He's baaack . . .
Back from Colorado, that is. I've been back since last Thursday with entries delayed by the accidental loss and return of my iPhone, necessary for the Google connection and email reminders. That tale told, I've been wading through a near swamp of flotsam and jetsam this morning, gathered over the 20 days of my lovely snow-filled visit to the high country.
And, so to the mailbox:
Tuesday, January 28, 2025. It’s Tiw’s day and TulseyTown is sunny, almost mild amid a Winter rollercoaster . . .
The novelist Colette was born on this day in a 1873 village in France. The author of more than 50 novels, she was the first woman in the history of France to be given a state funeral — 6,000 people filed by her casket and covered it in flowers.
American painter Jackson Pollock, a leading exponent of Abstract Expressionism was born on this date in 1912 Cody, Wyoming.
Once again, Scandinavia pushes the U.S.A. farther down the list of electric vehicles sold and active on the road.
The real witch hunt is under way. – Joyce Vance, in Civil Discourse.
“Political grief” is a real thing, and you're not alone if you are experiencing it. That said, there is a path forward.
Ten things all of us can do – yes, that would include you – to protect democracy.
Winter offerings…
Sunday, January 26, 2025. It’s Sol’s day … a New Moon is hiding behind cold, cloudy skies today here in TulseyTown. Northerlies are reminding us that Winter insists on our patience.
Self-care is never a selfish act—it is simply good stewardship of the only gift you have, the gift you were put on earth to offer to others.— after Parker Palmer.
Speaking of offerings…The blog has been encountering technical issues that interfere with my ability to send notifications via email , among other things, to some 45+ of you. I hope to remedy the problem in the next few days. * (see note to readers, below). You’ll know when you get the next email note. Thanks for your patience and continued interest in the eddies of The Watercourse Way.
Class is back on the table now that our government appears to be in the hands of billionaires only. — Heather Cox Richardson, in Letters From An American.
After the week we’ve just lived through, we deserve some good news. There is still a rule of law out there, and there are people who care about it and will work to enforce it. — Joyce Vance, in Civil Discourse. (sorry link didn’t work)
On this day in 1788, Arthur Phillip, who had sailed into what is now Sydney Cove with a shipload of convicts, hoisted the British flag and established the first permanent European settlement on the continent of Australia.
Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera, a musical version of Gaston Leroux's melodramatic novel, opened in New York City Today in 1988 and went on to become the longest-running show in Broadway history.
*Note to readers: Squarespace links for “Comment” do not facilitate community sharing If you wish to comment, click on the button, and send your note. SqSp will send it to me (usually) and I’ll email a return, OR just send an email direct to me at https://www.docbethelcom.
Across the aged miles of truth telling …
It’s the Satyr’s day … and Yers Trooley is back in osunny TulseyTown after a three week journey to Colorado visiting family and friends in Colorado Springs, Ridgway, and Durango.
So, Trump is back and wreaking havoc as we knew he and his incompetent accomplices would. Swimming against the The Way, yet not outside it. Our tasks, my creative sisters and brothers, is singular: Whatever your expressive endeavors speak the Truth of Creation as it flows through you.
Onward, outward, and beyond: Remembering significant tellers of truth who’ve visited us:
It’s the birth date of Virginia Woolf. The author and one of the most distinguished critics of her time was born in 1882 London, England.
William Somerset Maugham was born in 1874 Paris, France.
Poet Robert Burns was born on this day in 1759 Alloway, Scotland.
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
— Robert Burns, probably written down by Burns from traditional sources.
The story goes that the line “ten thousand miles” prompted the Scotish band The Proclaimers to write and record “Five Hundred Miles” in 1988.
Dostoyevsky said, “To live without hope is to cease to live.” His words remind us that apathy is not an enlightened path. We are called to live with possibility, knowing full well that impermanence prevails. So why not just show up?— Joan Halifax