly feels threatened by Spartacus (not) – Photo: L. Weikel

 

Personality or Comfort?

I’ve found myself wondering about this lately, though. Is it a tendency of all squirrels to splay their hips the way this one does? I don’t think it is, but I’ve been hard put to keep close enough tabs on them all to discern whether it’s only the one that hunkers down in that special way.

It looks like quite a comfortable stance. Then again, this may be the member of this family that prefers to just chill out.

It’s especially tough to keep track when they’re all hanging out and acting squirrelly at the same time. And by ‘all’ I mean the four main ones, which I believe are a mommy, daddy, and two babies, or just a mommy and three babies. But I have to admit: there are two in particular that engage in the classic adorable squirrel behavior of chasing each other round and round and round the maples, then up and down and then scurry across the branches, leaping into the magnolia then taking a couple hops and skips onto the hickory.

Today the little jerks were particularly adorable. Ugh; I hate thinking about them with affection because they can do a lot of damage. They were really into the chasing game this afternoon, and I swear they were acting just like two little kids. While they may not have been laughing, they sure were talking up a storm at each other, chittering and chattering, and I swear almost taunting each other.

I know I shouldn’t be encouraging them to live so close by. And my provision of readily available peanuts is a major culprit in all of this. But it’s not as if I can only provide the legumes to the blue jays, fish crows, nuthatches, and various woodpeckers that frequent our feeders. I’m not going to discriminate!

Just chillin’ in the cool grass – Photo: L. Weikel

Let Me Know

So if any of you are avid squirrel watchers or are particularly gifted with knowledge of squirrel anatomy or behavior, please let me know. Is this little Yoga Rocky uniquely gifted with flexible hips, just weird, or not weird at all – and I’m the weird one for thinking its behavior is odd?

All I can tell you is that s/he makes me laugh every time I see it hunker down this way.

It’s life little things.

Oops – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-456)

Distracted – Day 654

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Photo: L. Weikel

Distracted

I’ll admit it: I’m distracted. Karl and I held to our commitment to refrain from watching politics this evening and instead indulged in some back-to-back episodes of Schitt’s Creek. But once 11:00 p.m. rolled around, Karl hit the sheets and I turned the channel from Netflix to cable news, where coverage of Hurricane Laura is dominating the news.

The enormity of the potential destruction this Category 4 hurricane is likely to inflict is hard to fathom. The meteorologist was describing a 20’ storm surge – which, first of all, is basically water as high as a two story building, right? But then he reminded us all that on top of that 20’ storm surge another 10’ of wild waves will be crashing against anything and everything in the storm’s path.

If you ask me, that sounds like the makings of an apocalyptic movie. And that wall of water? The most recent prediction that I heard (just now) is that it could extend as far as 40 miles inland. Forty miles. I imagine people living 40 miles from the coast do not ordinarily expect the sea to reach their doorstep.

Kenosha

And then there’s Kenosha, Wisconsin and the brutal race-related shootings that took place both Sunday night and then last night, too. Jacob Blake – another name we’re going to have to remember. At least it appears he will be able to speak up and speak out on his own behalf, even if he is paralyzed from the waist down (at least temporarily) and sustained grievous injuries to his vital organs. His sister’s statement rocked my world.

I don’t even know what to say about a 17 year old kid from Illinois showing up at a protest in Wisconsin (about Jacob Blake being shot in the back seven times by police) with an AR-57 and blowing two people away. “Only in America?” “Is America great again?”

The Republican Convention

From what little I just saw over the last several minutes, between the other two massive stories, above, it looks and sounds like there’s precious little overlap in realities anymore. That’s scary. But it’s not a scary that makes me sacred. It’s a scary that makes me angry. And determined.

Wild Fires

Oh – and lest we forget, California is battling unbelievably ravaging wildfires sparked by dry thunderstorms. Yes, they’re a thing. And I’m pretty sure there were something like 1100 dry lightning strikes that set the current blazes alight.

Pandemic

And we hit 180,066 – make that 183,653 – deaths from the Coronavirus tonight.

I think I need to stop writing for this evening.

I’m really sorry for being such a downer tonight. I am trying to find my Hope. (Pats pockets. Looks around blankly.) Maybe I left it in my other clothes.

Portal between worlds – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-457)

Schitt’s Creek – Day 653

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Promise on the Horizon – Photo: L. Weikel

Schitt’s Creek

In an effort to avoid as much deliberately-induced anxiety as possible, Karl and I decided to abstain from political fare this week. We’re choosing instead to rely primarily on video clips embedded in news articles for a recap of the state of our country as viewed by the Republican Party. Which brings me to what we’ve been watching instead: Schitt’s Creek.

We only started watching this show, which ran for five seasons, about six weeks ago. It just aired its last episode on Netflix this past April – and I’m pretty sure we started watching it because of the affection expressed by viewers who seemed genuinely sad to see it end.

It took us a couple episodes to get into it, but the campy characters and their affectations are both over-the-top and endearing. There’s no violence or ugliness. It’s mostly about relationships, primarily superficial ones, but some of them are particularly playful and truly fun to watch develop.

Most importantly, though, the show is an easy, light, and playful escape from, well, the shit’s creek we find ourselves up, especially as Americans, if we’re clear-eyed and honest. And just catching some of the clips from the two evenings of the RNC extravaganza so far, makes it clear (if it wasn’t already) that we’re navigating without a paddle.

(No. I couldn’t leave it. It had to be said. You knew it was coming. I tried to muzzle myself but, in the end, I couldn’t resist.)

The truth is, we’ve streamed an especially generous number of episodes of Schitt’s Creek over the past couple of days – and the irony just had to translate into a blog post.

The Alternative

The alternative to me making lame jokes about the name of a television series and extolling its efficacy in allowing our minds to slip into neutral for an evening is – you guessed it – more cloud sharing.

Tonight we witnessed some towering specimens of magnificence, which then gradually gave forth to some startlingly ominous and threatening banks of darkness. And yes, the metaphors weren’t lost on us.

It was as if we were witnessing a water vapor enhanced exposition of the soaring visions painted last week juxtaposed against the oppressive boogeymen of fear and oppression on offer this week. What was most remarkable, perhaps, was the rapidity with which the transformation occurred.

Looking NW – Photo: L. Weikel

A Warning

All of which feels like an essential reminder and warning to all of us. Things can change dramatically (in a myriad of ways) in the blink of an eye. We make assumptions at our peril.

We mustn’t be afraid – but we also must, at the same time, remain vigilant and steadfast in what we know to be of greatest importance in life. We’re living in unprecedented times, and we’re being asked to choose the world we want to both create and leave as our legacy.

Do we choose to see and build on the beauty? On love? Or will we focus on the darkness, the fear, and the division?

It’s up to us. And our choices are our paddle.

Looking NE – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-458)

Pretty Dark – Day 652

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Rainbow dark sky – Photo: L. Weikel

Pretty Dark

I don’t know you guys. Things are pretty dark out there. Early this evening a strong thunderstorm came through, turning the sky the slate gray of a catbird’s feathers. It was only about ten minutes before I caught a glimpse of sunlight gilding the very crowns of the trees outside our living room windows, when I knew I had to chase a rainbow.

Sure enough, I found one. It was pale, and felt a bit insincere, almost as if it really wasn’t sure it wanted to make an appearance. The sky behind the bow was lackluster as well. It appeared wan, almost as if the storm had lost all its conviction.

Projecting

I have a strong feeling I’m projecting my own malaise upon the weather I observed this evening. Perhaps it’s allergies provoked by ragweed just starting to burst forth in all its golden glory, but all day I resisted a headache lurking at the edges of my brain. I just didn’t feel quite right.

So it was an effort to drag myself on a walk this evening once the aforementioned thunderstorm came and went. Karl wasn’t pushing one way or another, in deference, I suspect to my lingering headache. But I’m glad we walked; the clouds cheered me up. (A surprise to hear, I’m sure.)

For whatever reason, I saw dragons tonight. As we first headed out, the head of one belching forth a stream of smoke kicked off the evening’s entertainment. A stretch, perhaps, but it was clear to me.

Then, nearly two full miles later, in a completely different quadrant of the sky, the full body of another dragon showed up to dance under the light of the waxing moon.

Dragon belching smoke – Photo: L. Weikel

Inner Ferocity

It’s interesting that Dragon energy seemed to reveal itself tonight, especially considering how benign I felt the sky appeared as we set out on our evening trek. Perhaps it’s encouraging me to tap into some sense of inner ferocity in order to chase away the malaise of the day.

Burning away some of the dross of 2020 would probably serve us all in good stead.

Dancing Dragon – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-459)

Weird Stuff – Day 651

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Potential Prey – Photo: L. Weikel

Weird Stuff

OK. I just sat here and started a post. I wrote a couple paragraphs and then looked away from the document I was working on because a text message made my phone chirp, which momentarily distracted me. When I returned to the document moments ago, nothing was there. Nothing other than ‘Day 651.’ That’s some weird stuff.

This is all in keeping with the way the rest of today has unfolded, which is both unnerving and infuriating. I sent myself at least six different photographs from my iPhone – possible inspirations for whatever I was going to write about this evening – and I sent them significantly earlier in the day, too! (For once I can’t blame this on me being ‘last minute.’) But they have yet to arrive in my email inbox. I also sent photos to a friend and colleague in England a good eight hours ago – and they have yet to arrive in his inbox.

I’d laugh if everything wasn’t just so seemingly bolloxed up. When electronic stuff doesn’t go through or doesn’t get delivered, there’s not a lot we can do. And it’s not even as though we can drop back and punt by sending things out via snail mail. Nope. Can’t rely on that anymore either.

What’s Sacred Anymore

The fact that our ability to communicate via the written word can be so easily and profoundly derailed is troubling. Or it should be. And the fact that it is our own government that’s sabotaging delivery of the physical expression of the written word should be more than alarming.

We’re seeing some profoundly weird stuff being passed off as the usual hyperbole associated with an election season. It is not. We are being bombarded by insanity. And if we don’t stand up and demand accountability, we will soon be buried by the bullshit.

The entire argument that disabling over 600 massive mail sorting machines could possibly be appropriate as we approach the election is disingenuous at best. And I do not buy it. But to destroy the machines? What fresh insanity is that? Why would that be done in any case, for any reason, other than to sabotage our mail system?

If you haven’t paid attention yet, here’s an article that describes quite literally what’s happening as a result of this deliberate assault on our mail system.

We’re living through disturbing times and witnessing some truly weird stuff. We need to dig deep and refuse to accept this assault on our institutions, our rights, and on what we know is right and true.

We need to take care of each other and what’s really important. This week is sure to be a wild, dystopian ride. We need to keep each other sane and not succumb to all the weird stuff being thrown at us from every direction.

Potential Predator – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-460)

Unsubtle Message – Day 650

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Photo: L. Weikel

Unsubtle Message

Sometimes Spirit, or our Higher Selves, or whatever or whomever it is that may try to give us a message or impart a little guidance now and again does so gently. You know, perhaps sweetly arranging for a feather to drop in our lap or a book title to catch our attention. Other times, however, perhaps when we’re being particularly obtuse, the only route to take to get our full attention may be to give us a clear, unsubtle message.

That’s apparently the route Spirit (or perhaps my body) is giving me.

Every morning for weeks and weeks, I literally stretch my arms and legs from end to end as I slowly awaken. And every morning as I do that simple movement to awaken my body I think, “I really need to start doing yoga again.”

I know it; I feel it; my body both craves and cringes at the thought of it. Indeed, that’s always been my body’s reaction to yoga. She screams at my boorish attempts to engage in sun salutations, yet at the same time nearly weeps with joy. I honestly felt that exact same internal conflict when I took my very first yoga class over 35 years ago.

Pandemic Pose

I must admit, though. This is probably the longest I’ve gone without doing yoga in at least 26 years. And trust me – age 61 is not the time to stop doing yoga. Good grief. It’s the time to be embracing it to the fullest. I keep hearing in the back of my mind, “Use it or lose it, Babycakes!”

So I’ve been silently haranguing myself about re-engaging in yoga. Giving myself grief in my journal. Thinking about it. Stretching when I wake up but going no further…

And then tonight: Karl and I are walking along delighting in the young moon gracing the evening sky. I stopped any number of times along the way trying to get the best photo of it that I could.

We rounded the corner and climbed the hill where the woods give way to vast fields and a dramatic view of the sky.

And there it was, a Cloud Goddess – or perhaps more appropriately, a Cloud Yogini – doing Bow Pose right there, unmistakably, in front of us.

A very unsubtle message, Spirit.

Bow Pose – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-461)

Conflicted – Day 649

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Lightning bug keeping me company – Photo: L. Weikel

Conflicted

Those of us living on the East Coast, from the mid-Atlantic up through New England, have been enjoying some glorious weather the past few days. Because of the ever-shifting transformation it affords, I adore living in a climate where we have four seasons. The past couple of days, there’s been a shift in the air. The temperatures have been just a little bit cooler. Ensconced on my porch, I’ve felt a smidgen more comfortable and less oppressed by the late afternoon heat. But I’m conflicted.

Almost like clockwork, it is obvious that we’ve entered the second half of August. The crickets are entering the phase where they no longer woo their mates with a distinct chirrup. No, they’ve entered the phase where their chirp machines are stuck in the ‘on’ position. The only interjections to their almost maddeningly intense ever-present hum are the periodic eruptions of my beloved katydids.

So what’s causing me to feel conflicted?

Ending One Love Beginning Another

I guess it’s that inevitable sense from when I was a little kid that summer was ending and school would soon resume. Nowadays it’s the reminder that I’ll soon be forced to move my wild porch office back inside where I won’t be surrounded by my birds and squirrels, raccoons and opossums, fawns and chippies and tyrannical red squirrels.

Heading for the Compost – Photo: L. Weikel

But it’s funny. I loved school growing up, so it wasn’t that I resisted re-immersing myself in the atmosphere of learning new things. In fact, from grade school through college – heck, even in law school, I was always thrilled by the prospect of starting a new school year. The smell of new books, the freshly waxed floor of the elementary school hallways, the prospect of shopping for a new pair of shoes and maybe even a slick new pencil case. (Yes; I will admit it: college bookstores were nirvana, and the advent of purveyors such as Staples allows me to continue indulging those giddy memories each and every year, even now that my own kids have outgrown the need for school supplies.)

Unstructured Time

I felt conflicted, I guess, over the loss of unstructured time. The freedom to build myself a pseudo-fort under the pine trees or back in the woods, pack myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and spend an entire day reading a book sitting on a beach towel, my back leaning against a big gray rock. Or to call my friend Chris so we could go bike riding down Cressman Road to pick berries, trying not to get our tires caught in the ruts made by tractors in that dirt road.

Or biking over to and hiking up Hexenkopf Rock, scaring ourselves as we climbed as we wondered out loud whether the stories were true of witches lighting fires at the top of that rocky edifice. Supposedly the fires were lit there to call for a gathering of their coven, since the fire could easily be seen up and down the valley.

I have to laugh now. I remember wondering who those witches were. Were they farmers’ wives? Did they live alone? Or in secret? Were the fires only lit for emergency meetings? Who were they?

What Are We Afraid Of?

Just writing the phrase ‘unstructured time’ makes me wonder at the world we’ve become. My kids had more structure than I did (because there were more organized sports at a younger age), but they still had plenty of time in the summers to read books, explore creeks, and go bike riding to nowhere in particular.

I wonder if this pandemic has pushed families to the point where kids have more opportunities to experience unstructured time. Are they spending that time by themselves and with their own imaginations, since getting together with other kids for organized activities poses unknown risks? Or does the risk of contracting Covid-19 seem less scary than the prospect of our kids having nothing specific to do?

Why do we almost always seem to think that time without structure is something to be feared?

Yeah…I remember loving unstructured time; the luxurious days of late summer. I think our society has forgotten in a lot of ways what it was like – if we ever knew – how to just hang out and be easy with ourselves. I know I’ve forgotten how to give myself permission to revel in it.

We’ve been trained to think of it as lazy. Or dangerous. But is it? I’m conflicted.

Spart luxuriating – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-462)