White Knuckles, Red Wine

As I pour over the headlines from the New York Times and The Guardian every morning, I alternately wring my hands and laugh out loud. Seems like the world may last longer than we've been thinking, but what kind of world?

Maybe serving as a good example is the only sure-fire strategy.

Be the light, share the love. Tell the truth.

Once every generation we're surprised to discover how many greedy folks, willing to do bad things, share the planet with us. You don't fight with love, you just love.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

 

Name That Storm

It's hard to feel threatened by a hurricane almost 5,000 miles away, but old habits die hard. This time, of course, I worry about friends and relatives back home. I worry about strangers, too, not to mention opossums, squirrels, dogs and cats.

In the hours before landfall, that weird, quiet calm that feels so eerie in some way that can't be properly explained. At least I've never heard it accurately described. Every kid in elementary school in Florida reads about how all the livestock behaved strangely before a big blow. At least they did while they were still allowed to read. The Seminoles and the Miccasukee knew.

I feel it now, from this distance, over an ocean, somehow. Now we wait.

 

Bumper Jack Rattle

They don't know any more about it than you do. That's the secret. I'm pretty sure that the things that made you happy as a kid will make you happy today. Yeah, I'm talking about puppies and ice cream, but I'm talking about love, too. 

The mean ones didn't get enough. You know the ones I'm referring to here. Check the headlines.

What's the secret to getting it? Here's where the advice diverges. Some say money.

For every song, poem or play written about money, there must be a thousand written about love. Try to give yours away and see what happens.