Well, it happened again. Sunday night it started raining and just kept on.
A few weeks ago, I read a New York Times article that both intrigued and annoyed me: “Vermont May Be the Face of a Long-Term U.S. Labor Shortage.”
I rarely play the piano anymore, but there are times it brings me home.
Yesterday, Peter Welch joined the call for a permanent ceasefire in Gaza, and today we will be bringing him a fresh loaf of challah bread to say thank you.
It was the summer of ‘68. Cities across America were erupting in riots, political differences were tearing families apart, the war in Vietnam was raging, protesters at the Democratic National Convention were being bludgeoned.
Sitting at Quaker Meeting one recent Sunday morning, I heard messages about the horror in Israel and Gaza and how we as peacemakers might help. I could not focus on this big topic, though. I was thinking about wood.
The little saucer landed gently in my side yard and the little green creature hopped out onto the lawn.
While sustainability in building and construction has been around for a while now, one aspect that people are starting to take into account is the idea of embodied carbon.
Most of us have heard the story of Noah’s ark. It’s often told to young children, perhaps because of the compelling images of all those animals, coming two by two.
In these unbearably long weeks since Hamas’ October 7 terrorist attacks on Israel, acts of really listening to one another have been in very short supply.
An old saying about not seeing the forest through the trees implies someone isn’t seeing the big picture. Recently, I had a first-hand opportunity to experience this expression.
I’m an introvert, a term I embrace with pride, though I didn’t always see this trait as positive. Throughout my life, I’ve heard people refer to me as “quiet,” in a tone suggesting I have a terminal illness or that I’m hiding something.
I have bungled many situations in my life. Some stand out above others.
Every day seems to bring a new revelation of a public person behaving badly and then botching their apology. Why is saying “I’m sorry” so very difficult?
In July, I traveled to Mongolia again, hoping to interview the various protagonists in my documentaries.
