Baobab tree, at last out of the pages of books and smack dab in front of my eyes. Massive ancient trees, some of them.
The African dust is washed from my clothing. The jet lag is easing. The 800-plus photos have been culled to 500 or so. But the sense of wonder and gratitude that filled my heart for three weeks will never go away. My mind will not stop, the sense of wonder lives on. There are so many things I want to imprint in my memory forever. Continue reading
I know the feeling, Terry. I know why you use the word “delusion.”
Terry Burger says today is 31 years since he became a journalist. Terry is a really great storyteller and I know that overall, he loves journalism, loves telling those stories, and has many memories of energy and time well spent. Yet here he is, wondering if it was all a 30-year delusion. And his friend, Marcus, using the word “condolences.” I understand that, too.
The truth is, we were all treated badly at the end, when the bottom line was the only thing in sight.
Originally published in The Evening Sun, Hanover, Pa., on Sunday, December 11, 2011
By WANDA MURREN
After my son was killed, there were no photos in this newspaper of his crushed car resting by the snapped-off utility pole.
It wasn’t that my colleagues were looking out for my sensibilities, although I was the city editor at that time. There was no photo because they were really shortstaffed that day, it being Christmas weekend and all that.
So, the next day, I decided I needed to go and see the car Ben had died in. Such encounters take place behind auto body shops, of course, oddly suitable in their ugliness, I guess.
But there I was, in a whole lot full of cold and twisted metal evidence of bad luck and bad decisions.
The book had been laying on the small table in the living room for weeks. My original copy of Pearl S. Buck’s “The Good Earth,” the paperback was quite small, almost tiny compared to the trade paperbacks that make up most of my current-day reading.
My original copy of “The Good Earth,” the classic novel by Nobel Prize-winning author Pearl S. Buck.
I had recently re-read the tale of the Chinese farmer, Wang Lung, and the life he built by working the land. But the book I read this time was a much newer copy, one that I had picked up last fall at the YWCA of Hanover‘s annual used-book sale. It was bigger, easier to hold and to read.
Remember when you were a kid and couldn’t read, so you had to be content with looking at the pictures in a book?
Yeah, I don’t remember that either. I started reading pretty early on and have never stopped. But I do remember that, at some point, I started to get the message that there was something wrong with “just looking at the pictures.”
There she is again, in all her shiny red and chrome glory, taking up a very big chunk of our garage.
My dad’s fire truck. I don’t suppose too many people can say that, but yes, my dad has his own fire engine. And she’s a handful.
Drives like a tank, I’m told, with something called double-clutching involved. Sucks up money about as fast as she once pumped water. And makes my dad about as happy as can be.
There’s a small wooden sign that hangs by my desk in the newsroom:
Everybody is entitled to my opinion.
It was more than a little fitting during my 13 years as editorial page editor. Now, with my new job of overseeing The Evening Sun’s digital media, I thought about turning that sign over to Marc Charisse, as he adds the opinion page to his own considerable responsibilities.
But Marc knows me well, so he’d probably be the first to predict that everybody will still be entitled to my opinion.
Besides, that sign might be a relic of my past, but it will remind me that what we do now is what we’ve always done: Inform and educate our community.
The biggest difference is we can do it much better than ever before.
There’s a storm coming. You could hear the buzz all day long, in the newsroom and at Lowe’s and all around town. By now, everyone knows what’s coming.
And what’s coming keeps growing, at least in the eyes of forecasters. 3 to 6 inches. No, 4 to 8. The last time I checked, I think we were in the 10-inch scare, or maybe a whole foot.
The total doesn’t matter as much as this: If you tend things — especially outdoor things — there are certain things that need to be done every time a dumping is in the offing, so to speak.
Before the storm, a mild and sunny late afternoon.
Today, I seeded lettuces and arugula in my little window greenhouse.
Built from old windows removed from our farmhouse, this mini-greenhouse is used from late fall to mid-spring. in particular to extend the greens growing season.
We saw one of these simple structures in Lancaster a few years ago, on one of our Saturday drives. And by 6 p.m. that evening, I had one of these for my very own. Not purchased, but built by the very talented handyman right here at Pinespring. OK, we happened to have a nice selection of old windows around, since we were gradually replacing all those in the old farmhouse. Still, I think that’s pretty darned good when you have a guy who will, with no urging, be inspired by something like this and just go home and make one — that same day.
You don’t need to have a mini-greenhouse, though, to have a crop of early spring greens. If you have a protected area — a little area of bed next to the house, maybe — consider growing a crop of spring greens. Find an area that faces south, a planting area next to a building or wall. Even if this is a spot you use later for perennial flower color, it can be devoted to early greens from March through mid-May.
In St. Petersburg, FL, recently, at long last I saw my first actual glass pieces by Dale Chihuly, the master glass artist. Until then, I’d only seen photos. And as you’d probably expect, there was just no comparison.
This boat, with its cargo of glass spheres, rests on a mirror the size of a small room. And it really must be seen from different angles.
Wandarings 