A quiet, meditative morning, passed mostly tending to household chores. Afternoon. A walk in the sun. On his hands and knees, the almost-eighty-seven-year-old woodcutter was pulling his neighbor’s weeds. . The Rambler, Numb. 14. Tuesday, May 1, 1750. Secrets — to tell, or not to tell. The rules therefore that I shall propose concerning secrecy, and from which I think it not safe to deviate, without long and exact deliberation, […]
The Rambler, Numb. 12. Saturday, April 28, 1750. The entire column given over to a touching letter signed “Zosima,” detailing the ill treatment received by the writer, a thoughtful, well-to-do woman fallen on hard times, when seeking work as a maid. The letter ends with thanks to an unnamed gentle woman who treated her with kindness and generosity, though she no longer had a position to fill. . From Walt […]
Running in the storm when the trees are rocking and reeling brings as good a feeling as when the weather is balmy and calm. But I’m aware that part of that feeling is derived from knowing I have a safe, warm house to return to. I also know that it might not always be safe and warm, just as I know that I won’t always be here, whatever may come. […]
If you find it difficult to appreciate so many miracles, be wise and take joy in the one. . Once, in this very room, I came upon a family of sleeping elephants. I curled up amongst them and became part of their dream. When we finally awoke, you were watching, hesitating. . It’s a big world out there. It’s only small between our ears. It’s a small world out there. […]
I’ve lived a fair span; it would be greedy to depend on more; yet it isn’t good grace to count the years, or close the door. . Read the forty-third, forty-fourth, and forty-fifth chapters of Middlemarch. Read The Rambler, Numb. 9. Tuesday, April 17, 1750. Chuse what you are; no other state prefer. — Elphinston The philosopher may very justly be delighted with the extent of his views, and the […]
Stars and low-racing clouds. A spirit at the switch, grinning fall. My eldest brother is alive again. He’s forgotten to bring his driver’s license. Standing beside our mother’s old car, I tell him I’d better drive, though we have no particular destination in mind. With the arrival of rain and cooler temperatures, I’m reminded that the easiest way to adjust to seasonal weather changes is to spend as much time […]
Fifty-eight degrees. A light, steady rain. Smoke. A four o’clock run. I don’t care to be in a room full of noisy people. A room full of quiet people, I can appreciate and enjoy. People are at their best when they’re quiet. I can move about among them as I move about among rocks and trees, loving them softly, without needing, seeking, or expecting love in return. But I love […]
Fall. The honey thickens. Visited the beach at Neskowin. Sunny, a light breeze from the north, temperature around sixty degrees. No sand fleas. The tide was coming in, but it wasn’t so high that we couldn’t see that since our barefoot stroll there two years ago, the ghost forest has been mostly covered with sand. Only the top of one of the heavily barnacled stumps was visible. The western-most part […]
I would describe most of my adult life as a great unlearning — a process moving gradually from prior conditioning and habit, through blindness, ignorance, intimation, denial, recognition, acceptance, and gratitude. Is the process done? Have I reached my destination? I don’t worry about it, or think in those terms. I’m simply amazed by my good fortune. I won’t even say that I know what I know. Do I? And […]
I awoke early this morning feeling it was time to start the day. Then I read the kitchen clock — 2:58. So I stretched out on the floor again and slept for what felt like a good solid hour. The clock read 3:31. Ten minutes later, I was out in the street for a run. . A raft of lemons adrift at sea. The funny way you look at me. […]
William Michaelian 