“I promise to forego lust, gluttony, greed and sloth this year…”
That quote is definitely not mine. But they are the final four of the seven deadly sins that build annual New Year’s resolutions lists. They are the corporal sins, or sins of the body.
The seven deadly sins? Well, yes. Are we not trying to improve the basics in our life and cease and desist with at least one of the deadly seven: pride, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony and lust?
When I thought about this annual listing of how I can become better person in 2015, every improvement linked to one of the seven.
All this magnificence everywhere, yet we find ways to desecrate the poor, the under privileged and less fortunate. Is this how human projectile shards shatter the inner sanctum of their circumferential beginning and seek to destroy as they develop?
…the moistened soil–autumn-sun warmed–seduced dormant seeds awake. A resurrection of green slipped through the layer of fallen leaves and dried grasses. By morning a thunderous roar filled the canyon. The Kaweah River no longer struggled to trickle through plump gray boulders.
I knew I made the right choice for my next book to read when I opened to the introduction and it read, “One November night in 1966…the coffeehouse was a dark hole…on the lit-up stage…stood a girl who must have picked out her miniskirt at the Salvation Army…she turned to face the empty seats and, leaning closer to the mike she strummed a succession of chords with a surprisingly assertive hand…and then she started to sing…”
See this map? See the blood-red area of California along the coast? That’s where I live. It’s Exceptional-droughtland. And less than a year ago, our local community water providers left Pollyanna-land, and informed us citizens that there was a huge likelihood of our wells going dry by late 2014.
But something went terribly wrong. On Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, horror stuck America. I asked, “Should I cancel the fundraiser?” The resounding reply was, “No! If ever we needed to do something good, and enjoy our country’s harvest, we need a day in your orchard. Keep the event!”
For the short time I spent with Watson on Saturday, I’d call him a good person who draws crowds like a magnet—and that’s before they hear his incredible story of his willful determination as an 18-year-old on June 6, 1944.
The woodsy air born from the thousands of years old coast redwoods filled my lungs on a Sunday morning 45 years ago. My California girl’s spirit awakened. I took the first steps along a new path as nature whispered her song into my ears. Harmonic resonance beneath the aged ones, those sentries of the primeval forest, comforted and healed my wounds of the day. Though a pup in my personal timeline, I did “Seek ye counsel of the aged, for their eyes […]
Like the Middle East, this garden vs. gophers is a historical war. My next door neighbor just nukes the furry beasts when he finds them. But, I, Ms. Organic, won’t bait them with poison, so they tunnel under our property lines and into paradise—my garden.