Reflections
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The Cold Rolling Towards Me
I began this post in longhand, sitting at my desk this morning, allegedly working, watching tufts of cool mist hanging in the air outside the glass door. This is the time of year when the nearest neighbor is separating his cows from the calves, in preparation for market. The worried mamas have been bawling all day, as they have been for the two days before. The air over the farm is anxious, fretful, which is a shame, because we’ve just gotten our first dose of fall-like weather, about 50F at night and in the mid-70s today, air as clear as an infant’s eyes, same deep blue, same lack of omens…
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Nine Eleven
Neither Mrs. Orr nor I even thought about it being 9/11 today until almost noon. We haven’t been paying attention to any news here in the USA, but have instead been enjoying watching a lot of BBC and Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral preparations and King Charles III’s proclamations and preparations for coronation in the future. It’s really interesting to watch the BBC. It’s declined a lot over the years but it still much more watchable than anything on American tv. I remember being in Scotland many years ago and loving the BBC Radio’s Third Programme, which always had classical music, spoken verse, short stories read aloud, and music and literary…
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The Queen is Dead — Long Live the King
May Elizabeth Regina II rest in peace, and may God grant His Majesty King Charles III grace and wisdom on the throne of England. He will be crowned in a completely different world than the one that existed when his mother began her long reign. ~ S.K. Orr
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At the Curtain of Dusk
During a recent trip to the county dump, I tossed all of our garbage into dumpsters, then took a baggie of dry dog food from the front seat and poured the cup or so of food onto the gravel. I didn’t see the little cat that has greeted me for a while now, and I called to her, but she didn’t show. Driving out of the parking lot, I noticed for the first time a sign that warned against feeding feral cats, and indicating that anyone caught doing so would be considered the cat’s owner and would be responsible for damages and any fees incurred. I shrugged it off, but…
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September Morn
Today is, as near as we have been able to figure, Jinx and Bluebelle’s third birthday. When I walked out of the bedroom this morning the spotted twins were waiting for me. I sat down and they jumped all over me, greeting me. And JInx, predictably, scratched me with one of his ragged claws in his exuberance. I was grateful that he got me in the beard-covered area of my chin; the swipe drew blood. But it was okay. It’s the heeler twins’ birthday, but they are gifts to us. So Happy Birthday, you wild, rambunctious rumpus-makers. We’re so glad you’re here with us. ~ S.K. Orr
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Synchronicity and Sadness
My friend William James Tychonievich writes frequently, eloquently, and in a lively manner about the synchronicity he observes in his daily life. Today I thought of WJT when I learned that a talented but erratic country singer named Luke Bell apparently killed himself yesterday, the same day I learned of the suicide of my childhood friend Len. Mr. Bell seems to have lived a life that could be accurately described as tortured, and the life-taking whispers that chased him for much of his life finally overtook him. You don’t have to listen to many of his songs to recognize his talent and his emotional depth. I thought I would post…
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Into The Void Before Sundown
The first time I met Len, he had just arrived at our elementary school, a transplant from California, which made him interesting and exotic to someone from Pig’s Knuckle Junction like myself. He was taller than me, Nordic blonde, and bore a resemblance to Glen Campbell. Len had a great line of patter and that flat, explosively-bitten-off accent that Californians flaunt. We became fast buddies and palled around together from the get-go. We both loved tetherball, which was the rage in the elementary schoolyards during that age. We would race to the poles when the recess bell rang and play furiously until time to return to class. Len had been…
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The Slow Yearly
The almanac tells me that today was National Dog Day. Our trio did seem to have an extra degree of strut in their collective gait, come to think of it. Bluebelle smiled at us this evening, her front teeth in a perfect circle. We had just called her off of Jinx, whose throat she was biting with unsettling gusto. And Jinx was pleased though nonplussed when I sang to him at the end of day. I sing a tune to him called The Jinx Song, lyrics improvised each time, to the tune of the old Oscar Mayer baloney jingle. The spotted feller’s pleasure probably sprang from the fact that this…
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Woden’s Day
This morning, I had just settled in at my desk to begin work when the power went out. Mrs. Orr received a text notification from the power company that they were working to fix the problem and provided an estimated time for service restoration. I sat and listened to the silence of the house — one forgets how much noise even passive appliances make, like the hum of the refrigerator, etc. — and then went outside on the back porch to sit with the dogs. The hummingbirds are busier than ever, loading up the precious nectar to strengthen their taut little bodies in preparation for the upcoming journey down to…
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The Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost
Yesterday was our day to run errands, including mailing a birthday gift to my sister and shopping for a birthday gift for one of the grandchildren. Since the post office was closed on Saturday and since I had procrastinated in wrapping the gifts and packaging them, we had to resort to one of those UPS stores to get the thing shipped. I spent the morning wrapping each individual gift — small items that represent a variety of my sister’s interests — and then packing everything into a well-used cardboard box. I wrapped the box in plain brown paper and taped it thoroughly and added a hand-lettered shipping label. When we…